I couldn’t take my eyes off her, sitting across the table from me that night. She looked so beautiful it almost hurt.

The blue dress I had bought for her was dark against the creaminess of her skin, pushing her bosom up so that it sat before me like a provocation. If I closed my eyes I could be back under the stars in Wyoming with her, feeling those breasts, squeezing them…

I shook my head. Focus, Starling. I picked up my wine glass, raising it to her. She smiled and did the same.

I looked around the restaurant. It was fancy, all right. It had taken me a while to get a reservation here; I had to pull a few strings. But it was worth it to see the look of wonder and delight on her face as we had walked in.

It was one of those places where you laid your napkin on your lap and counted the cutlery to see which you should pick up for which course.

Not really my style. I preferred down home places, where the drinks and food were plentiful and the people were friendly. But I could suffer through it for Gemma.

“You look beautiful,” I told her.

“Thank you,” she responded, blushing slightly. “Lance, this is so wonderful. I can’t thank you enough. I have never been to a place like this before.”

“Well, enjoy,” I said, smiling at her. “Order whatever you want. Don’t even look at the prices.” She smiled, turning back to the menu.

The food was good, of course, but the portions were so goddamn small I could have licked the plate afterwards. I might be ordering a burger from room service later tonight.

I could tell she was a bit disappointed by that, as well. She looked puzzled.

“It’s barely a mouthful,” she smiled. Then she tasted it, and her eyes rolled back in her head. “But oh, the flavour is definitely there!”

We polished off a bottle of their best wine, then ordered dessert. I got a classic crème brulee, and she ordered something called Poire belle Helene, something I had never heard of.

“It’s pears soaked in sugar and dipped in chocolate,” she smiled.

“Hey,” I put my hands in the air in defeat. “I’m just a cookies and milk kind of guy.”

“That’s okay,” she replied, staring at me with such warmth in her eyes I had to catch my breath.

I could feel the glow from the wine, and could tell she did, too. I felt like grabbing the table cloth and tearing it to the ground, then lunging across the table at her.

There were different types of appetites, after all.

We finished up, and I paid the bill. I had to say I was surprised at how much it was, considering I was still hungry. But I didn’t care. This was for Gemma.

We started to walk out of the restaurant. I could feel the eyes of two women at another table on us.

They weren’t talking softly, and we could hear everything they said as we passed.

“Now, he is gorgeous,” one said to the other, eyeing me. “What on earth is he doing with a woman so big?”

The other woman laughed, staring at us rudely.

I looked at Gemma. Her face told me she had heard everything those women had said.

She turned and ran out of the restaurant, onto the street. I looked at the women. I wanted to give them a piece of my mind. Instead, I ran after her.

She was on the street, looking forlorn.

“Gemma.” I grabbed her, spinning her around to face me. “Don’t pay any attention to those bitches.”

She looked up at me, trying to smile. “I know I’m being silly. I should be used to it.”

“Used to what?” My fingers tightened on her shoulders.

She tried to laugh. “Oh, you know, being made fun of because of my size.”

“Your size?” I looked at her incredulously. “There is nothing wrong with your size! If anyone should be feeling self-conscious about their size, it’s those women. A pair of over made up stick insects, thinking they can lord it over everyone.”

She smiled a bit wider then. “Stick insects? You have a funny way of looking at things, Lance. Those women are the size we are all told we should be.” She paused, looking down at herself. “They rule the world.”

I tilted her face up. “Look at me, Gemma. No, look at me! You are beautiful, I love everything about you. Your size is magnificent, I love a woman who looks like a real woman. Tits and waist and ass. You don’t need to feel inferior around them.”

Her eyes glistened with tears. “You love everything about me?”

Oops. Had I overdone it? Would she run away, defensive and scared?

“I love everything about you,” I repeated, staring into her eyes. It was only the truth.

She sighed deeply, but she said nothing.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing her by the hand. “We’ve been to the fancy restaurant. Now let me take you somewhere I think we can relax just a little more.”

I started pulling her down the street. She didn’t protest.

* * *

I took her to a little bar I knew. I had been there a couple of times on leave.

It wasn’t in the district of the fancy restaurant, and it couldn’t be called fancy by any stretch of the imagination. But it was a funky little bar, always hopping. The people were always friendly. I thought she could do with a place like that, after what had happened.

We sat at the bar, and I ordered us some drinks. I looked at her as she sipped hers, and could tell she was mellowing out.

“You know, it’s funny,” she said, turning to me. “I always had this dream of going to a fancy restaurant in a big city and dressing up. But you know what? Sometimes things aren’t what you imagine.”

“Very true,” I said, tilting my whisky toward her. “But you have to try. You never know if you’ve never tried.”

She laughed, finishing her drink. “I don’t think I like places like that restaurant. Too pretentious. The food was great, but I prefer my type of cooking – soul food, big portions made with love. Same as people.” She laughed again, tossing her head back.

“That type of place has never been my scene,” I admitted. “I’ve travelled over the world, but the best places and the best people are the genuine ones. Real people, living their lives in an authentic way, not putting on airs. That’s why I love Wyoming, and the ranch. It’s real.”

I reached out, putting a hand on her knee.

“And so are you,” I whispered. She stared down at my hand, then put her own over it.

The moment froze, seeming to stretch on forever.

I became conscious of the music playing. Jimi Hendrix grinding his sexy guitar.

“It’s your song,” I said. She looked at me, with a question in her eyes.

“Foxy lady,” I explained, smiling broadly.

She blushed, laughing.

“Shall we?” I said, pulling her up from her bar stool.

We danced to the song, a bit drunkenly, laughing the whole time. I had my hands on her hips, feeling the movement of them as they swayed to the music.

It was sexy, and I knew that she could feel my boner as we locked hips.

Suddenly I couldn’t take it anymore. I just wanted to be with her, alone.

“Want to leave?” I whispered into her ear.

She looked up at me, and nodded.