Crisis Management

"What did you tell him," I asked with undivided attention. Brianna, thinking of our time together like they might have been dates?

"Oh I would have told him yes no matter what," she replied easily, "I had no interest in being picked up."

"Ah," I said, "the mysterious mind of a woman."

"Not so mysterious," she answered. There was a pause before she elaborated. "That wasn't the only time I thought about you. You know, when I first met you I was still in shock over Paolo leaving me. I still thought of myself as being in a relationship. As the reality began to sink in, well, you were there to fill a lot of the void. It wasn't until I was in Boston that, for the first time, I really started to feel alone. I mean, if I was feeling down and wanted to talk, or if I had a plugged sink and needed someone to help plunge, I could just call you and you'd be there to help me, doing the things Paolo might have done before. But when I was back in Boston, I realized I didn't have anyone I could just pick up the phone and call like that. Sometimes you don't realize how valuable something is until you lose it."

I didn't know what to say; I must have kind of blinked blankly at her. What was she trying to say? I knew what Iwished she was trying to say, but I figured I was just hearing what I wanted to hear. The last thing I wanted was to make a fool of myself by guessing wrong.

"I'd like to go for a walk," she declared to break the silence, "would you come with me if we caught a cab to Central Park?"

"Sure," I said. But that got me thinking even more...she's never wanted to do anything like that before.

She hailed us a cab, but neither of us said anything on the ride. We both looked out the windows to avoid looking t each other. When we got to Central Park, I habitually reached for my wallet, but she gestured that I should keep it in my pocket. "I have money again now, remember? I don't need to be a charity case anymore."

"OK," I said easily, getting out of the cab and letting her pay. Maybe that's why she seemed so... different. Now that she had money again, she had independence.

She got out of the cab, and tucked her arm under mine. Huh? "Let's go," she declared. We headed in to the park. It wasn't too bad for January; cold enough to see one's breath, but not so cold that you chilled to the bone. There had been enough sun and above-freezing temperatures that the sidewalks were clear.

We walked in silence for a few hundred years, such it was starting to feel awkward, if only because it was not like us to walk arm in arm. She broke the silence by asking "so you didn't tell me how your holidays were?"

"Fine," I said. "I keep meaning to stay in touch with my family more often, but it seems like when I get busy at work, I just don't get around to it."

"Mmm hmm," she hummed, encouraging me to continue, but I didn't know what else to say. We walked along quietly.

"You got my text on New Years," she commented.

"It woke me up, actually. Eric invited me to a party, but I didn't feel like going and ended up falling asleep on the couch."

She nodded. "That doesn't really surprise me."

"That I fell asleep on the couch?"

"That you turned down an invitation to a party," she clarified.

"I'm that predictable?"

"I'm guess I'm just getting to know you well enough." There was a long pause. "I was actually AT a party when I sent that."

"Oh?" I asked. I was surprised she'd have thought to send me a text while at a party. I'd have thought she had plenty of other things to occupy her attention.

"Yeah...luckily my friend Sarah's husband was on active duty so I had someone to go with. I talked to a lot of people I knew at the party, and their reaction was just WEIRD. When I told them about the sudden divorce, they were generally sympathetic and offered to help; I was expecting that. But then nearly every one said something along the lines of 'look on the bright side, now you get to date again.' And it wasn't even so much WHAT they said as the WAY they said it...like they were jealous of my freedom to date other people. I HAVE the freedom, and I don't know that I WANT it."

I didn't know what to say so I chose to stay silent.

"When Paolo left me completely out of the blue, it really hurt. I mean, I never expected anything like that. When your trust is betrayed like that, it just really, really makes it hard to trust again, you know?"

"I would imagine," I agreed.

"It takes most people a year, or more, before they feel ready to date again, did you know that?"

"I've heard that," I agreed. I thought of a few guys I knew who dove into the dating scene even before their divorces ever went final, but they were only after sex. None of them had any interest in a real relationship for a long time afterward, if ever.

"So anyway, back at this party I found myself avoiding other people and sticking close to Sarah. She asked me what was wrong. I told her it was freaking me out, all these people that seemed envious of me being single again. It seemed like they wished they could be dating other people. I have that freedom, and I don't want it."

