Sara

This story is fiction, based on real people and real events in my life. It takes place in the pre-broadband era, ca. 1993.

*

Sara was a little butch, you know?

I don't mean she was a bull dyke, or anything, and I don't want to be thought of as judgmental about it. It's just that she had this disdain for men, dressed like a man, and generally just did not seem to radiate any femininity at all. She was also a little on the plump side, but overall not bad-looking. Even cute, in a strange sort of way.

Well, she and I were co-leads on a sizable computer project in a large IS department. We worked well enough together, even if the relationship was awfully formal. Then disaster struck, and things changed dramatically.

It was a Monday, and we had an implementation scheduled for the following weekend. That morning we heard the word - the contract firm that supplied the 4 programmers under us had gotten into a row with the head of our department, and had pulled all four of their contractors out that morning. That was a really stupid thing to do, because that firm will never do business with our agency again. Still, it left us understaffed and without time to train anyone new.

It was just Sara and me, and a couple of bodies we could co-opt to do grunt work. We were in for a loooong week.

Well, we were working 18-hour days and making great progress, when we got slammed again. Some idiots at the city power company took out the main downtown grid, no notice to anyone, and shut off the lights. Everything was dark. That was Friday evening, down to just Sara and me; and, even though we had the end in our sites, we had a solid day's worth of work still to do.

Fortunately - and this was the only silver lining - the mainframe we were working on was not downtown. It was at a data complex in another city. Since we had computers and modems at home, it wouldn't be that bad.

"Sara," I said, "I just want to make an offer here. I have two computers at home, and two phone lines. You're welcome to come work at my place, since we sort of need to be in the same room at the same time."

She hesitated. "Okay," she finally said. She had seen the logic in the offer, I suppose.

We drove to my home - separately - and got busy. It actually worked out pretty well, since I could set up my computers at the kitchen table, and we could talk to each other without yelling over a few cubicle walls.

About 2am, she started nodding off. I walked around to her side of the table and touched her arm. She jumped as if shot.

"Just me," I said as soothingly as I could. "You fell asleep."

She grumbled something unintelligible. I assumed she was arguing with me.

"Get on the couch," I commanded. When she resisted, I got very firm. "On the couch. You're not doing us any good right now, and if you're this tired you might screw something up. Get some sleep."

She glared at me, but it was a half-hearted glare. She was genuinely tired, and I suspect she was more than happy to lie down. She stretched out on the couch. I got a spare pillow and a blanket, and got her situated. "Aren't you the domestic one," she mumbled, and started snoring.

I sat at my terminal, started a job, and then dropped into my recliner. I figured a few minutes rest would be all that I needed.

I awoke at 9am to the smell of fresh coffee.

I was a little disoriented. I lived alone, and had for three years, since my wife died. I got up and saw Sara at the table.

"Hi," she said, sounding chipper and a little nervous. "I took the liberty of making some coffee."

"No, no, that's great," I said - or rather slurred. I'm not much good without my morning caffeine. "How long have you been up?"

"About an hour," she replied.

I excused myself to the bathroom. When I came back, there was coffee poured and waiting. Sara gave me a rundown on how things were going. All in all, we were doing well. I fixed us some breakfast, and we ate as we worked.

Suddenly, I chuckled in spite of myself.

"What's so funny?" Sara demanded.

"Nothing," I replied. "It's just... well, it's been a long time since I had breakfast with a beautiful woman." I instantly regretted saying that.

Sara got a little prickly. "I certainly hope you realize this is strictly business," she said icily.

"Of course," I said. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't help reminiscing. My wife and I used to sit in exactly the spots you and I occupy now."

"Oh," she said, softening a little. "So, where is she now?"

I looked at her for a moment, considering. "She died," I finally answered. "Three years ago. She was diagnosed with advanced ovarian cancer one day, and within a month she was dead."

Sara rested her face in her right hand. "I feel like such a bitch," she mumbled.

"Don't," I said. "It was just a pleasant... oh, I don't know. A little rush of nostalgia."

We worked on for a while. Out of the blue, she said, "No one has said that to me in a very long time."

I was concentrating on something at that moment, and I was confused. "I'm sorry? What was that?"

"I said, no one has said anything like that to me in a very long time." She was speaking softly.

I was still confused. "Said what to you?"

"Nothing," she said, blushing.

"No, no, I'm sorry, I really don't get it. Please, tell me," I implored. I hoped I wasn't begging.

"Well," she started, "no one has said the words 'beautiful woman' to refer to me in - well, probably never."

I fought back the urge to take her hand. "Oh, but it's true," I grinned.

Before I could say more, she said, "Well, back to this crap."

About an hour later, she announced, "I think it's working. I think it's working!" We checked her results, and, sure enough, the implementation seemed to be behaving itself.

I came to her side of the table and sat. I entered some information, and it kept working. We appeared to be closing in on the end.

