The Crush

During my high school years I attended a large downtown church, where I was an active member of the Senior High youth group.

We were a pretty good bunch of kids and didn't have any problems with having leaders not much older than we were. In fact, we felt they were more in tune with our generation, more so than the older leaders we had in the past. Our leaders during my junior and senior years were a young newlywed couple, Mike and Elizabeth Miller, both in graduate school.

Let me tell you, I had a major crush on Mr. Miller. He could play basketball with the boys and also listen to our girl problems, offering advice about growing up, and a shoulder we could cry on when it was hard to cope with growing up. Whenever we broke up into teams I managed to be on his team. When we did skits I managed to get a part in a scene he was in. Understand, I didn't hang all over him, or anything like that, but in retrospect, I guess everyone could tell how it was. I would never admit it at the time, however.

After graduation I went to college and fell in love. We got married right after graduation. I got a job in marketing with a company in Chicago while my new husband attended law school. After he graduated he found an entry position with a local firm. I still made an hour and a half commute to work so Robert could work locally. This caused a little friction between us, as I thought we should move halfway between our jobs. There were other early warning signs of trouble ahead over the issue of starting a family, but we were passionate for each other and so glossed these things over.

A couple of years later he got an offer to join a large firm in Washington, DC. That caused a major rift in our marriage, as I was on my way up in my company and loved my work, but he wanted to get a better position, too. My company didn't have an office in DC, so I would have to give up everything if we moved. I know that it sounds selfish of me, but that wasn't the only problem. We had known for some time that Robert always wanted kids while I was very career-minded and definitely did not. We had been seeing a marriage counselor about that already when the job issue came up. Eventually we decided to amicably split. I had worked to put him through law school, and he did appreciate it, but he was not willing to make any sacrifices for me. After we split I moved into the city, where I bought an apartment. That cut my commuting time and cost considerably.

As part of my marketing job my company sends me around the country to various conferences and conventions, usually accompanied by a colleague. I design all the visual presentations we make for our company display in the exhibition halls during the conferences. My co-worker and I then take turns staffing the exhibit booth, answering questions about the company, and selling our services. Often I attended some of the technical sessions and seminars to keep up with where the industry is headed. We always try to be ahead of other companies when it came to new ideas and approaches.

The largest of the conventions we work at every year is the annual Amalgamated Technologies meeting, which drew several thousand participants from all over the world. Each year the event is in a different city around the country. One year the conference was held right here in Chicago. I attended all the seminars I could, and wandered around the exhibition hall, talking to other exhibitors when I wasn't at our own display. This conference was a source of many new business contacts that, hopefully, would turn into contracts for us.

Late Thursday afternoon I found my schedule empty for the last of the sessions, and my colleague was holding down the fort at our display, so I headed to the hotel bar to unwind before heading home. The bar was crowded, but I spied a vacant seat, the only one left at the bar, so I took it, and struck up a conversation with the man next to me. I knew he was attending the conference by the company name tag he wore. He said that his company sent him to this conference every year, but this was his first trip to the windy city, as it was the first time the conference had ever been held in Chicago. We introduced ourselves and exchanged business cards; I thought there was something familiar about the name on his, but that often happens -- I mean you often run into people who remind you of other people.

As we chatted I learned that he was widowed and had a six year old daughter. He was proud to show me pictures of his little girl. Apparently his wife died in a terrible traffic accident, where her car was T-boned by a drunk driver. His wife was killed instantly, but the little girl, then a baby, in the back seat, had suffered only minor physical injuries. That was almost five years ago. He worked hard to provide for his daughter, and he missed her when he was away, but she was in good hands staying with his late wife's parents for the week. We also discovered that we had once lived in the same city, and quizzed each other about people and places we knew, looking for common connections. He mentioned the church he attended while he was in graduate school. I said that I attended there also.

All of a sudden it hit me. I looked at his card again, gasped and put my hands to my mouth in surprise.

"Oh my god -- you're that Mike Miller - our youth counselor!"

