Like most of my other stories, this is based on real people and real events. My own dear wife figures prominently; I'll let you identify her.
Some events have been tweaked, but this is pretty seriously autobiographical.
My first marriage was a fucking nightmare. I mean that figuratively AND literally. Shortly after the honeymoon -- within a month, I'd venture -- she became a harridan, for reasons I've yet to understand. Suddenly, nothing I did was right; nothing I could do would ever be right.
It was like someone flipped a switch. I may have been that someone; I'll never know, because we divorced three years later. Thanks to the constant tension, we never got around to having kids. (I did have an affair, as a result of her abusive treatment of me; but that is related in another story.)
Well, three years was the price I paid for thinking with the wrong head, and a small enough price, I realized. When it was all over, I was five years into my career, a successful journeyman computer programmer, specializing in mainframe database systems.
I decided it was time for greener pastures. I was thirty years old. I had a skill, I had the itch to be away from the bitch, I had a fat little savings account, and I had a paid-for car.
Seven weeks and twenty headhunters (or so) later, I motored into a new city, and within three more weeks I had set up housekeeping. For the first time in many moon, I felt pretty damned good about me.
I had signed on to work for a state agency through a contract firm. I settled into work very nicely. I tend to be outgoing, and made friends with my personality as well as my abilities.
One afternoon, I needed to talk to Fred, another employee of the same contract firm. I knew where his cubicle was, but, lazy ass that I am, I picked up the phone. He didn't answer.
So, I made the arduous three-aisle trip to his cube.
He wasn't there.
That, however, is not what caught my attention.
You see, we mostly doubled up in cubes. I had a very small one, and hence sat alone. Fred, on the other hand, had a cube mate named Jane.
She was stunning.
Let me define terms here. I thought she was beautiful. Most other people would not have said so. She was pleasant of face, dressed nicely -- and was, I guesstimated, a size fourteen.
As I stood there in the doorway, she looked at me and said, "Can I help you?"
I recovered. "Uhm, came by to see Fred. He's not here," I said, gesturing to his seat.
Her eyes widened. A smile came to her mouth, and she nodded as she said, "Goood! You figured that out all by yourself!"
I rolled my eyes, and we both laughed. Her voice was so sweet.
"Anyway, if you don't mind," I said, "tell him Jeff came by. I need to ask him something. It's work related," I added. It seemed a salient bit of information to add; I had noticed she was a regular state employee, and you don't want them to think all those highly-paid contractors (harrrumph) were standing around dillydallying.
I went back to my cube, and resumed work.
It was a struggle, though. I was haunted by Jane. She was gorgeous, she was tempting, she was...
She was off-limits, I scolded myself. I had no idea what policies governed fraternization, whether the state's or my company's. Still, it seemed wise to consider her unattainable. Hell, I hadn't even checked to see if she wore a ring.
Probably a lost cause, I rationalized, and went back to work.
All this occurred on a Thursday.
Saturday, I had reason to hit the local mall. Well, the closest one to me, anyway. I visited a bookstore, a CD chain, and a nationally-known department store. I was headed out of the department store, via an exit that required passing through the draperies area.
There stood Jane, behind the counter, looking like an employee.
I stopped in mid-stride. I looked at her, and she must have sensed it, as she locked eyes with me. She smiled and waved.
I walked right to where she was standing and said, "Are we moonlighting?"
"Yeah," she replied, in that sweet voice. "I've been working for _____'s for years, off and on. I like to do something that doesn't involve a keyboard. Keeps a little extra cash rolling in, and I get a discount at the salon."
"You are wise, grasshopper," I said in my best Keye Luke. We shared a little chuckle over that.
"So," I continued, "when do you get off work?"
"Nine," she said. It was 8:30 p.m.
I hesitated. "I hate to be so forward, but would you like to run down to Village Inn for a bite? I mean, after work."
It was her turn to hesitate. "I guess so," she said after a moment.
I held up my hands. "Look, if you're uncomfortable, I understand..."
"No, no," she said quickly. "It's just... well, I don't date much, and I'm... I dunno, I guess I'm unsure about how to react."
"Okay," I said, "it's not a date. We're just a couple of friends, no, make that new acquaintances, having a bite in a public place." I winked.
She laughed. "Okay, you're on."
