It was a secret that had caused Anna to first lose interest in him. (Anna was a lot more conservative in those days.) He'd thought that she at least would be interested.
He hadn't even dared ask Rachel the first time they were together; and the second time, the time when Lorelai was already in his life, he thought he'd try again. That version of Rachel had been adventurous, but even she, quote, 'refused to be objectified.'
And now there was Lorelai.
They'd been together for almost a year. One small, but hellish break-up, and one spectacular reconciliation.
It was around that time in their relationship that Luke felt compelled to reveal his secret.
-
Luke and Lorelai were riding home in a limousine following Lorelai's spectacular professional success with the magazine. The alcohol had flowed freely and Luke and Lorelai had spent an evening without inhibitions in New York City. That is, after the formal, business meet-and-greet part of the evening had transpired. In a room full of good food, copious alcohol, and none of the eyes of the town upon them, Luke and Lorelai felt free.
Until this moment in the limousine, Luke had thought their interlude in the cloakroom had been the highlight of the night. But it was clear, as his hand rested on Lorelai's knee, and he listened to her declarations of just what she was willing to do to him once they got back to his place, that what happened in the cloakroom was small potatoes compared to Lorelai's promises of primordial action.
The cloakroom. Luke was normally a reticent, reserved person, and Lorelai, while definitely outgoing, was no exhibitionist.
At one point in the evening, Lorelai had taken a little longer coming back from the ladies' room, so Luke, naturally concerned--they were in the big bad apple, after all--had gone to the foyer to look for her. Giggling, she emerged from the ladies' room, teetering and tottering on her high heels. With a grin born of sheer happiness on his face, Luke approached her, keeping her from stumbling. Even as he did so, he appreciatively scanned her from head to toe.
Perfection, even if inebriated.
And though, if truth were told, his favorite part of his favorite, and only, lady was the space between her ears, and the mouth that spewed forth so much delightful silliness, he was a leg man. And this woman, she had legs.
Oh yeah.
It wasn't so much that they discussed the matter, or that they even communicated about it, but as he helped her back to the ballroom where the magazine event was being held, they stopped at the coat-check.
It was unattended.
Eyes met, and Lorelai's grin widened, and before he knew it, Lorelai was pressed against the far wall of the cloakroom, out of sight of passersby. Her dress was up around her waist, her little white lace thong was torn away (did he really do that?) and he was unzipped and buried all the way inside her.
They were both laughing and giggling uncontrollably, as Lorelai wrapped her legs around him. No foreplay was required; the entire evening had served that purpose. A beautiful, sexy, enticing woman. A sexy, handsome, cleans-up-good man. With eyes only for the other. Available only to the other. Just being together at this stage in their relationship was foreplay.
It was quick, it was exhilarating, it was illicit and it was joyful. That night, Luke laughed more than he had during his entire adult life.
And now they were alone again, in the privacy of a limousine. Her salmon-hued dress had once more slipped up over her knees. His hand, which these days more often than not rested on her knee, moved up and down her leg. Over the smoothness of her knee, and down the front of her leg. Then back up again, up up up over the rounded terrain of her knee to the softer flesh on her thigh. A gentle squeeze on the yielding flesh, on thighs that could be at once soft and yet strong as steel. Then upward, as he remembered how he'd destroyed her thong, he was intoxicated by her nearness.
It was then that he knew he'd have to ask her. It was then that he knew that he'd have to tell her his little secret. About what he really liked.
But first, he'd take her home. Take her to bed. And let her follow up on her promise of primordial sex.
-----
He could not tell her that night. Not because he chickened out, not because he didn't want to, but because, when Lorelai said she was going to get primordial, well, she'd treated him to a night that most men would write to Penthouse about. A night that required sleeping in the next day. He wondered how she'd even been able to walk out of the apartment unassisted.
Waking up at the opposite end of the bed, seeing the trail of clothing throughout his apartment, he couldn't tell her that morning, for she had already left. Sookie was having her baby.
But having moved from the back recesses of his mind to the forefront, his secret nagged at Luke. How would she take it? Would she do it? She certainly seemed adventurous.
Maybe he shouldn't ask her. Things were so good between them, and even better in the bedroom and the various other places where Lorelai had taught him to have sex. The lobby of the Dragonfly after dark, behind the desk. Against the door of the diner, after hours of course, the diner bells jingling as their movements grew more frenetic. In the bed of his truck, upon a soft pile of blankets, looking up at the stars, unable to decide which stars shone brightest: her eyes as she made love to him, or the stars above.
Hell, what was the worst that could happen? She'd laugh him out of bed? Surely, something as benign as what he had in mind wouldn't gross her out. Wait. Maybe she was more like Rachel. Didn't want to be 'objectified.'
And if she said 'no', well, he'd live with it. But if she said 'yes', he'd be beyond thrilled.
It was NOT as if he was asking if he could wear women's clothing, or do something kinky (though Lord knew what Lorelai would describe with that adjective...) No, he'd simply be asking her to wear…the boots.
For Luke Danes was a boot fetishist.
TBC