Patrick was leaving for Hawaii a week before me, so, the night before he left, we had dinner in a Mexican restaurant where he had arranged for me to be serenaded. He handed me my first-class ticket, along with cab fare to get to the airport. I knew I was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable about the whole situation and I’m sure he sensed it. After all, he had this strange ability to sense everything in me.
Patrick assured me that even though we had plans to travel together, it wouldn’t change anything. He promised me that while we were in Hawaii, I would have my own bedroom and he would respect my privacy and wishes. He was always true to form in his gallantry and almost old-world, gentlemanly ways.
When I arrived in Hawaii, Patrick met me at the airport with a bouquet of flowers, a lei, and a glass of champagne. We spent a week doing whatever we felt like: beaches, snorkeling, wining and dining, and shopping. He couldn’t pass a jewelry store without asking if he could buy me a “trinket.” I steadfastly refused—honestly, I didn’t want to take advantage of his money because I expected that the blush of his infatuation with me would eventually fade.
Every morning, I would get up and go running and he would watch me from the balcony. He would still be standing there when I returned 45 minutes later. There was always a fresh fruit plate and coffee waiting for me when I got back to my room.
From the beginning, I knew that sex was on his mind. It really wasn’t on mine. I was curious though, since everything he did was done with such flair, sophistication, and an earnestness to make me happy. Would it be the same way in bed?
It happened the third night. I should say third afternoon. Needless to say, it was nothing like I expected. I actually felt quite inexperienced and inadequate next to his obvious experience, but he couldn’t get enough of me, in all ways. And it was the best sex I had ever had in my life.