Joanne's Metamorphosis

It was his turn. "Joanne, it was a pretty hot little speech and you looked very fuckable standing their, naked below the waist with your fingers shoved up your quim. My dick started to get hard for a minute, and a few years ago I probably would have said, what the fuck, and given you what you seemed to want. But I grew up.

He sipped his wine and continued. I love strong women, hell I love all women. I love the way they smell, the way they feel, the way they look, the way they sound, the way they move. I think making love with a woman who knows her body and isn't coy about telling me what she wants and needs is the pinnacle of sexual activity. For the record, if things were very different, I'd love to fuck your recently shaved little girl pussy and bone your ass. If you wanted to wear leather and have your butt slapped and your tits pinched, that would be okay. But I have to draw the line at real pain, humiliation and abuse--it doesn't get me off. Is it really what gets you off?"

It was Joanne's turn. "I rationalize the abuse and humiliation. By letting a man abuse me and believe he is humiliating me, I can bring out all of his deep seated hostility toward women who he thinks mistreated him Bring out that dark hostility, make him lose control--I end up humiliating and owning him. It's a power trip. I get off on the control. I have to have the control--and, yes, some of the pain--is payback for being a bitch, but no, I don't enjoy the sex that way. I stuck my finger in my mouth to get some lubrication; I wasn't turned on, but in truth, I haven't enjoyed sex with any man—any person-- in a long time."

"Come here." He said, and she tentatively moved across the sofa close to Jim. "I'm going to hug you and hold you. This isn't about sex. You need to be held tightly more than any human being I know. I hurt inside when other people are in pain. Let go of that pain. I've got broad shoulders when it comes to pain, Give it up. Forgive yourself; forgive the ass holes that hurt you. You can't possibly love anyone with all that self hatred."

And he took her in his arms and held her. Her arms went around his body and she hung on for dear life. Her hair brushed against his face as she softly sobbed on his shoulder. He softly stroked her hair He told her it would be alright. Her body shook as she cried out every last tear her eyes could produce.

"Thank you." She said, softly. "I never expected that. I certainly didn't deserve it, after what I tried to do to you. I haven't felt that safe and protected and cared for as a person in a very long time."

"I think we're both pretty emotionally tapped out, right now. How about helping me throw together some dinner? I'm starving. From what you've told me you have no plans for this evening and I never make plans on a week night."

"Sounds like a plan." She said . They threw together a salad and grilled some fish. She was ravenously hungry. They made small talk and actually acted like two people who were friends, maybe lovers, maybe not. She smiled easily, and the world had missed a lot, not often having seen that smile. She laughed, and they made small jokes. They had a little more wine. Her West Texas accent crept in as she became more relaxed. He became more relaxed, still not 100% sure he wasn't still being played--but getting there.

They sized each other up. She was really a very pretty girl, particularly when she smiled or laughed. Far from frumpy, she had a very muscular and tight little body, the kind he had always been attracted to. They cleaned up the dinner plates and moved back to the deck to enjoy the sunset.

"I really blew this and I'm sincerely trying to avoid sinking into my usual level of self pity. While I may have gained a few points over the last hour or so, I would be very surprised if you completely trusted me. She plays games with men--mean games, control games. Is this just another game? Can we start over? I haven't had a friend in a very long time, or a lover, for that matter."

She continued. "This is me. A west Texas Army brat who spent years trying to deny who she was, but who is happiest in bare feet and grubby jeans. I don't mind getting dirty, West Texas is all about dirt. I love dogs and horses and four wheel drive. I like to walk in the rain and love thunderstorms with lots of lightening and noise. I like to garden, to grow things, maybe even farm someday. I grew up in a happy home, a loving home. Sure, my dad was away a lot during the war, but he always made it up to us when he was home. He was firm with us, but kind, loving, caring and nurturing. My mother is a strong, solid woman who raised four kids, often without much help during Vietnam. My brothers were protective, but they always let me play their games and I learned to appreciate boy things."

Without a word, he leaned toward her and gently, softy kissed her mouth, not a brotherly kiss, but not an oral exam, either. He softly stroked her hair and face. Her lips were warm, soft and moist and her response was real. Oh shit, he thought. I'm falling for this woman. What if it's just another game?