"So," I said, "how about I put this stuff," I held up my bags, "in the car, listen to the radio for half an hour, and swing by here when I see you come out?"
She grinned. "Works for me. See you in a while."
I walked out to the car, deposited my packages, and listened to the local NPR station; Jazz on a Saturday Night was the program, and the DJ had selected nice, light (not to say smooth jazz) pieces that put me in the mood to be adventurous.
At length, I saw Jane walk out the entrance. I pulled up, stopped the car, and hopped out to get the door for her. "Aren't you the gentleman," she said, and chuckled.
"One of my finer qualities," I replied.
We arrived at the restaurant within minutes, and were seated in short order. We talked, ordered, talked, and ate. Oh, and talked.
I could probably detail most of the conversation, but it would accomplish nothing. We spoke of our places of origin, our schooling, things like that. We were the same age, less a few weeks in her favor. She took the news of my divorce as a necessary part of my life; I secretly rejoiced that she had never been married, and had in fact never had a proper boyfriend, not since college.
We spent close to an hour chatting and eating. The crowd was thin, and I didn't feel we were taking up the waitress' earning abilities; but I said, "We should probably make our exit. These folks may be looking to get out of here."
I signaled to Linda, the nice young woman who had been serving us, and she brought us the check. I smiled at her and thanked her; and as she left, Jane watched me stroke out a five-dollar tip on a thirteen-dollar meal.
Her eyes widened. "You're generous," she murmured.
"Nah," I replied, "these people work hard. She boogied while we sat in the lap of luxury. Okay, not luxury," I added, rolling my eyes, "it's only Village Inn."
We both laughed a little.
We left the building and reached my car; at which point, she said, "You know, they say you can tell what kind of person someone is by how they treat a waiter."
I was silent for a few seconds, then said, "Like you said earlier, I'm a gentleman."
I opened the car door and let her in. Before I closed it, she said, "Yes, you are."
I fairly bounded around to my side of the car, got in, and drove her back to her car.
Once again, I got out to let her out; but she had already let herself out. "I'm capable," she said, smiling in the parking-lot light.
I screwed up all the courage I had, and said, "Uh, listen, I had a great time."
"I did too," she said, as she got into her car and started it. She immediately got back out and turned to face me.
"Do you suppose we could do this again?" I asked, hoping I wasn't begging.
She smiled again. "I'd like that." She started fishing in her purse.
"Uhm," I said, "do you suppose I could call you?"
She proffered a business card, from the state by the look of it. "Well, I certainly hope you will!" she said, indicating where she had written her home number.
On impulse, I took her hand and placed a little kiss on it. I winked; she giggled. "Gentlemen!" she exclaimed, and drove away after a final wave.
I was in heaven.
The next evening, right after dinner was completed, I worked up the nerve to call her. It was about seven.
Long story short, we talked until almost ten.
It was a magical, delightful, intimate conversation that taught us about one another and left me panting for more.
Finally, I said, "I'd like to cook dinner for you sometime. Are you free next Saturday?"
There was a pause; then, "I'm sorry, there must be static. Did you say, 'cook'?"
I chuckled. "I did indeed."
She laughed. "I can't boil water. I'd love to have you cook for me."
"So, Saturday?" I inquired.
"Saturday it is!" she exclaimed. We rang off after a moment or so more.
Through the next week, we had lunch together every day, and talked on the phone every evening. It was the beginning of a love affair; at least, it felt that way to me.
And that scared me.
Now, don't get me wrong. Jane was delightful. In the time I had known her, I'd had more fun than in the whole time I was with my ex.
But I knew I was susceptible. I had to play it cool.
The next Saturday found me playing chef as Jane sat and talked to me. We chatted about everything and nothing, great topics and small. When I placed before her a meal of chicken Marsala, sugar snap peas, sliced tomatoes, green salad, and fresh bread, I thought she'd swoon.
I had a one-woman fan club, no doubt.
Over the next couple of months we continued to talk at night, go to lunch together by day, and canoodle on the weekends; but when we were at work, we were at work. We maintain completely professional decorum. (In fact, I discovered later, no one knew we were together for many weeks.)
One Friday evening, we were in her apartment, sitting on her couch, enjoying one another's company. We had progressed to the kissing stage; but this evening, we began a kiss that turned passionate.
