Ch. V: Pastor Ronnie Joe
by Jimi Linden ©
was split into 3 parts. Jump to any of the segments from here:
FOLLOWING STORY IS TRUE. ALL EVENTS AND BEHAVIOR ARE FAITHFUL ACCOUNTS OF
PAST EVENTS, ALTHOUGH NAMES HAVE BEEN ALTERED TO PROTECT MY POSTERIOR AND
KEEP ME OUT OF COURT. WRITER'S LICENSE AND HUMBLE DISCRETION HAVE BEEN USED
WHERE AND WHEN I FELT IT EXPEDIENT TO AVOID ADVERSITY OR LEGAL ACTION.
Painful though it was, I left the land of fruit and nuts for ten wonderful days away from both my nursing studies and the thrills of Los Angeles. The prospect of spending the Thanksgiving holiday in Albuquerque with my fiancé Leo whetted all my appetites; emotional, nostalgic, sensual, sexual and gastronomic.
After the death of our parents, I had lived in my brother's Albuquerque home through my secondary school years. When I told him of my need to get away from the hustle of the West Coast he understood perfectly. Since he too had moved from Albuquerque and was now employed by a small, obscure company in the wine country of California he was very empathetic. The rat put his arm around me and magnanimously told me that, "No apology was necessary. Don't even worry about missing the holiday with our family". His next little loving barb about "preferring to spend the holiday with Leo" was softened by his broad-faced grin.
Actually we are very close and worry constantly about each other. When he left the security of a good government position at Sandia Laboratories, I thought he had lost his mind. Particularly since he quit to accept a position at a nerdy little unknown, non-aggressive outfit whose very name even indicated they were small. How could any company hope to be successful when they advertised their insignificance with a demeaning name like MicroSoft?
Airlines seem to delight in trying to confuse passengers as to their actual location in relation to known landmarks. Approaching Albuquerque from the west, I should have been able to look from my left side window and see northward up the Rio Grande Valley. Instead, we apparently came in from the south. The pilot then impaled his wingtip somewhere in the middle of the west mesa and slowly circled, windows pointing straight downward, at the dusty vastness somewhere between Paradise Hills and Belen. Apparently, we circled completely back to the south. Not satisfied to merely confuse us, the pilot then apparently tried to impress us with his skill by stopping in mid air. At least that's what it felt like as the plane seemed to barely move though the engines were revving at full power. Then just when a person begins to relax and you tell yourself there's no problem, the wheels grind down, snap into place and the infernal machine slows even more.
I wasn't worried though. I knew the plane couldn't drop with me holding it up by my deathgrip on the armrests.
We had flown very far south of the airport and I was just beginning to wonder if perhaps the flight was going to be forced to land at El Paso, when we dropped down from the Manzano Mountains and landed from the east. God I love to fly! (and bump my nose; and run my hose; and beat my toes - with a hammer!) The city named for the Spanish Duke of Albuquerque was as beautiful as ever. By far the most exciting view from my small window was Leo's profile waiting for me on the observation deck of the picturesque pueblo styled terminal. My heart skipped a beat and other parts of my anatomy responded with enthusiastic dampening.
Even before the seat belt sign said I could, I stood up (Really, what discipline can an airline mete out for such an infraction? Send me back whence I came, or refuse to ever take my money again for a ticket? Hardly!) and retrieved my carry-on bag from the over head compartment. Hoping to beat most of the crowd up the aisle to the exit I sprinted up the slope toward the frozen faced, smiling hostesses (I've always wondered where the "Thank You For Flying With" cassette player is implanted in their anatomies).
My headlong plunge was frustrated as I broached the archway separating the first class section from us of the peon class. A bevy of sumptuous human quail was rising, as coordinated as birds to flight, from the wide comfort and pretentious opulence of the forward compartment. Eight long stemmed beauties, each clad in miniskirted decadence above yards of nylon elegance and all poised on stiletto heels, blocked the exit with their tight, trim disgustingly small rumps. They were wearing color coordinated blazers of a uniformly style which emphasized their perfectly tailored, overly distended, breast pockets. Silky smooth hair flowed to their collars like battle helmets where it curled inward with nary a stray strand out of place among the lot. Absolutely revolting!