"That was the sweetest, most tender kiss I've ever shared. Thank you. I really needed that." She softly replied.

"And, I'm afraid, the last one for this evening. I've got a 5:00 AM OR meeting in the morning and need to get some sleep. Are you okay to drive home?" Jim said, stopping further exploration.

"Uh, sure, I'm fine. You're right. I need to get home and we probably both need to digest." Joanne responded, trying to hide her disappointment.

He has lied. He kissed her, once more, a friendly kiss, as she got into her car. Way to go Joanne, you meet the first man you've met in years who would be worth having and you completely blew it. What a jerk. Where do I stand with Jim? Her thoughts were confused and conflicted as she tried to avoid sinking into self pity. She thought they were friends; she wanted so much more.

She went home and removed her clothes and examined herself in the mirror. She wasn't a bad looking woman. She had slacked off on her once disciplined workout regiment and noticed a little softness here and there. She put on running attire and set out for a quick three miles to burn off her frustration. It was harder than she remembered; she knew she'd have to get back on a regular exercise schedule.

After a quick shower, she examined the selection of horrid makeup she had acquired. She scooped it up and deposited it all in the trash. She looked at her hair. There wasn't much she could do with it without a good cut; she'd take care of that as soon as she could get an appointment.

She went to her closet. Fortunately, she hadn't given all of her prettier things to Goodwill; there were still some possibilities, stuffed way in the back. She chose an attractive, tailored business suit that she could fit in without bulges. She had always had great muscle tone, and she wasn't that old--barely thirty. She could get her old body back quickly, in a month or two with hard work.

Joanne was a perceptively different woman when she entered the office the next morning. She greeted the receptionist warmly; the poor girl almost fell out of her chair. She smiled as she saw people in the office and acknowledged them with a friendly nod. This was going to take some time she thought. First, I've developed bitchiness to an art form; second, too much improvement too quickly would come across as fake.

She neither saw, nor heard from Jim for several days. She sent him a thank you note, probably a little too formal, but the best she could muster. She thought about him a lot--too much. Her mind wondered back to the brief kisses they had shared. She saw him in the office once but was involved in an interview. By the time she could break away he had left.

She looked up at the light tap on her door. It was him. He was smiling. He looked really good today, she thought. Hell, he looks good every day.

"Do you have plans for lunch?" He asked.

"No, I've got nothing on the schedule until 1:30. What did you have in mind?"

"What do you know about Cuban food?" He inquired.

"Not much, I've never had it." She replied.

"Well, Joanne, you are in a city that is known for its Cuban food, I'm surprised that you haven't tried it. First it's not Mexican food, it's--oh, hell, grab your purse and you can find out first hand what it is." He said.

They walked out together to the now familiar, massive German automobile, and headed off toward the Cuban district.

When they arrived, they were seated quickly. There was an obvious air of recognition by the maitre de as they were whisked to a nice table near the window. Jim explained the menu. She chose a Pompano dish, stuffed with crab meat. The waiter brought a small pitcher of Sangria.

"Watch out for the Sangria, it sneaks up on you. I limit myself to two glasses. I've tried to recreate it, but never quite have been able to get it right." Jim said.

Joanne didn't really like Sangria, but this stuff was very different; it was like nectar from the gods. She smiled warmly and nodded her head appreciatively as she took her second sip.

The food came. It was astounding, like nothing she had ever eaten. Desert was Flan, another dish she had never really liked, but this was creamy, buttery and smooth and melted in her mouth. It was, in all respects a wonderful lunch. She started to grab the check and he stopped her.

"My treat, I invited you. You can pick up the tab next time." Jim said, firmly.

Their conversation had dwelled too long on work things. They chuckled about Buck. He told her Buck had decided to place a nice order with the company and had, more or less, indicated that Jim had a regular time slot with him on Tuesdays. Jim thanked her for her efforts in winning Buck over. They did not mention the horror show which had followed their day together.

Lunch was over too quickly. Jim drove her back to the office, and being the independent woman she was, she opened the door and started to step out.

