Taking The Next Step

Note: Folks, this story is going to take a while to get there. Hope the payoff is worth it. Let me know. This one is from the heart. I was going to break it up into 2 parts -- one for the divorce, one for falling in love... but I didn't.

*

Dammit, it's just never gonna happen, I thought to myself as I drove to the office. I can't seem to figure out if this girl is interested in me. I've been single now for months, and despite some calls and emails from other women, I couldn't get Nashey out of my mind.

Nashey was a co-worker and had been one of my main pillars of support during my divorce. Along with my best friend, Steve, she'd counseled me that my view of living in misery the rest of my life for the sake of my daughter just wasn't a good idea. My wife just hadn't seemed to like me for years and the affection had drained out of our relationship.

I'd gone to individual counseling about the situation and even considered going on medication to deal with the feeling about being hollow and unloved. And, our sex life... I literally went about the last 2 years of the marriage seeing either a disgusted or apologetic look whenever I brought up the idea of anything remotely sexual. The previous three or so years had been no piece of cake, either, with the sex diminishing to the point where it was on birthdays and maybe major holidays. Setting the sex aside, we just hadn't been on the same page for years, but the rejection I'd felt in bed every night was killing me.

I'd suggested marriage counseling numerous times but she didn't bite. So, I gave my wife a deadline of 6 months for things to improve - a timeline I'd picked with help from Nashey and Steve.

Steve was actually rooting for my marriage -- and was convinced the deadline would change things - because he was trapped in a similar situation and told me openly he liked the fact I could understand his suffering. Of course, Steve had confessed to trying to score with waitresses and strippers - his attitude was if his wife wasn't going to give it to him, he would get it somewhere else. I made it clear I didn't feel the same way. I'd explained to him years earlier and then repeatedly that, as a son of a twice-divorced mom, the last thing I was going to do was cheat on my wife.

Or, get divorced. I was not going to put my daughter through what I had gone through: all the drama, the yelling and the screaming, the threat of going to court to 'pick sides', hearing open discussions of child support, the years of feeling pulled one way or another, the various subtle attempts at what they'd now term 'parental alienation,' not being able to stand being in the same room with them when they'd meet infrequently at various occasions over the years -- to the point where I'd termed a picture of my parents, sister and myself "Years of Therapy."

The deadline came with no movement at all, not even a willingness to go to counseling. I told her that, at 37, I was just not willing to live the rest of my life like that. She argued her parents had done it.

I replied, just look at them the next time we're over there. Your dad has looked miserable for years, they're sniping at each other, you've even suspected he's hit her a few times - they've stayed together but they're the very advertisement for not staying together for the kids. You think kids can't sense the misery? You and your siblings sensed theirs!

I don't want my daughter growing up even a loveless home, but I don't want her to be the excuse either way -- for staying together or splitting up. I can't take it anymore. You've seen me gain a ton of weight, lose interest in politics, music, even in sports, I don't want to die at 40 having lived in misery for the last 6 or so years of our 13 year marriage. I cannot live the rest of my life like this, and it isn't fair to you, either. For whatever reason, you don't want me anymore. You deserve happiness, too, it's not like I hate you.

It was awful, it was hard, there was a brutal night of so many tears and arguments and even begging... the blood from two broken hearts was right out on the floor of the living room. I think I still have a little PTSD from thinking about it.

We came up with a plan to tell our daughter and were both relieved when she took it well about a month later -- I'd stayed in the house that whole time (a process I recommend but certainly didn't enjoy). She was even excited about having 2 homes. I didn't know whether it would last and we both pledged to always put her first, and to get along so well she'd never feel the pain we'd just revealed to each other.

Steve ended up stabbing me in the back. Well, I guess Marie, his wife, did. I was supposed to stay with him when I moved out. But, he told me the night I was supposed to go there, he just couldn't do it. Marie was all over him: "You have him over here, you guys will get to chatting, and the next thing I know you'll be out the door!" It was funny because if not for my influence, he never would have married her. I told him at the time she was too good for him and if he weren't such an idiot, he would propose to her instead of breaking up with her. But, no gratitude.