When it broke, I said, "My, that was good."
She looked at me. "It really was," she said distractedly, and laid her head on my shoulder. I placed a kiss on her forehead; then she said, "Your birthday is coming up in a couple of weeks, isn't it?"
"Right you are," I replied.
She turned her face to mine. "So, what can I get you?" she asked, smiling.
I grinned. "Just you," I said, "and I think I already have that."
She chuckled. "Yeah, you do." We sat in companionable silence for a moment, then she asked, "I mean, I wanted you to be able to unwrap something."
I laughed. "Oh, do NOT give me a straight line like that!"
She scooted back a bit, and smiled. "What?" she asked. "I don't get it."
"No," I said, "it might be... too much."
She punched me playfully. "I wanna know," she said.
I sighed. "Okay, I was going to say I'd love to unwrap you. But I'm a gentleman, remember?" I added hastily, holding up a hand.
She laughed again. "Silly boy," she muttered, and leaned back onto me.
There was a silence, as she rested her head on my shoulder. We sat, holding one another, concentrating on our own private thoughts; then, she said, "There is something we should discuss."
I sat back a little; she repositioned herself to face me.
"I've only ever had one... well, boyfriend, I guess you could say. I was in college, I guess nineteen, maybe just over twenty. He was charming, about twenty-four or so. I," she paused, choked back an emotion, and continued, "I allowed him to seduce me. He told me he loved me, so it was okay, right?" She grimaced. "And then, a month or so later, he moved on. He told me it had been fun, but we just weren't right for one another."
I was angry that anyone would treat her that way, sad that she had been so naïve.
She continued, "You have to understand, I'm only here because I want to be. Here in you apartment, I mean."
"I'd never treat you like that," I said softly.
"That's what I mean," she replied. "That stuff about being a gentleman? Don't think I didn't catch on right from the beginning." We fell silent for another moment; then, "I guess I just thought you should know there was someone before you. I mean, in case it really mattered. Just seemed like an apropos moment to let you know."
We kissed again, softly at first, then with more passion; then brought ourselves back to earth, and gazed into one another's eyes.
I kissed her, on the head this time, and made as if to rise. "I need to scram," I said.
"Okay," she said calmly, rising with me.
As we got to the door, I said, "Look, I didn't mean to stir things up. I mean, that comment, about the straight line... I wasn't trying to set anything up. I hope I didn't offend you."
She said, "Sweetie, I'm flattered." She smiled, completely without guile. "You have nothing to worry about," she added, softly.
A tender parting kiss later, I was out the door.
The next ten days or so were filled with the usual: smooching, making out, working, like that. I buried the sadness I felt over her maltreatment; she had clearly done so, at least for the most part, so it wasn't my place to pout for her.
Then came Friday, my birthday.
I really hoped Jane wouldn't go to any trouble on my account. After all, I had met her shortly after her birthday, and as such had not been able to proffer her a present.
She showed up at my apartment just before 7:00pm, right about on schedule. We had a warm greeting kiss, after which she announced her plan.
"I have a present for you," she replied.
I saw nothing in her hands except a large purse. "So where did you stash it? Or do I really want to know?" I finished, waggling my brow.
She laughed. "Stop it!" she exclaimed.
We sat at the table and ate the light meal I had prepared -- I was thrilled she loved my cooking; it was in my blood and in her tummy -- and retired to the couch for some post-dinner canoodling and conversation.
Around 9:30, she yawned. "I guess it's about time for your present," she said, looking very sly.
"Anytime," I responded.
"Okay," she said, "go into your office. I'll set it up, and I'll call you when it's ready."
I retreated into my apartment's second bedroom, which I used as an office / computer room. I closed the door; within two minutes, I heard her sweet little singsong, "Come and get it!"
I opened the office door and turned to the right, toward the living room.
She wasn't there.
"No, silly, back here," I heard her say. I turned and walked down the hallway to my bedroom. I flipped on the light...
... and there she was, on my bed, spread-eagle, with three strategically-positioned bows.
There was a red one on her right nipple, a blue one on her left, and a white one barely covering her mons.
Her arms were held apart, as if welcoming me into a hug. "Come and get me, lover," she cooed.
I sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her essential nakedness. "You're beautiful," I breathed.