A look of recognition suddenly appeared on is face. "Your name, Martie Jackson, threw me. You used to be Martie Waggoner, didn't you?"

"I'm really sorry to hear about Elizabeth. I liked her a lot. I remember that she had a special connection with the junior high girls. The boys -- well you may have noticed what they thought."

"Thanks. I know you cared about her. I know everyone in the group liked her."

We were silent for a moment. "I had a major crush on you, you know"

He laughed. "Everybody in the group knew."

"Was it that obvious?" I laughed, too. "Look, Mike, I am attending the conference, too, but actually live here in Chicago. Why don't you come over to my place tonight and I'll cook you a real meal."

"That sounds terrific, Martie. Restaurant food gets tiresome after awhile. I'm not a bad cook, but at home I even get tired of my own cooking."

I gave him my address, and told him it was only a short cab ride. We arranged for him to get there around 7:00 PM.

I flew home to start dinner preparations, stopping to pick up a bottle of a nice red wine I liked and some fancy bread. There was no time to change clothes. Everything had to be perfect. Dinner had to be something fast to make, yet something that would show well. I decided on fettuccini Alfredo and a nice salad, accompanied by the wine. What to put on the table? A candlelight dinner would seem to be pushing it a bit, so I found some decorative items to use as a centerpiece. There was just enough time to touch up makeup before he would be here. Why did I tell him 7:00 instead of 7:30?

At the appointed time the bell rang, and as I opened the door I was presented with a bouquet of flowers. Not roses, but a nice colorful, tasteful bouquet. I let him in, and gave him a quick tour of my place, except for my bedroom. I had gotten off late that morning and hadn't made my bed, so I kept my bedroom door closed. I had done fairly well for myself and was proud of my home. The flowers now became the table centerpiece.

I have been told that I am a good cook, and he seemed to enjoy the meal, and complimented my wine choice. After we ate we went to the living room area and sat on the sofa to talk, taking the remains of the bottle of wine with us. I laughed to myself as I noticed that I was still sitting rather close to him. As we chatted I poured two more glasses of the red wine.

I proposed a toast to our mutual business success, and we clinked glasses together. What happened next was something quite bizarre. My wine glass broke. It must have had a scratch in it or something, I don't know, but the bowl of it actually shattered. Isn't it funny how sometimes things happen and you seem to see them in slow motion? The wine from my glass seemed suspended in the air before falling. He jerked his glass back and wine sloshed out of it as well. In an instant we were both soaked down the front of our shirts all the way to our laps.

I jumped up and surveyed the damage.

"This is my best blouse, and it will be ruined if I don't get it cleaned right away. Your clothes will probably stain also if we don't clean them!"

I rushed toward my bedroom and called over my shoulder that I was going to have to change, and would need to attend to the stains immediately.

"Your clothes will need it too. Take them off and I'll do them all at the same time. I'll get you something to wear until the laundry is finished."

I could see him start to remove his shirt as I closed the bedroom door to change.

I couldn't believe the extent of the wine soaking. I must have poured the glasses really full. It penetrated everything. "The wine even soaked through to my underwear," I called through the closed door. "I suspect it did the same to you. Take everything off. Here is something you can put on while the clothes are washed. Not fancy, but I think you won't feel too girly in them. There are towels in the closet next to the guest bathroom that you can use to clean up. When you're finished just put your clothes on top of the washer." I cracked the bedroom door open and handed out a pair of thin black rayon workout pants with a white stripe down the leg and a drawstring waist that seemed like they might fit, and an old tee shirt that was too large for me. The tee shirt said 'Chicago Cubs' on the front. I heard him laugh as he saw it.

I removed my underwear and had to decide what to put on. I thought about a red lounging outfit I sometimes wear when I have girlfriends over for the evening. The outfit consisted of elastic waist long pants, a matching button front top, and a light matching robe that tied around the waist. It is really comfortable, made of nice, smooth satin that feels oh, so good on the skin. I feel luxurious when I wear it. In my haste to attend to my stained blouse and skirt I didn't take the time (or was it on purpose?) to put on a bra. I have done that often, and with my girlfriends it didn't matter. I didn't think twice about it, after all there was the robe as an extra layer.