Luckily, Nashey let me sleep in her living room for a couple of days. It helped to have someone to talk to but I l knew I had to get my own place. Things with my 'ex' would be terrible if she thought I'd cheated on her. And it was time to have a little space and do some self-examination.

In the ensuing months, I did get back on my feet. I focused on my job. Nashey ended up working with me as a team in the office, along with an intern. We all became friends and had lunch together nearly every day. I focused on my health, cutting down on the ice cream and cheese. Started going to the gym more. Not to the point where I was Mr. Universe, but to the point where I didn't feel exhausted walking up the stairs in the parking garage. I got lasik surgery, something I'd put off for years, went shopping with Nashey for some new clothes and eventually changed my 20-year-old hairstyle by putting a small amount of gel up there. In short, in a few months I was looking better, and not like a fat geek at all.

I started hanging out with Nashey more and more outside of work. I'd go to her home, she'd come to my place and we'd watch basketball or MMA together. I really enjoyed getting together for big games or fights and sipping a cocktail with her. I'd give her advice on her love-life. I even tried setting her up with someone I knew from one of my meetings. I didn't work out. But, one day when I saw them together, I felt a huge surge of jealousy.

I ignored that feeling and felt incredibly guilty about it for days. The guy turned out to be a bit of a cold fish and then a jerk. So I felt responsible -- I'd recommended him when I hadn't known him THAT well. We had dinner one night at Souper Salad -- of all places - and she I noticed her looking at me closely.

Mike, she said, kind of out of nowhere, I felt at one point you weren't rooting for that relationship to succeed. I almost coughed up my lemonade. I explained that I just didn't like how he was treating her, that she deserved the best and that I didn't want her to settle for less. She said, looking in my eyes, and patting me sympathetically on the hand, "That's not what I meant. " I sat there in silence a while. I was busted and she knew it.

But, what could I say? I owned up to it. "Nashey, I think you're awesome and you've been a great friend. Part of me I guess hoped someday we'd have a change together. But I know I'm being an idiot: you like tall, robust, athletic men of color. I'm 5'9", I'm 5 years older than you, I'm not in great shape, I'm... white." She was biracial -- black and Mexican. She'd only dated one white guy and it hadn't worked out very well. Plus, she was waaaaay too good looking for me to date. I didn't think I had the confidence to be with her. Never mind sleeping with her.

I started to picture the two of us together as I was talking. She put her hand on mine again: "You look anxious. Nothing to be nervous about, Mike, I just wanted to let you know that I'd not blind and could sense what was going on. I'm flattered and don't worry about it. It doesn't have to change anything."

We laughed about it and moved on. She started complimenting me as I took off some weight and showed up looking better. However, she chided me on not dating anyone. I wasn't ready, I explained, but the real reason was I didn't want to settle either. It had been 15 years since I'd slept with someone other than my ex. I wanted to get it right the first time. I realize some guys would've jumped the first thing that looked at them twice, but that wasn't my way.

About a year went by. We'd go to ballgames together, I took for her out for a birthday lunch with her friends, met her family. I guess looking back on it, it was like dating without the pressure, but also without the romance.

Every time I walked around with her, I felt like a millionaire. Beautiful skin, beautiful hair, beautiful smile and personality. I started noticing my heart rate speeding up as I drove over to her house. I thought I might be falling in love.

Which.... Was ridiculous. She'd say no, I'd be hurt, the friendship would never be the same. Plus I was worried my ex might somehow think I'd cheated on her if we got together -- even if it had been a year.

Well, one night I ended up having a couple extra drinks while watching a championship boxing match. I ended up staying the night. Her brother had taken her extra bed. So I slept on the couch. We'd gotten quite close to each other during the bout -- eventually our legs ended up intertwined on the ottoman. I went to bed rock-hard. When I got up in the morning to shower, I was still hard, it seemed. I took a shower and went home.