This legion of legs in uniform bounced up the exit tunnel about twenty feet in front of me. Shoulder slung taupe colored purses just big enough to carry the basic necessities of feminine camouflage completed each color-coordinated suit. None of them were encumbered with carry on luggage or anything else that might detract from their centerfold perfect composure.
I was apprehensive to see how Leo would react to this silk stemmed, alluring parade.
Leo was waiting at the top of the exit tunnel. As the flock of hosiery came into view he dutifully investigated each one from their perfect coiffeur to the taps on the toes of their high heels, obviously missing nary a freckle nor dimple in his scrutiny. Then his eyes caught mine and his face lit up like a kid on Xmas morning.
His beaming smile should have censored any jealous doubts I may have harbored as to his devotion. Much as it pains me, I must admit I'm better known for my hoof-in-mouth retorts than my love sonnets. Doubtless because I was tired and still a bit jittery from the flight I couldn't resist the opportunity to be catty and snapped at him, "Well, did you see anything you'd like to buy?"
Without answering he took me in his arms and kissed me clear to the back of my tonsils. Then with a wicked leer he pulled me close, licked the inside of my ear and quietly assured me, "Everyone obviously watches when a herd of gazelles capers by. However, when an exquisite, graceful jaguar is following behind she totally eclipses their silly prancing and their pack is quickly forgotten. And when one is totally in love with that lithe little jaguar no other sight can ever be a true distraction."
Leo does have a way with words. He also seemed to be carrying small baseball bat in his pocket.
Before I could tease him about his obvious excitement Leo whispered in my ear, "I hope you notice my attention pressing against you. That wasn't there until I touched you!" Obviously, it was purely his ecstatic ear to ear grin that made my knees so wobbly.
Holding me at arms length he stared at me lovingly (and lustfully I surely hoped) and of course immediately commented that I was wearing a skirt with nylons.
Up close again I snuggled my lips to his sideburns and teased, "Just for you my love". Truly I had dressed especially for him and I was tempted to torment him with the information that there was nothing under my skirt except crotchless pantyhose. Knowing Leo's penchant for silken legs, I was afraid he might attempt to verify my condition right without delay.
We retrieved my luggage from the carousel and had been in the car almost a full minute before he discovered my brazenly bare, furry gift for him. By the time we were to Girard and Gibson (a mile at the most from the parking lot) his hand, my skirt and the car seat were soaking wet. I had a flash fantasy of being stopped by the police and Leo handing his driver's license out the window dripping with my juices. Delicious! I almost wished...
Both Leo's livelihood and his living arrangements had improved since the initial days of our courtship. Now employed as an associate professor, although he was still an undergraduate student, he could afford many luxuries previously beyond his means. Living the great American dream, he now had an almost new car, a place of his own and enough money to survive from week to week (almost). He was even in debt (definitely). What more could a young man strive for?
The distress at having to leave the youthful security of his parent's home was of course balanced by the newfound freedoms now available to him. Suddenly plunged into the methodical drudgery of work and academics, I was fearful that Leo had lost some of his previous humorous perspectives. Then he complained to me about his lack of time for diversions and indicated he barely had enough time to keep both his local girlfriends satisfied. I bit him!
Now lodged in a small house just off the UNM campus he was involved with both his minister's daughter and with the wife of a minister living next door to him. Each of these liaisons he had faithfully (no pun intended) kept me informed of and I was looking forward to meeting both ladies. The first opportunity came quicker than expected.
A large, immobile, gas-guzzler of a car was blocking the driveway of his house when we arrived. Leo's emphatic, "Awww shit. Ronnie Joe", gave me ample warning of who, though not what, to expect. The Reverend Ronald Joseph Wilson was his personal nemesis and cuckold next door neighbor.
Leo parked in front of the house and went to see what disaster now plagued his problematic neighbor. I tagged along out of natural nosiness.