Brianna explained "So Sarah said to me, 'I remember when my sister got divorced, she said the same thing. She seemed to be meeting nice guys left and right, but she always said she wasn't ready to pursue anything with them. Finally I asked her what she was waiting for--when would it be time to try starting over? She said, when it didn't hurt to think about it anymore.' But then Sarah said, 'what if that day never comes? Look, you've been hurt—it's probably going to be hard to trust again, whether that's today or in twenty years. Sometimes you've just got to get back on the horse that threw ya.'"

"Then she said something that really stuck with me," Brianna continued. "She said 'I'm not telling you to go out and start dating every man you see--just be open to it. It would be a real shame if the right man found you at the wrong time, and you let him get away just because you didn't feel ready yet.'"

"I asked her 'How would I know if it's the right man?'" Brianna continued. "She said 'I don't know--what were the things that were most important to you when you first met Paolo?' So I thought back to when we first met. A lot of people asked me what I saw in him, maybe because he was from Brazil and our backgrounds were so different. I would tell them he had all the things I wanted in a man... he was kind... generous... someone you could really count on if you were ever in need. As I went through the list, I seemed like I was wrong about Paolo on all counts; he was tall, dark and exotic, and that was about it. But all those other things that I thought at the time made him attractive—it seemed like with every quality I listed there was this chime going off in my head, saying 'it may have been Paolo, but that IS just like Mike, you know.'"

We both stopped walking. I turned to face her, and she put her arms around my waist. Our gazes met. There was a tinge of fear in her eyes. "So what are you saying?" I asked quietly.

"When I was in Boston... I was surprised by how much I thought about you... how much missed having you around. Mike, I... I know you've wanted more from our relationship for a while now, and I've just not been ready for that. You've been really wonderful about it--you've not pushed me or pressured me, even as you've done one nice thing for me after another." I said nothing, just looked into her eyes. "I realized I can't expect you to do that forever. You're a real, genuine nice guy Mike, and some girl out there is going to be smarter enough to jump all over you when she finds you. I realized that I'm taking a chance one way or another. I'm taking a chance if I get involved in a relationship again, but I'm also taking a chance that if I just sit around and wait to feel ready, that option might not be there for me anymore. "

She felt warm and wonderful in my arms. "Brianna," I said, "I... I don't know what to say. I mean, yeah, I've wished we had... a deeper relationship. The LAST thing I'd want is to do something that would make you uncomfortable. There's no one that would ever compare to you in my eyes...I'm not going anywhere."

"You're very sweet," she smiled nervously, "and I know you mean that now. But I can't count on it staying that way forever. If I keep pushing you away, eventually you'll find another girl that won't. And then what—do I end up living the rest of my life wondering what might have been if I hadn't been such a chicken?"

"You're not being a chicken," I demurred, "you're being smart, trying to protect yourself. That's one of the things I LIKE about you. You know, it's easy for me to get into a new relationship, I've been single for three years. You're in a very different position, and I understand that. It's OK you need some time. I'll be here... when you feel ready to move to the next level, I'll be waiting for you. OK?"

She gave me a faint smile, but the look on her face seemed relieved. Surely she didn't think I would reject HER, did she? Instead of answering my question, though, she closed her eyes, craned her neck up towards me, and out lips met for the first time. My heart tried to somersault out of my chest as our lips touched. She backed off a bit, looking at me with big doe eyes to see my reaction. I reacted by immediately kissing her again. Then I felt her sigh in relief and lay her head on my chest. We stood there, holding each other, for a very long time.

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That day in Central Park was the beginning of the next stage of our relationship. From that point on, we were officially dating. Most aspects of our relationship grew and blossomed rather quickly; it seemed like once she made the decision she would trust in me and get involved in a relationship again, the rest came easy. Well, with one exception. There was one aspect that lagged significantly behind the rest: we would kiss and we would cuddle, but that was the extent of our physical intimacy.

Sure, I wished we were having sex, but I was too overjoyed to honestly, truly be with her to get too upset about it. We would lay with her on my couch, embracing, kissing. I would sneak my hands up under her shirt and touch her warm waist. She liked that, and in some ways that was the problem; I think when I started touching her skin it turned her on, only that then freaked her out. She would withdraw, stop kissing me, tucking her head in to my shoulder so as to avoid looking me in the face. She didn't ever come out and tell me to stop, but she didn't have to. Her body language clearly communicated that she was no longer comfortable. The first time I told her that I loved her, she freely and easily responded in kind, yet her aversion to physical intimacy remained.