After I tied the robe around myself I rushed out to the washer with all my stained articles, underwear included. Mike's clothing, including purple-stained underwear, was piled on top of the washer. I grabbed my stain treatment liquid and set to work rubbing it into the fabric. As I treated Mike's underwear I thought about when I used to do that for Robert.

My mind was totally absorbed by the task at hand, although at one point I thought I heard Mike doing something in the kitchen. After I got everything into the washer I headed to the living room, and got there just as he entered from the kitchen.

"Holy cow! Martie!"

I twirled around. "Do you like my outfit? I bought it about a year ago, and it's very comfortable to wear in the evenings while watching TV."

"You look stunning. You sure aren't the 17 year old girl I remember!"

I went into the kitchen for two more wine glasses. He had indeed cleaned up the kitchen, and apparently the sofa, too. Thank goodness for Scotch guard! I couldn't imagine a man actually cleaning up, but I guess the years of living alone had made him more aware of what had to be done.

"Let's try this again," I said

I turned on some soft music, poured the last of the wine, and we laughed as we very gently touched our glasses together. Now we had to sit close together at one end of the sofa since the middle was still damp from where he had scrubbed it. Wow. A man who knew how to do something else beside watch sports on TV and ask for a beer.

We shared stories of what happened since our last meeting over ten years ago. As we did so I could feel the warmth of his leg against mine, and as I looked down I noticed that my outfit clung to me. I wore this often alone or with friends, and had never noticed how it looked on me. I hoped he wouldn't think I was too forward. Or did I? I had to admit to myself that I had felt something the moment I realized who he was at the bar.

"I hope you don't think I am rude, but that fabric is screaming out at me to touch it," he said.

"I wouldn't mind. It's been a long time since anyone was interested in touching anything on me. Here." I held out her arm and he stroked the soft, silky fabric. His touch made my skin tingle. I thought how erotic it felt.

As we got more comfortable we leaned back on the sofa and my robe, that had been only loosely tied, opened somewhat. I felt myself blushing as I looked down and could clearly see the outlines of my breasts. I noticed he looked also.

His arm was on the back of the sofa and he rubbed my shoulders and neck as he continued to caress my arm. He stopped and tried to apologize, but I just smiled and put my finger to his lips, shushing him. "I have been so busy professionally that I have not had much time to date. It has been a long time since a man has touched me like that."

"I must confess that this fabric feels almost like I'm touching your skin," he said.

"And I must confess that it feels like you are touching my skin,"

Our eyes locked, and I felt a spark. From the look on his face he felt it, too. Eyes still locked, he leaned over and kissed me. My arms went around his neck and held his head pressing his lips against mine. I was starting to have....feelings. God, I remembered how I used to have those feelings. How I missed them!

He continued to rub my shoulders and stroke my hair, and moved his free hand over me, his fingers trailing his hand and touching me ever so lightly. I felt his fingers, setting my flesh on fire as they went, working their way down my side and down the side of my leg to the knee, then turn and start up the inside of my leg. Oh my God! He was going to touch me THERE. He did, but with just a light brushing touch that continued up my body. He stopped and finished loosening the sash of my robe, and then continued upwards, barely touching my breast, from bottom to top, finally moving up my neck to my face. His touch made me shiver. He held my head in his hands and kissed my lips, my cheek, my eyes. I found myself breathing more heavily, and my heart began to pound.

I reached for his leg and started to slide my hand upward, but he caught my hand and stopped me. He shook his head slowly, then brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. We just looked at each other for a moment.

After our brief pause he began to move that hand again, down my chin and neck, and lightly downward over my other breast. I felt my breath catch in my throat. My skin was tingling, no, it was on fire, and my body began to quiver. Not stopping, his fingers trailed lightly downward over the top of my other leg, the one next to his, all the way to the knee, where he traced a few slow circles before moving up the inside of that leg. Surely he would stop THERE this time. I desperately wanted him to stop THERE, but, no, again only a light brush with the finger tips. This was maddening. What was he doing to me?