Finally, she exulted, "YES!" and put her arm around me. I turned toward her, and our faces were oh, so close...

...and I kissed her. Gently at first, and with little response; but then she kissed back, and soon we were in a passionate lip lock.

We broke the kiss after a few moments. She blushed and turned away. I went back to my side of the table, and we worked for another half-hour.

Finally I stood and stretched. "Well," I announced, "I have submitted that last batch job. It will run for at least an hour. If you will excuse me, I am going to get a shower. I feel grungy."

"I need one, myself," she said distractedly, still gazing at her screen.

I went into the bathroom and got into the shower stall. I turned the water on, hot but not blistering, and felt the tensions easing.

I heard a tap on the stall door. It opened a little, and there stood Sara. Naked, bath cloth in hand. "Mind if I join you?" she asked meekly. Without waiting for an answer, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

While the water ran over us, we gazed into one another's eyes. Then we allowed our eyes to roam over each other's bodies, taking in the curves, warts, and imperfections, all of it. We embraced and resumed our earlier kiss. We said not a word as we soaped one another's various parts, paying special attention to those that interested us most.

We got out and dried off. As we stood there in yet another embrace, she asked, a trifle theatrically, "Whatever shall we do now?"

"Well," I replied, "I was thinking, if you have no pressing plans this afternoon, we could... oh, I don't know, make love, maybe?"

She put her lips right into my ear and whispered, "Okay."

I took her hand and led her into my bedroom. Now, I'm no neat freak, but I keep my place pretty decent. I had just changed the bedclothes last weekend and hadn't slept in them for more than a few hours since. She dropped her towel and crawled between the sheets. I followed her.

We lay there for a while, just exploring bodies, touching, rubbing, kissing, enjoying. She really did have a nice body, plump though it was. Nice firm breasts, sensitive nipples, wispy pubic hair.

We kissed again and again, our tongues playing tag, our bodies molding themselves to one another. I gently squeezed her breasts, playing with her nipples, delighted with how she moaned every time I caressed them. I moved my head into position and suckled like a little baby. She was definitely hot.

I moved a little further south, kissing the flat of her abdomen, then moved lower. She arched, and I found myself looking directly at her pussy. I planted a kiss on those lips as well.

"Are you... going... to eat me?" she gasped.

"Well," I replied, inserting my tongue and removing it a couple of times, "I thought I might." With that, I stuck my tongue in as far as I could, and found her pleasure pearl. She writhed as though in pain.

"So good," she moaned, "so good..."

I went to work in earnest. I used my best technique -- rusty though it was -- and within a few minutes she was gasping in orgasmic delight. She didn't scream, I was happy to hear.

"Incredible," was all she could say, after a few minutes. I had repositioned myself next to her.

"You sure are," I said, idly massaging her right breast.

When she recovered a little, she sat up and began nervously moving south to my member. She sniffed, and put her tongue on it. "You've never done this before, have you?" I asked.

"No," she replied. "Never really had a chance."

"Don't do anything that makes you uncomfortable," I told her.

"When you come, there's a lot of gooey semen. Right?" she asked.

"Correct."

"And I'm supposed to swallow it?" She was definitely nervous at this point.

"Sara, I told you, don't do anything that you don't feel right about," I reassured her.

"Just warn me, okay?" She took as much as she could into her mouth, and sucked diligently.

When I felt my time getting close, I said, "Sara, you'd better stop."

She immediately stopped and lay beside me again. I kissed her deeply, and moved into position over her. Her legs parted as though by instinct, and I sank into her in one quick motion.

"Ahh," she gasped, "you fill up... all the right places... feels good..."

I began to move in and out slowly, gently, and picked up speed. She began to gasp in that orgasmic way of hers, signaling that she was near. I picked up the pace, and as she erupted in quiet ecstasy again, I filled her insides with as much spunk as I had.

Afterward, as was my habit when my wife was alive, I took a hand towel and tucked it gently under her nether parts, so she wouldn't experiencing a 'wet spot'. We lay there, her head on my shoulder, enjoying the sweet afterglow of much-needed loving. She gave a deep, shuddering sigh.

We'd been laying there quietly for several minutes, when she spoke. "Tell me," she said, "people at work think I'm a dyke, don't they?"

"Some do, " I said. "I'm obviously not one of them. Especially not now," I chuckled.

She repositioned herself and said, "I'm serious. You did think so before, didn't you?"

I shrugged. "Not really. None of my business, anyway. I guess I figured that if you were, it was a waste of a perfectly cute woman, as far as men go."

She scowled. "Cute? Come on, I can't believe that. That 'beautiful' crack this morning - if I hadn't been so starved for attention, I probably would have walked out on you right then. Maybe I should now. I hate being lied to," she finished, sitting upright as if to get out of bed.