It was a mental block now, and she knew it and felt bad about it. One time as we lay on my couch she said to me "I'm sorry Mike, I don't know why I'm having such a hard time with this. It's really weird—I mean, I would never do this, but I could imagine myself meeting someone at a bar and having sex with them. And I'm obviously in a relationship again. But for some reason I just can't seem put the two together yet--it's like I could handle sex if it didn't involve a relationship, and a relationship if it doesn't involve sex. I know it makes no sense, it just all still overwhelms me when I think of putting the two together."

"I said when you feel comfortable and not before, and I'm not going to change now," I replied. I was getting plenty of love and affection--kissed, cuddles, hugs--it's just that my dick was not in on the loop.

February came and went, and Brianna stayed in New York. The civil court trying her ex-husband decided to stay the case until the criminal proceedings were concluded, on the grounds that if he and the other company executives were convicted of criminal negligence, it would be a lot quicker to decide the civil case. She successfully petitioned the court to sublet what had been her own house from the court until the case resumed. She took a part-time job at a department store to help pay the bills while she kept applying for other jobs. There still wasn't anyone hiring.

All the while, our relationship kept growing. I sensed that her trust was growing, and I felt confident that it would eventually overcome her fears of intimacy. I expected that our physical relationship would involve a gradual, step-by-step process, which was my experience in the past. Our romance was unfolding differently in a lot of ways, though. Still, it caught me by surprise when the final barrier came crashing down, pardon the pun, with a bang.

My birthday is at the end of March. I insisted that she not buy me anything, in part because of her finances, but also in part because I didn't need anything. I'm hard to buy for; I spend most of my time at work (although much less so since Brianna and I became an item) so on those rare occasions where there is something I want I just go out and get it. So when she cooked a candlelight dinner for my birthday, I just assumed that WAS my gift. We had a nice dinner, sat down on the couch and started making out. After snogging for a while, she stopped for air, and I distinctly remember thinking there was something strange I couldn't put my finger on about the way she looked at me. I can only describe it as if you were looking at an expensive purchase and asking yourself whether this is really what you want, given how long it will take you to pay for. Then suddenly there was twinkle in her eye and she said "I need to go to the bathroom. I'll be back in a bit. Why don't you see if there's something good on TV?"

Nodding, I dismissed any thoughts about the look and started flipping channels while she went. It wasn't unusual for us to watch something on TV together while she curled up in my arms. I loved to run my fingers through her soft red hair while she lay on me. I stopped five or six times to give a brief watch to something before deciding to see if I could do better. Just about the time I realized she'd been gone for kind of a long time, she was back. She snuck up behind me and covered my eyes with a fluffy white towel. Her hands smelled flowery but not too sweet, like expensive lotion should, as they held the cloth over my eyes. "I'm back," she purred like a sexy kitten. She pulled my head back so I was facing the ceiling, then bent over and kissed me from behind the sofa. She slowly pulled the towel away and tossed over the back of the couch, but even if I had opened my eyes, all I would have seen was a curtain of red hair. She slowly raised her head, then all at once flipped her hair back so I could see. I could only see her in periphery at first, so the first thing that registered was that something was different about the way she looked her than when she left. I turned my head to see what the difference was, and immediately did a double-take. She had sauntered out poured into the same tight French Maid costume she had worn on that ill-fated night months ago. Or, given how things had turned out for me, maybe I should just say "fated."

"Whoa," I managed to say.

She wore the dress and fluffy white underskirting, but this time around she wore no hosiery at all and had on black heels with ankle straps like a showgirl might wear. She strutted around the couch to face me, teasingly running her fingers along my arm on the way round. "Remember this little outfit?"

I swallowed hard, my dick suddenly stiff like a two-by-four. "Oh yeah," I said. She knew she looked good; I mean, she put lots of time and effort into maintaining her body, and she took rightful pride in the results. Not in an I'm-better-than-you sort of way, but in an I've-earned-everything-I've-got kind of way. She did a half-spin to face me, standing with one leg straight and one slightly bent like a model might. She effortlessly lifted one foot and shut off the TV with the point of her heel.