When he reached my navel this time he traced all around it several times and then up the center of my body to the buttons of my top, which he began to SLOWLY unfasten, one maddening button at a time. I couldn't stand it any more. My hands flew to the top buttons and practically tore them open, meeting his hands halfway down. Now he had to move faster, didn't he?

No, he didn't. He moved his hands slowly up my sides, barely touching the sides of my breasts, pushing my top open as he went, until his hands were on my shoulders, where he lingered for a moment before pushing the fabric off the top of my shoulders. I practically ripped my arms out of the sleeves of the robe and top and threw them to the floor.

I know I must have had a wild look in my eyes, but he just smiled at me and gently and slowly slid his hands over me. He was driving me absolutely mad with desire.

To speed him up I reached for his leg again, but he stopped me with a shake of his head and a whisper, "No, this is just for you," and kissed me again.

I was practically gasping for breath as his hands continued their light touch over my body. When they reached my hips I couldn't stand it any more, and pushed off the bottoms of my outfit, nearly kicking them across the room. Surely that would encourage him to go where I was now longing to go.

We kissed deeply and he did, indeed, begin to touch me THERE, but again with agonizing slowness as I started to squirm. Was he going to do this or not?

I had fantasized about this moment for over ten years! I can't explain it, because I have always been strong, and in complete control, but I just turned to jelly. I wanted to feel his touch everywhere, and, yes, his kisses also. He touched me like I had never been touched before, and kissed me in places I had never been kissed before. It drove me insane! I was ready to scream. His fingers and lips explored, but slowly, slowly. Damn him!

I became consumed with the white heat of passion. Finally, my body taut as a bowstring, with one final touch of his fingers and lips, a blinding flash of light passed before my eyes. I felt like I had left my body, the heavens opened, and I'm sure I heard angels sing. I gasped and stopped breathing, a silent scream frozen in my throat. Waves of incredible ecstasy, wave after wave, washed over me before I took another breath, finally returning to my body and collapsing back against the arm of the sofa, panting like an animal, and limp as a dishrag.

When I regained my senses I pulled him close for a passionate kiss. I just wanted to hold him forever. When we broke the kiss he laid his head on my heaving chest with his eyes closed. I put my hand on his head and gently stroked his hair. Wow. He had done all this and his pants were still on! I couldn't believe it! Robert certainly had never concentrated on my pleasure. He wanted his and if I felt good, too, that was fine by him.

After a few minutes he moved his head lower on my body and started to run one of his hands over my thighs and through the forest. He inhaled deeply. "I love the smell of an excited woman. Your natural perfume. It's so pure....so honest....so...personal."

We were silent for, I don't know how long.

"Mike, we've got to get off of this sofa. There's no need in taking a chance on getting a sliver of glass in a tender place."

I shrieked as he scooped me up and carried me to my closed bedroom door before putting me down again to open it.

"Let's get rid of these, Mike," I said as I yanked the drawstring on the workout pants and pulled at the waistband until the garment fell to the floor.

On the bed we stretched out together and I began to massage and kiss him. His skin felt so soft and warm. I rolled him onto his back and straddled his chest, just looking down at him. Now it would be my turn to tease him before I gave him the ultimate gift.

"So, you like the smell of a woman, do you?" I said as I slid up high on his chest, almost to his chin, giving him something I now knew he liked. As his hands reached up to touch me I grasped his wrists and stopped him, slowly shook my head and smiled down at him. "It's my turn, now."

I wouldn't let him touch me. Slowly I inched my body down his chest, massaging the skin of his chest as it became exposed from under me. I lightly brushed his chest hair with my fingers, and traced his nipples. As my body neared his hips I could feel him squirm with anticipation, but two could play that game. I just continued slowly sliding and massaging, working my way further down his legs until at last I was straddling his knees and massaging his thighs. But not THERE, not just yet.