I grabbed her arm, gently so as not to appear threatening. "Sara, when I said 'beautiful' and 'cute', I meant it. I didn't want to get into this - I still don't, really - but you remind me of my wife a little."

"You mean she was a fat slob, too?" She was definitely back into hostile mode, but she didn't shake my arm off.

"No," I said, "she wasn't a fat slob, and neither are you. Don't give me that shit. Listen, a year before she died, Diana was about your size. I loved her the way she was. If you don't believe me," I continued, releasing her arm, "go open the closet. I still have her old clothes. Go on, see for yourself."

She looked at me for a moment, then arose and padded over to the closet. I heard a small gasp as she pulled outfit after outfit that would have fit her perfectly. "These are beautiful," I heard her saying softly. She turned, holding one up to her. "These are some of the prettiest things I've ever seen."

She was silent for a moment, then came and sat on the bed. "She had very good taste, didn't she? In clothes and in men."

I smiled. "My turn to say 'thank you.' Anyway, yes, her taste in clothing was quite good."

She looked thoughtful for a moment. "There are smaller things in there, too. Did she get big, or get small?"

"About a year before she died, " I said, "she decided she had to lose the weight. She started visiting the gym three times a week, and eating a high-fiber diet. The weight started pouring off of her. We thought she had found a 'magic bullet' of some sort."

"It was the cancer, wasn't it?" Sara asked.

"It ate her insides," I replied. "But the cancer alone didn't get her. She was stubborn. She stopped having periods about that time, and I stayed on her ass to go to the doctor. Only when she woke up one morning about 4 am, unable to bear the pain in her belly, did she allow me to take her to the ER. Her doctor told me she might have made it, if she had come in six months earlier. But, she didn't care about herself that much. In a way, I guess she didn't care about me, either, or maybe she would've. I don't think about it that way. It would kill me.

"The good news, " I concluded, "is that it prevented her from conceiving. We wanted kids - I did, at least - but that shit had been working on her for a long time, and we just didn't know it."

"You're awfully matter-of-fact about all of this," she said, wiping a tear.

Again I shrugged. "I don't know what good it would do to get upset. I've moved on with my life. I miss her, to be sure - but she's gone. It is as it is. Nowadays, I really miss having a warm body in bed with me." I took her hand and smiled. "That was as much a part of our lovemaking as my own orgasm was."

She blushed. After a moment she scooted over next to me, looked me in the eye and said, "So you think I'm cute? Really?"

"I wouldn't have said it, otherwise."

"I guess I've tried to make myself unattractive to men. I haven't had a lot of luck along those lines," she said, a trifle bitterly. I waited, and she continued. "I was a little on the chubbins side in high school. All my girlfriends were getting their cherries popped around me, and I was the lone holdout. None of the guys wanted to be with me."

She stopped and dabbed another tear. I had uncorked repressed resentments and sorrow, and I decided just to let her unburden herself.

She composed herself a bit, and said, "In college I started to lose the baby fat. Finally. In my sophomore year I finally had a date with a stud. He was on the basketball team. I let him seduce me on our first date. It was pretty much wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am. I was in the bathroom cleaning up, and I heard him, on the phone -- on my phone - telling some of his shit friends he had nailed me on the first date, and so he won the bet. I never let him know I knew. I just showed him out, sat down with a tub of ice cream, and told the world to go get fucked."

I suspected she had cried that night, because she was doing so now. I lay back, and pulled her into a reclining position with me. She buried her face in my shoulder and sobbed. I rubbed her head, her back, her butt. She threw one of her legs over mine.

After a few moments, the crying subsided. "So," I said, gently, "leaking from both ends, now, are we?"

She lifted her head and looked at me quizzically. I answered the unasked question. "Your eyes and your pussy. They're leaking all over me."

She stared for a moment. "It's a joke, silly," I said, and kissed her square on the lips.

That broke the tension. She laughed for a moment, and put her head back on my shoulder.

We were silent for a time. Then, she very timidly asked, "So, was I pretty good?"

"The best," I answered. "I enjoyed you thoroughly. Wouldn't mind doing so again."

She rolled onto her back, pulled my face close to hers, and kissed me very tenderly. "Then have some more," she murmured. "Have as much as you want."

And I did.

==========

Epilogue

This all happened about fifteen years ago. We began seeing each other regularly. She asked to try on some of my late wife's clothes, which were decidedly feminine. She asked if she could have some of them; I told her she could, but they had to stay with the house.

She got the hint. She moved in within a month.

To say a bomb went off at work would be an understatement. As George Carlin once said, "Caught them cats nappin', man."

Life, as they say, is gooood. I never thought I could replace Diana, and I know I never really will; but Sara has carved out her own separate niche in my heart. She became my wife, and has given me three beautiful children. We have a terrific life together.

We make love at the drop of a panty, and she's forever making our sex life interesting. I know she loves me, and that counts for more than I can explain.

And she makes a dress look spectacular.