"Joanne." He said, and she paused, turning back toward him. He continued. "This was fun. Let's do it again, soon. I really had a good time."

"Same here." She replied. "Next time it's my treat, but you need to pick the place, since the only restaurant I know is the hot dog place down the street."

"I love their hot dogs. That would be fine." He responded.

She walked back to the office, her feet barely touching the ground. It was a start, she thought. Is he just a friend? Is there any chance of something more? She hoped so.

She didn't see Jim for almost two weeks. He called her once to thank her for having lunch with him. She knew he was up in the Corporate HQ for several days. There was some big conference to which a handful of the top reps were invited. She was afraid that it meant another reorganization--people losing their jobs--and she was dreading it.

The following week Jim stuck his head in and they chatted briefly--far too briefly. He had an appointment and she had a counseling session. By the next time he graced her door it had been a month since the horror show.

She'd changed her hair style. She'd bought new clothes. Her workout and running regimen was working and she felt better physically than she had in some time. She looked better. She examined herself in the mirror that morning; she actually started to think she was looking pretty hot--or at least not dreadful. She was starting to win over more of the office staff. She still busted Dimwit's balls--he needed it--but saved her bitch routine for the pompous pricks who deserved it. She'd gotten a little sun at the pool at her condo. She actually looked like she belonged in Florida. She'd always tanned well and the bronze hues made her look younger and sexier.

On Wednesday Jim came by her office. She had really missed him. She hoped he had missed her on some level.

"Hey, West Texas Army brat, are you by any chance a fan of country music, real Texas country music?" He inquired.

"I love it. I grew up on it. Why do you ask?" She said, maybe with a little too much coyness.

"Well, you must have read the paper. Do you know who is playing a stadium concert Thursday night? 'King George' himself, one of my favorite artists of any genre." Jim responded.

It was Joanne's turn. "I love him, but it's a stadium concert and the only tickets I could find were so far back that you wouldn't even be able to see the stage It sold out almost immediately."

"If you're still interested, I've got two tickets and they're not that far back--pretty decent actually. Would you like to go?" Jim inquired.

Was this a, date? She hoped so. "I'd love to, what time?"

"Well, your condo is only ten minutes from the stadium. I thought we'd get there early and eat there. How about if I pick you up tomorrow between 6:30 and 6:45?" Jim said.

"Sound great." She responded, generally excited that he had asked her to go with him.

"You must have something in your closet that harkens back to your shit kicking days. Dress country, okay?" He quipped.

"I'll do it." She responded, realizing that she would need to go to the mall that evening to find something appropriately shit kicking.

That evening she bought some overpriced jeans, not Wranglers or Levis, but some $100 plus designer label. She looked good in them. She also found a classic embroidered blouse that said country all over it. She still had a decent pair of cowboy boots and a hat or two that would fit the bill. She went home to preview the outfit. She was pleased to note that the jeans hugged her firm ass like a glove and the blouse accentuated her tits. The jeans made her legs look longer. The hat she chose was just so damned cute she couldn't stand it. She looked good, she thought to herself, damned fuckable. Would that happen, tonight? She desperately hoped so.

Jim pulled up a hair after 6:30, not in the Benz, but in a big ass pickup truck. It was not one of those citified Japanese imitations. It was a man's truck--a working truck. She greeted him at the door and they walked to the truck. She let him open the door and help her up--it was quite a climb--into the cab. His hands on her hips sent electricity through her body.

As they drove off, she spoke. "Well you are a man of many surprises. Where'd this come from?"

Jim replied. "I've had it for years. It's great for hauling crap to the boat dock and such. You just can't show up for a concert like this in a foreign car."

He has a boat, or was it boats? What kind, she wondered, sail or speed boat? She hoped they wouldn't have to walk too far from wherever they could find parking. The jeans and boots she had chosen were not designed for long treks.

"You look great; that's a dynamite outfit. You'll fit in perfectly." He softly told her, not in a perfunctory manner, but with, what she thought--hoped--was genuine affection.

They motored past the traditional parking lots driving much closer to the stadium than she had expected. Jim hit his turn signal and turned into an entrance blocked with orange traffic cones and a very large scowling security guard. The security guard strutted over to the driver's window, prepared to order then to turn around.