"I'm also the only one naked. Join me," she said, and winked.
I stripped down and slipped into the bed beside her. I plucked each of the three bows, mindful of a slight tremor; whether in my hands or her body, I could not tell. As I ran my hands over all the nice curves and bumps, all I could think was to say, "You don't have to do this."
She took my face in her hands and said, in a voice strong, clear, and gentle, "I've been without the pleasure of your touch my whole life. Make love to me."
Well, I complied.
I'll leave the details of our lovemaking to the reader's imagination. Suffice to say, her milkless and never-suckled breasts were firm, proud, and desirous of my attention; her pussy was tight and accommodating, but only after I'd become her one and only cunnilinguist, eliciting from her a powerful orgasm (which, only by grace, did not result in my skull popping like a melon). The moment we came together, I thought it impossible I'd ever have an orgasm its equal.
As we lay there, recovering from a combined four orgasms (she'd had three; I'd had one: hey, thirty is not eighteen), I broached the subject.
"Uhm," I said carefully, "I didn't use any protection."
"You got diseases?" she asked in a lazy tone.
I laughed. "Of course not."
She looked into my face. "So what's the problem?"
I ran my hand over her smooth abdomen. "Just don't think we need to have anyone... uh, you know, take up residence... uh, here," I finished, indicating her womb-ish region.
"I started taking the pill," she said, "a couple weeks before we... had that discussion. Remember?"
"Yeah," I said softly.
"I was thinking things might come to this. Hoping, actually," she said. "I knew you wanted me."
I chuckled. "You think a lot of yourself."
She leaned into me. "You think a lot of me, too. So shush up."
We both laughed, and slipped into slumber.
I awoke around three-thirty, bladder screaming; I extricated myself from her limbs, padded into the toilet, and voided. When I returned, she stirred and said, "Oh, thank heaven."
"What, baby?" I said, thinking she'd tell me she was glad I was still there.
"I thought you'd never finish. Gotta pee, bad," she said, slouching out of bed and making for the potty.
I chuckled, mostly at my own denseness; and then thought to lay a towel across the bed.
She returned to the bed, backlit by the pale nightlight I kept in the bathroom. She slid in beside me, felt the towel, and said, "See? That's what I mean. A real gentleman."
We chuckled; she slid up next to me, kissed my jawline, held my arm, and began sawing logs. I joined her soon after.
My handlers at the contract firm were not happy with me.
Not only was I fraternizing with an actual state employee, I had hidden the fact from them.
My supervisor stood behind her desk, paper in hand; I sat before her, looking (and feeling) cool as a cucumber.
She shook the paper. "So what am I supposed to do with this?" she insisted.
"Donna, it's easy," I said, facetiously. "You accept the invitation, or you don't. What part do you not grasp?"
She glared at me. "You should not have done this!" she thundered.
"Done what?" I asked, mildly. "Fallen in love with a woman? or invited you to the wedding?"
Donna sat heavily, head in hands. "Jeff, Jeff, JEFF..."
I stood; I'd had enough. "Forget this," I said, and her head jerked up.
"I'm marrying Jane," I said flatly. "You want my resignation? Consider this it."
I walked out of her office.
She dashed out after me, and grabbed me by the arm. "Jeff, look, this is so against the rules.."
I shook her off. "So release me."
"I don't want to," she said plaintively.
"Donna," I said, softly, "the heart wants what it wants. Accept my impending nuptials. Find a way to keep me where I am, if you can, a new place if you must. But the wedding will happen."
She shook her head, turned, and walked away.
So the wedding happened. Jane's bosses at the state, as much as they would have been in their rights to discipline her for an on-paper ethics violation, weren't hard-assed about things. We, in turn, did not rock the boat; it would have been potentially awkward, or at least presented an appearance of impropriety, for me to work in the same building, and we all knew it.
I allowed the firm to place me, in a full-time capacity, with a municipal government organization. One, I realized quickly, that was better suited to my abilities.
Donna and I patched up our tiff. She attended the wedding, as did Fred and other of my co-workers.
It's been twelve years, now. Jane stopped taking the pill; we've had a few visitors, like our two daughters and our son. We still love one another with a blissful fire; sex is better with each passing year.
We're both in respected positions; the future's so bright, as the songwriter said, we gotta wear shades.