"I was thinking about your birthday," she purred, "and I realized I have some unfinished business to take care of. Some time ago, you paid for some services that were never delivered. Tonight seemed like a good time to set that straight."

"Um..." I stammered. Half of me was jumping out of my skin; I'd never seen anything sexier in my whole freaking life. But the other half was panicking, remembering how she'd broken down in tears the last time she wore this getup. Yes, that was when her separation was fresh, but still, what's going to happen if my responses remind her of Paolo again?

"Now, I have a little rule. If you want to see the show...put your arms up on the sofa where I can see them..." she waited while I moved to the center of the couch and put my arm up along the seatback. "Very good. Now the little rule is that you have to keep your arms right where they are. No matter what I do, you have to keep your arms right where they are or the show is over. There's a no-touching rule here, and it will be strictly enforced. Understand?"

"Yes ma'am," I replied. Unconsciously I licked my lips in anticipation; it seemed I was gonna get another strip, and I had high yet reasonable hopes that when I got the chance to adore her soft lovely breasts again, they wouldn't be going back into hiding after five seconds.

"Good," she said as she began to tease me mercilessly. "Do you see anything you like?" she purred as I squirmed. My erection was pinned awkwardly in my pants, and wanted to straighten, but when I made the slightest move to try to adjust it she tilted her head with a warning look. I think it made her feel even more powerful that the erection she was creating was simultaneously arousing and uncomfortable.

She moved smoothly and gracefully, inches from my knees. Her moves were sort of dancing, but they were also sort of how you might imagine a charmed python might emerge from its basket. I know my python was a charmed as it could get. She would bend over and grab her ankles, making her thighs tighten like bow strings, then give me an extended cleavage shot on the way back up. She put her leg next to me like she had the first time she wore the costume, stoking her smooth legs from top to bottom. She held her foot in front of me again, and I kissed my way as far up the leg as I could reach without removing my arms from the couch. She watched my kiss my way up the smooth skin, letting me get to the middle of the inside of her high, but not any further. She bit her lower lip and flashed her eyebrows at me.

"Do you like looking at my legs?" she whispered in a husky voice. Yow! I felt her hand on my thigh now, moving upward. She had no trouble finding my bulge; I might as well have been trying to hide a telephone pole in them. "Hmm. This is interesting. I wonder what this could be?" she teased. I groaned in unbridled lust.

She let go, turned her backside to me, and in one quick zip motion whipped the underskirts down to her ankles. She did a little dainty ballerina spin, then kicked them into my face. Then she parting her knees she bent way down, with her hands disappearing tantalizingly below the skirt. It seemed like she might be touching herself; she eyed me with mock pity as I tried to see THROUGH the damn skirt. She slowly lifted up the front of her skirt to show a black dancer's thong, complete with little clasps on the side for easy removal. At first I thought they might be a memento of the three weeks where she was working as a stripper, but then realized she never took her panties off dancing. It dawned on me that perhaps her relationship with her ex-husband had been more adventurous than I had imagined. In the meantime she touched the crotch of her panties, rubbing them gently, making a face of pure self-pleasured bliss.

Just as quickly as the turned it on, she turned it off, enjoying my discomfort? Her eyes were pure devil-vixen. She stood up, slipping the straps of her dress off of her shoulders so they formed a straight line with the square neck. She hooked the edge of the neckline on her thumbs and thrust her hands out and slightly down, flashing me two wonderful, bare breasts before hiding them behind the dress again. Wow. For a moment it flashed across my mind that it was interesting that she wasn't wearing a bra under the dress, which would have lengthened the striptease, but I was quickly distracted by new developments to pursue the thought further. She had turned her back towards me, and was reaching behind her to catch the zipper running up the back of the dress. She played with it, lowering it an inch, teasing me, lowering it again, teasing me. The dress kept getting looser and looser, but she kept it from falling by squeezing with her arms. Then all at once she let go, flaring her elbows out to the sides while running her fingers through her hair. She did kind like a march in place while she did this, only each step involved crossing one knee in front of the other leg. The dress slipped down below her breasts.