Anita & Me: A Story

She was back in seconds, wiping my face with a wet towel. "Maybe you're getting to know me a little too well."

"What was that?" I wasn't at all sure what happened.

She shrugged, "It just came out."

I looked at her with real curiosity, "You're really into this, aren't you."

She made it sound like an entirely stupid statement, "Well, ya, I'm really into this. I've waited half my life for it — and I've finally found the guy to do it with, the only guy I'm ever going to do this with. So, ya, I'd say I'm into it and between you and me, no pun intended, it's been worth the wait." She threw the towel aside. "So what's next?"

"Do you have any fetishes?" I meant it as a joke.

"I hope so. Do you want something to drink? To eat?"

I laughed and she didn't get it at first, then she laughed, "Something else to eat?"

"A beer would be refreshing." I used silly words like that when I get giddy with happiness.

I followed the ass into the kitchen and watched it bend a little as her hands fetched two beers from the bottom shelf of the fridge. She handed me one of them then she quickly twisted the cap off hers, leaned against the counter and let half of it slide down her throat. I took a chair, sat back and sipped mine. "I'm having a hard time adjusting to the new you. Where is the girl who wouldn't let me touch her?"

She was looking at me coolly. "Do you want her back?"

"No, but I'd like to see her now and again."

"Now?"

"No."

"So, do we belong to each other now? Me to you and you to me."

I saluted her with my bottle. "It's official. I'm yours, you're mine. Here's to a great life together."

"Do you feel any different?"

I nodded, "Yes, very."

"How?"

"I can see when you take someone you really take them. And I can see that when you give yourself, you really give yourself. But I can see, too, that you're going to require a whole lot of my effort."

She had just polished off her beer, "It gets worse."

"Worse?" I was just about to sip my beer when I stopped. "How?"

"I've got five brothers. You're not going anywhere." She said this with a smile.

"You aren't going to need them, sweets. I guarantee you that, you're never going to need them."

"Another?"

This time I watched her magnificent tits dangle as she reached into the fridge again. She pulled out two more, handed them to me then reached into the cupboard and fished out a bottle of wine and two glass. "The corkscrew's in there," she said, eyeing a drawer, then she hurried out of the kitchen.

She had the bed stripped when I reached the bedroom and I helped her remake it. It was the first domestic chore I had ever done with a woman and I found it really erotic, first because of her swing breasts but mainly because we were making a bed for us to lie in together, we were making our nest. "You have a really beautiful body."

"The acne stopped at my chin."

"That's not funny."

"I know. Sorry." She kneeled on the bed.

"Do you think about it a lot?"

"The acne?" She didn't wait for my answer. "No, not really. In the world I've created it doesn't much matter."

"The world of blue jeans, construction sites and 80 hour work weeks?"

She took a drink of her beer, "That's the one."

"But when you're out of that world, it does?"

"I don't leave it."

"You going to have to now."

"That's what I want to talk to you about. Lie down."

When I lay down in front of her she took my stiff penis in her hands as if she had done it hundreds of times before, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to her. She absently fondled it for a minute while she thought. She let it go when she spoke. "What are we going to do?"

"Do?" She had a habit of jump-shifting conversations that I often had a hard time following.

"You're not happy in your job and you're said you're thinking of quitting. I've never planned to stay in mine. What are we going to do? And where are we going to do it?"

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

"I've been saving my money. I've always planned to go back to school. Get a Masters, maybe a Doctorate."

"Fine by me. I was thinking the same thing, maybe Criminology." I lifted my can of beer in a second salute, "School it is. Are we going to get married?"

"Of course. I'll look after all of that — I have a hundred people to help me." Then, she added thoughtfully, "Once they get over the shock."

"Might I make the observation that you appear a tad cool about all of this?"

"Who did you think you were getting?"

"Well the girl I remember was a little more indecisive. When I gave myself and took you I kind of assumed I'd have a little more say in things. Twenty minutes after the transaction I've gotta say, I'm a little surprised."

"And unhappy?"

"No, not unhappy."

"Do you know why you're not unhappy?" She didn't wait for me to respond. "It's because I think you know that I know what I'm doing. And I should. I have watched my brother's wives plan and strategize for all my adult life. I think I know what decisions to take and what decisions to leave to you."

"The important ones and leave me the rest?"

She just smiled.

And I smiled, too. "So there we have it. The Transaction, marriage, students. It all makes perfect sense to me. Where are we going to school, where are we going to live?"

"Leave that to me."

I felt the cold beer can in my hand so I lifted it in another quiet salute and I pulled myself upwards and guzzled the contents. She did the same and then began opening the wine. "We have a lot to celebrate."

We did, indeed. But I had one more thing on my mind and it wasn't an afterthought, it had always been integral to the whole she-bang. "What exactly do you think we are celebrating?"

She filled up the wine glasses and, as I sat up and leaned against the backboard, she handed me a glass and leaned back beside me. She couldn't have been more natural, more uninhibited. Her legs were open with her left knee bent and leaning on my leg and her breasts spilled from her chest with exquisite, erotic carelessness. It was as if now that she had given herself to me she had nothing to hide. "You can celebrate the Transaction is you want. Me? I'm a little more old fashion. I'm celebrating love."

I quit my job the next day, but it wasn't quite that easy. I had to give them six weeks of my time, six weeks of unending days and travel. I didn't see her again, not for six weeks. I phoned, often, but the conversations were always forced and uneasy — and frustrating. We were both counting the days until we would be together again.