Jim grabbed a large, gold plastic something from the visor and presented it to the guard. The guard's demeanor changed immediately, as he broke out in a broad smile.

"Good evening, sir!" The guard exclaimed, rushing back to move the orange cones so that they could enter the restricted area.

This same event occurred twice more as they worked their way through the tight security, with similar results. After the last vehicle barrier, actually a twelve foot, motorized double chain link gate, they were directed to a parking space that was actually closer to the stadium than the, 'King's tour bus. Wow, she thought, this guy has some juice; he must know somebody.

As they prepared to exit the truck, Jim reached over to the glove box and produced two gold colored, plastic affairs with a gold neck chain attached to each. It was not cheap, key chain painted gold; it appeared to be fourteen caret. He handed her one.

"Don't take it off even if you have to pee." He admonished, with a grin.

She looked at the pass before placing it around her neck. It had her name, vital statistics and even her picture. It clearly said it bold, laser engraved letters, 'back stage pass, access to all areas, event personnel'. He does know somebody; he's involved with a lot of charity and civic groups; maybe he called in a favor.

"Where'd you get my picture?" She inquired.

"I copied it off the company website." He replied.

They went through two more security sites and endured a perfunctory wanding. They approached the actual door to the stadium--clearly marked, "back stage access only". It was guarded by the biggest man she had ever seen wearing an equally huge Stetson. He had a well perfected scowl which said, "don't even think of fucking with me". To her surprise, as they approached Goliath, he broke out into a huge grin, yelled out, 'Jimbo' and left his post to embrace Jim in a huge bear hug.

"How the hell are you partner? It's been too damned long." The now gregarious guard exclaimed. "George is going to do that new song tonight, right after the traditional opener. It's a killer."

Jim introduced Joanne to the massive man and they were soon inside the darkened back stage area. Someone came up to them, glanced at the color of their passes and escorted them to a large room with a sumptuous buffet and full bar.

She scanned the room. There was the mayor. There was the friggin governor and a United States Senator. There were dozens of people she recognized, but she didn't exactly know who they were. A number of people looked up as they entered, and several shouted out Jim's name. Several moved toward them to say hello, pausing in their transit. The big man with the golden voice made a beeline for where Jim and Joanne were standing.

"Jim!" The king exclaimed, as one would greet a very good friend.

"George!" Jim replied, as the two exceptionally handsome men embraced in the kind of hug that men reserve for family and lovers.

Out of the corner of her eye, Joanne noted the expressions on the faces of several of the guests, who probably didn't have a clue who Jim was. He was obviously being very fondly greeted by the man--they knew damned well that he was someone special.

George was known to be reserved, almost courtly. He had more damned money than anyone in the business. With 35 number one hits, a mantle full of awards, his own label and more multi-platinum albums than any artist in history, he didn't owe anyone, other than his fans. He adored his fans and they adored him. This was not a casual greeting, but a greeting between very special friends.

"It's been too damned long, my friend. Thanks so much for coming. And who might this be?" George transitioned, turning toward her.

Jim introduced Joanne as a very special friend. George's big blue eyes twinkled. God, she thought, he's even more of a hunk in person. He graciously took her hand and gave her a tender hug. George was not a guy who hugged female fans, he was a pretty straight arrow. It was a sweet family hug, as if to say, you're with my friend. He said you were special. Therefore, you're special to me.

George began to speak softly. "Joanne, I've known this man a very long time; we go all the way back to the Army and Vietnam. I owe him more than my life, but certainly my life. I wouldn't be where I am today if he hadn't kicked my ass and made me go for it--not to mention giving me my first number one and my first song of the year. You take care of him, good, you hear? And try to get him to quit that stupid day job of his and write full time."

Turning back to Jim, he continued. "We had the new album in the can when I got your song. I had to pull all kinds of crap to get it on the album. I sure wish you writers would pay a little more attention to our recording schedules." George quipped, with mock irritation. "It's a winner. It'll go to the top. The downloaders and radio station play lists can't get enough of it. You done it again partner!"