About a month later, the same thing happened. We ended up spending more and more time on the phone, and emailing. Talking about sports, music, guys her friends were dating, and politics. I'd majored in poli sci and had kept up on politics over the years. We were both somewhat liberal -- probably she was a bit more liberal than me. Despite my views, I tried hard always to neutrally analyze the various presidential contenders. I thought Obama had a real chance the first time I saw him in a debate, she liked him but thought America might not be ready for him. Living in Arizona, we both also liked McCain but weren't sure about a President McCain. So, we spent a lot of time watching CNN, MSNBC and FOX.

I started getting the impression somehow that she might be interested in me. This thought didn't comfort me much -- because I kept arguing myself out of it. I'll admit I might have stroked myself off a few nights while thinking of her. But I also wondered how the sex might be, I'd only been with a few girls, I didn't have a giant dick and she liked guys who were built like professional athletes. One of them had been a professional athlete, in the minor leagues!

One Friday night, we were supposed to go to the movies. But we'd had an argument about a client and then one thing led to another we were both still at the office at 7:30. We were both in a bad mood. She abruptly got all her notebooks and files together and announced she was getting out of there. I sat there in misery. We were supposed to go out tonight, what was I doing arguing with her about this client? I checked my email and looked at what was on TV that night -- nothing promising. Well, maybe I could have a light dinner at hit the gym.

She stuck her head in my office door: "Well, are you coming?" She giggled as I jumped up -- it was like winning the lottery or getting clemency while walking to my execution. We grabbed some quick Mexican food, saw the movie and then headed back to her place. We'd taped Friday night fights. We each had a drink but I was determined not to get too much of a buzz. The whole evening was electric and exciting. She looked fantastic and her curls in particular stood out.

She had a great figure and her simple yellow, striped shorts and t-shirt were taking a serious toll on my hormones. During the fight, I put my arm over her shoulders. She leaned into me, then looked up. I smiled: "Is this OK?" Yes, she said, it was fine. I gave her arm a squeeze. I was glad I was wearing jeans, because otherwise I'd have made a tent in my shorts.

When the fight was over, it was past midnight. She said: "Mike, I can't have you sleeping on the couch each time like this, why don't you sleep in my bed? If you're uncomfortable, I have an air mattress. I've been a bad hostess. I could at least blow that up for you."

"No, your bed sounds really good."

Unfortunately, I couldn't keep cool about it and I blushed... really, deeply blushed when I heard what I'd said.

She looked at me: "I thought you might say that. Let me rinse off first, it's been a long day. You can do the same when I'm done. Just knock before you come in the bedroom."

Done, and done. I wanted to take the quickest shower of all time, but somehow slowed down. I wasn't sure what would happen, but my dick maybe knew otherwise. I mumbled to him at some point "Look, if I walk in there with you like this, I might scare her off." So I turned the water cooler and eventually, painfully he went down.

I got into boxer shorts and a white t-shirt -- I always kept a change of clothes in my car just in case I spilled something on myself at lunch or whatever... but also in case this ever happened. I tried to be as casual as I could when I walked in the room.

There was a dim light from a lamp by the bed, and a candle was lit. She was laying on the bed, her head actually near the railing at the foot of the bed, watching Comedy Central, propped up a little on a pillow. She looked - astonishing. Her curls were glistening softly in the light from the TV. Her eyes were alive with sparkles, her dimples were showing as she gave me a big grin.

"Come here and lie down and relax. Let's watch a little TV before we turn in." One show led to another. My arm rested for a while on her back. My heart was pounding and I felt almost a roaring in my ears... and in my groin. I shifted umcomfortably a couple of times.

Finally, she turned the TV off. We shifted to the top of the bed, then she turned away from me. I couldn't believe I was finally seeing her ass without some pants or shorts over it. Couldn't have been happier with what I saw. She was wearing ivory panties with little ridges or something on them -- lines ran around her hips. And what hips! I had always been a lover of booty and hers was something to behold.

But I paused for a moment as my heart caught in my throat. Did I have the courage for this? I was sure I wasn't reading things incorrectly, but a lot was riding on this. I cleared my throat and she turned her head in my direction a little, then she turned over. "Why don't you turn the other way, we probably won't be able to sleep with us facing each other?" For a moment, I was crushed, I thought I'd mis-read everything. But I mumbled, sure, and turned over.