"Hello Brother Leo", sang out a lean little man with his sleeves rolled up and his head buried under the hood of the faded brown battleship. "Sorry to be in your driveway, but this was as far as the Lord saw fit to propel my faithful steed" sang out the sorry little weasel.
Silently I uttered an "Ohhh bullshit" of my own under my breath. People who punctuate their conversation with references of superstitious drivel lose both my attention and my patience rather quickly.
Nevertheless, with his usual merriment Leo smiled and asked the obvious. "What's the old beast doing, or not doing, now?" I assumed he wasn't referring to the man's spouse since no one else was around the car.
Like any good servant of the gospel, the preacher first beamed at me with a "collection plate" assessment and observed, "This must be that beautiful fiancé you've been bragging about. Your descriptions certainly never even began to do justice to this beautiful gift our savior bestowed upon you!" Then grinning at me he continued, "I won't offer my hand yet Pretty Lady 'cause I'm a might dirty at the moment."
I smiled to stifle the bile lurching up from my stomach. Silently acknowledging his greeting I nodded and smiled my acceptance of his compliment. Admittedly, his reluctance to shake hands was a bit astonishing. I've seldom met a cleric who didn't have his hand out.
After quick introductions, Leo again asked about the car. Evidently the good reverend had done just about everything mechanically possible to restart his vehicle before we arrived; like praying over the beast, asking for divine guidance in his attempts at repair, cutting three inches off the tailpipe, etc. For all I knew he may have even sprinkled holy water over the dashboard. Unfortunately, no unction he had so far consecrated upon his obstinate hulk was going to resurrect it from its demise.
Leo tried the engine and even I could immediately tell a charged battery would greatly improve the situation. Jumper cables attached, Leo ground the engine a couple of tries, got out and fiddled with the top of the engine for a moment, then got back in and started the car. Had the little fellow been a priest instead of a protestant minister I do believe he would have sainted Leo on the spot.
When I asked him later what he did, Leo sanguinely confided, "I just knew where to administer the blessing!" I bit him again.
Maybe I should explain all these bites lest someone think I have a cannibalistic fetish. My little nibbles are only love bites and seldom leave extraordinarily, noticeable hickeys.
We had just settled down for some long overdue snuggling when the doorbell rang.
Somehow, I wasn't surprised that it was Ronnie Joe, his wife and their two kids.
Leo offered Diet Pepsi (greeted with "ugh! gross!" but they suffered the lack of sugar stoically) and cookies to entertain the rug rats while Ronnie Joe rattled incessantly. Neither his wife Dianna, nor I, heard a word he was saying. We were too busy appraising each other.
Leo had told me she was twelve years older than us but he had failed to mention what a well-preserved little thirty-two year old mother she was. Dianna was obviously one of those lucky women who recover their figure after childbirth. About five foot six with very well proportioned legs she had almost no hips. If it weren't for her unduly large breasts, she would have looked like a young teenager. Her shoulder length brown hair was tinted slightly red and I noticed she had "doe-like" brown eyes. The type of orbs that reduce men to groveling servants when filled with tears. The smile marks in their corners proclaimed to me that she had a truly happy outlook on life and probably spread good cheer, like Santa dropping presents, everywhere and to everyone. I immediately liked her and was jealous as hell!
They stayed only a few minutes and then Leo and I got down to some serious suppertime business. The door was hardly closed before he began stripping my clothing to expose what he wanted for dinner.
Afterward he asked me what I wanted for dinner. He told me there was no limit on where he would take me or how much we could spend this night. Maybe there was a good side to all this work and study business after all.
Any restaurant in the area was mine for the asking. We could eat anywhere my heart and palate desired from the top of the tram at Sandia Crest to the bowels of Barelas. Definitely there was an up side to this work and study business. Leo with money was a totally new novelty for me to investigate
Choosing one particular place to have a special meal in Albuquerque is almost like trying to choose which morsel to taste first from a hundred-pound box of sampler candies. The varieties and choices are mind boggling.
I had already made my choice. "Would you mind terribly ..."
was split into 3 parts. Jump to any of the segments from here:
|Another top quality story by Jimi Linden.|
© Copyright 1999 by literotica.com.