A Missed Opportunity?

Her name was Mona. Sure it was an old name, so its juxtaposition against such a sweet young lady was colossally striking. We flew to Kennebunk Maine on business one cool October weekend. We had a client there that needed some work on their computer network. She was to be the trainer and help to organize the workflow so that I could design the systems around their needs.

We had known each other for years before this of course, had become somewhat friendly through interacting over business. We had met each other's children on several occasions at work, though not often each other's spouses. But we had never really gotten to know each other and didn't have that much in common besides work. She was the cute little blonde, short and bubbly, very touchy feely to begin with - a trait I have always found irresistible. I suspect I was the safe little geek pet she liked to play with but would never take seriously. But my feelings never even progressed to the point of an actual attraction.

Until that night at the Blue Shield Bar and Grill in Kennebunk. A small town by most standards Kennebunk, but big in that it housed a good deal of old money and political power. Entire families of Savant President's came from the neighborhood. So this ivy covered drinking spot was more chic than many. It was also a weeknight so it was not at all crowded.

For any of you that have never worked in a bar, they can be lonely places late on a week night after the business day has ended. Even the staff gets a bit edgy yet bored and is happy for any company outside their normal circle. So when Mona and I entered the place, we were greeted by the rising of smiles from the sunken faces of the bar hosts.

Let us say that drinks flowed freely and with great camaraderie, and that we all felt like we were having a nice little get together of friends in the basement pool room. The long wooden bar had been polished to dark burnt amber from years of beer and other sundry spills. It gleamed as only the eldest Oak can after a century of loving use. We took turns behind the bar serving each other so that our new found friends - Jack and Emma - would feel a little more relaxed and less like the servants their job descriptions made them out to be. Jack, an elder woodsman, could just as easily have fit in at a biker bar as a hippy love fest. I was uncertain we were not actually in San Francisco rather than Maine. And Emma was as tattooed and pierced as they come. A true punk goddess.

But all of that slid into the background for me as the music, and the beer, began to take hold of Mona. Her head bowed, it lolled on her shoulders as they swayed to the rhythm of whatever soulful tune it was that played from the stereo. The melody seemed to shudder through her like a soft sneeze as it caressed its way down her just slightly rounded belly and descended into her graspable hips. Soon Mona was standing off of her barstool in order to be able to bring herself dipping slightly on bended knees as she vibrated toward the ground - only to rise again as the orgasmic wave receded. Her arms rose at her shoulder as a snake leaving its basket, tempted by the pipe song of her arched neck until her hands slid high above her head. I had seen this motion in the acid induced haze of the "flower dancers" at a Pink Floyd show, but never was it done with such graceful sensual precision.

Just as I thought the show could be no more enticing, she began to climb the bar stool. Now if I had chosen to climb that Everest of a bar prop, it would have been an ungainly crouch to the heights. She did it with the strength of Sir Hillary, and the beauty of a serpent. And before my eyes could adjust she had attained her full pedestal atop the bar. I was now at eye line with heaven as I could look out to her trim ankles and look up to the hem of her short skirt. I wish that I could say that I looked no farther, but I could not stop myself from staring. If my jaw was on the bar as I suspected, I would never notice. Her veil dance continued from this hallowed perch as she felt the music move through her.

For all I know, we may have been there like that for hours. Time seemed to stand still as the image of Mona dancing on the bar was etched into my permanent memory. But eventually the music must have changed, or the mood lightened for she was finally back at my side seated on her barstool. I think perhaps the mood and the beer combined to take her past the limit, but she mumbled something in my ear and left the bar for the short walk across the street to the hotel. I just looked at Jack with wonder, pressed into speechlessness by the spectacle we had all been privileged to. Few words were spoken as Jack wiped down the bar where only moments before the feet of an angel had danced. In fact, the only words I remember from Jack that entire evening came at that point as he said, "what is wrong with you, follow her!".

I left my credit card on the bar knowing Jack would take care of everything and ran through the frigid air back to the hotel. Thoughts of my wife and child were distant as I fell quickly into the headiness of taboo. I decided that I couldn't live with myself on a frontal approach so I returned to my room rather than rushing blindly to hers. I called her on the pretext of making sure things were ok. "Plausible deniability" was a term I had heard somewhere before that seemed to fit with my guilt avoidance technique. No need to ruin a perfectly good business relationship over a mistake due to overly active gonads.

I truly wish I could now tell you of the magical lovemaking that ensued that evening. But that was not what my phone call was to produce. She told me that she was indeed ok, but that the beer had gotten the best of her and she was not feeling well at all. I offered care and comfort and only stopped short of offering to come hold her hair out of her face due to some stupid chivalrous gene. Besides, sex with a barfing nympho is somehow not completely satisfying - or so I suspected. I actually tried to call again as the swelling in my groin demanded more effort. Eventually I had to settle for my be-ringed friend of so many years as I knew nothing could come of the evening but frustration.

The next day provided a cavernous hangover for Mona and a weary, up all night set of bags beneath my eyes. More work was accomplished so that we might meet our flight schedule of that evening.

Years have gone by since that amazing night of possibilities that never came to pass. I have only occasionally seen Mona since that time as she went on to other jobs and other colleagues. I have only occasionally regretted that night never came to fruition and have more often kissed my baby at night and been thankful for the calm, peaceful, safe home life I have made. But there are times that I wonder if the animal calling of that night would not have been worth the potential risks.

That is why tonight I called Mona.

Tracking her down was not easy, but when you have played with computers for as long as I have you get to learn a few tricks. She was surprised to hear from me having tried to email me several times previously and finding me unwilling to even type for fear of my self. She said she thought I had been offended or disgusted by her behavior -- or what she remembered of it -- and that it had soured our companionship as her shame ran her to a new life away from my glance.

I intend to tell her a few things when we meet.

Such as the fact that I did indeed avoid her messages on my phone, my cell, my email simply because I was afraid of my own arousal. And the certainty that, though I accept the fact she could never have found those feelings for me, I would forever have a picture of her embedded in the deepest hidden parts of me. That often to get myself ready for a round of self pleasure, I would recall her shape up on that bar and what it did to me.

I intend to tell her that I still want her. And exactly what I will do to her if she will allow it.

From my caresses of her slender, smooth feet to her tight and flexing calves. The kisses I will place upon her belly, her chest, and her neck. The light licks of my pressing tongue behind her ears and the light brushes of superheated air I will breathe into her ears. The touch of my trembling, remembering hands as they follow the outlines of her breasts, rise over the swell of her areolas, and climb the peaks of her nipples. I can tell her the never experienced memories of the taste of her sex as I begin to probe her sweet cunt. The ease with which my cock glides into her grasping pussy as I enter her slowly, deliciously.

I will tell her of our breath as it rises and falls in the ever growing rage of our desire for each other. "Oh Mona, from within you I feel as though we were but one body" I shall tell her. Our sweat mixing with our bodily juices becoming a river on which our newly combined being floats. Mona's heart, my heart, beating faster as though to try to escape the fervor of our lovemaking. The growing cries of our lips as they try to scream past tongues entwined. Finally to rest. Spent. And tired beyond thought and beyond act and beyond reason. To lie together again and for the first time in a receding tide of ecstasy.

Of course, it must all begin with a dance.