I paused. "Would it be alright if you put your arm around me?" She said, yes, and we lay there for a bit like that, her hand over my arm and resting just between my chest and stomach. It felt great. Just great. I could feel myself hardening again. And either she smelled terrific or the candle was working overtime. Eventually I said, by now getting some confidence, "Let's turn the other way."

She shifted and I shifted in almost record time, causing a lot of movement on the bed. She laughed. I laughed. I put my arm around Nashey. Even now, more than a year later, I look back with wonder on that moment. My hand sliding over her, resting on her arms and feeling the warmth of her breasts. Feeling her chest rise and fall with each breath. I was in paradise, and wanted it to last forever.

Luckily for both of us, apparently I'd grown a third ball, because I moved my mouth to the back of her neck and parted her curls briefly with my hand, then brought my hand back, now on her breasts instead of her arms and breasts. I gently and slowly ran my hand over her globes and was a bit surprised to feel the size of them. Between a D and DD, I later discovered, but she's always dressed conservatively so I'd had no idea... I would've guessed maybe a C if pressed.

I began blowing on the back of her neck, lightly, bringing my mouth closer and closer to her until my lips were resting on her neck. Then, in a delicious moment, I simultaneously kissed her for the first time -- right there on the back of her beck. And I felt her heart beating faster with my hand on her breast. My hand dipped down, then slid up the front of her sheer top. I cupped my hand over her tits and gave them a squeeze. I sucked a little on her neck and heard a groan. I moved my hand down to the bottom of her breasts and my fingertips caressed the top of her belly. A moan this time. "Mike..."

I kissed the back of her neck repeatedly and moved a little to the side. It was like a drug and I was an addict. At some point my dick surged and swelled and felt almost painfully large, like it could cut glass. All seven inches strained against the boxer briefs. I used all of my willpower and held him back, just off her ass for a moment.

"Take your top off, " I said.

She didn't turn around, but sat up and took it off, showing me her gorgeous, flawless back. I slid mine off, too. Both of us were still wearing underclothes. I wanted to peel her panties off myself if it came to that.

Part of me still couldn't believe this was happening. Part of me was still a little nervous about satisfying her properly. But the overwhelming feeling was that it was right.

We lay back down. Same position, but this time when I came in with my arm around her, I kissed her back and pressed my cock up against her ass. Another moan. Fuck. "Nashey, I've wanted you so badly. I'm in love you with you. I think I've been in love with you for months now. I want you now." My hand was now gliding down over her belly, to the top of her panty line. I playfully snapped at the thin mildly elastic ridge at the top while pressing against her back. Kissing the back of her neck again, I slowly kissed down her back. My hand by then had briefly grazed her pussy and I felt a healthy amount of juices. I felt some pre-cum ooze out of me.

A few thoughts poured through me: (1) this is really happening; (2) she has a great body and I can tell she'll be a great lover because of her sensuality and response (3) don't... fuck... this... up! This last thought caused me to soften, well, slightly, which was really for the best because I wasn't 100% sure either of us were totally emotionally ready for that, although clearly our bodies were screaming for it, both of us experiencing the release of months of what I now realized was mutual lust.

My brain again with some conflicting things: flip her over over over over, this is right, take her now, her pussy is wet and her juices are so sweet and fragrant, now now now, get inside now, she's so ripe and ready for it. Taste her. Go ahead and get her flavor. My cock agreed, going to full strength. That part of me won out for the time being. I gripped her hip and pushed her onto her back, then climbed over her lower body so my head was at her tits. They were gorgeous and I paused ever so briefly to admire her beauty. "Mike... uh.... Mike... fuck."

I moved up and kissed her on the lips. I almost came right then. Suddenly, a pause. She gently pushed me off her. Then the words that almost killed me: "We probably shouldn't be doing this... (she panted, trying to catch her breath)... no kissing." But we almost immediately resumed what we were doing. She was a GREAT kisser, the best, softest, wettest lips ever. She bit my lips lightly. I moved back.