That day was a Saturday and as luck would have it, the day of the month when the family rallied at the father's house for dinner. I got into town in early evening and took a cab directly to the house. Sonny let me in again, this time without much hassle but without any enthusiasm, either and I followed him into the living room where everyone was milling around with glasses. I guessed all the kids were downstairs.

Anita was with a klatch of women and when she spotted me her face broke into a wide smile that surprised the others and they followed her eyes to me.

She had quietly disengaged from them and came towards me. But she stopped well short of me. "Hi."

I didn't know what I expected when the door of the house opened. I know what I hoped for. I hoped that Sonny et al would grab me by the hand, stick a cigar in my mouth, a glass in my hand and thump me on the back. I hoped that when the door opened I would be pulled into the warm nexus of the family in a cosmic force of love. Instead, I'd been met with the same indifference as before and Anita appeared monumentally under-whelmed by my presence, at least compared to my expectations — we we're to be married for crissake.

She could see I was troubled. "I forgot to mention a small detail." She wanted me to bite on the tease but I was a little too pissed off for that, and a lot too horny and when I said nothing, she waited a moment before saying, quite cryptically, "You have to ask permission."

"Permission? Permission for what?" I had no idea what she was talking about, but she seemed softer now, more empathetic, kinder to me, so I was feeling a little bit better.

"To marry me."

This didn't advance my understanding, "You already agreed."

"Yes, but you have to ask my father."

"Your father? Why?"

"Because that's the way it's done here."

"You're kidding." I'd heard of this, of course — in medieval studies but this could hardly be part of the dating rituals in 21st century America. But she assured me it was so I shrugged and I was just about to go looking for Big John when he clapped his hands and herded us into the dining room.

The deal was the same. The old lady came in last and was helped into her chair then we all sat down, me on the right of Anita, like before, but as soon as I was settled it occurred to me that the old man was two chairs away from me, too far for a decent conversation so I asked Anita to trade seats.

The Anita I left the last time I saw her was naked, covered with her own juices and some of mine, determined, passionate and in love — and in absolutely complete control of her life and mine. The Anita beside me now looked up at me with child-like eyes and told me to ‘shoosh.'

Shoosh, be damned. He was talking to a woman to his left when I leaned across Anita. "Mr. Frank," I looked at the woman I was interrupting, "Excuse me." He looked at me, a little annoyed and, at the same time, he seemed to be trying to place me, as if he had seen me somewhere before but couldn't remember where. "I want to marry your daughter."

The chit chat at the table stopped the moment I spoke the words so the whole table heard me. As if to make my request more emphatic, I leaned closer to him and in doing so shouldered Anita even further back in her chair. This wouldn't have been a problem if he had said, ‘sure, welcome to the family, Jimmy-boy'. I could have nodded my thanks, sat back and maybe taken Anita's hand and kissed her on the cheek. Something like that. But no. He just stared at me as if I had defamed the family and, leaning as far forward as I was I quickly felt awkward, then a little stupid. This guy had never been part of the equation, never been part of the transaction. Clearly, I didn't know how to deal with him and if there was any doubt about this my next comment, born of my ignorance of the niceties of this situation, but also, of my quickly growing physical discomfort, removed it. "I'm hanging out here for your answer."

He shot out of his chair in a rage and threw his napkin on his plate. "Commeer," he said, as he rushed by behind me.

I was pitched so far forward I had to push myself from the table to sit back up in my chair and when I did I stood up, looked at Anita, who found her plate far more interesting then me, then I cast a glance around the table of ashen manikins and went in search of my fate.

I was in the hall when I heard the words, "In here."

It was a large, impressive study, one of wood and book cases and a globe you could spin, like Inspector Clouseau's. And I noticed a full rifle rack and a plaque on the wall with two large golden boxing gloves on it.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm asking to marry your daughter."

"Who are you?"

I walked over and studied the Golden Glove plaque. It had his name on it.

"I'm talking to you. What are you doing?" He almost shouted the words.

"I'm waiting."

"Waiting? What the hell for?"

"For you to give me an answer to my proposal or at least to calm down so we can discuss it. I'd rather have the one, but under the circumstances, I'd settle for a moment for the other."

I continued to study the plaque. I couldn't see it of course, I was far too nervous for that, but I pretended to and my pretense was wearing thin, even on me, when I heard him say, "OK."

I knew he was saying OK to calming down, his voice said as much, but I made as if he was saying OK to the marriage. I turned and hurried towards him with my hand out. "Thank you, sir, I will make her …" He shot out of his chair for the second time in almost as many minutes waving his hands like a referee waving off an incompleted pass. I stopped, pretending to be surprised, then sat in the chair in front of his desk, where he pointed.

"Who are you?"

I told him. I took my time and I told him, and as I did, it occurred to me that he had every right to know. I was about half way through, maybe 15 minutes into it, when he got up and poured himself a drink and I nodded when he motioned if I wanted one. I was three quarters through when he pulled from the desk a box of cigars and we fired up off the same match. I was sitting back in the chair, a glass in one hand and a cigar in the other, when I finished. I was ready for his questions but I wasn't going to take any shit from the guy, and I was going to marry his daughter, whatever he said.

He just looked at me, appraising me, like he was hiring an employee, then he stood up and left the room and when he did, I poured myself another drink.

I had just regained my chair when they came in together, Anita, followed by the patriarch. I stood up and noticed that she didn't come to me, instead, she moved off to the side as if Big John was the referee and she was taking a neutral corner in a prize fight. There was no doubt that I was the one being battered here, but there was also no doubt in my mind that there'd be no TKO here tonight. If I was to go down, I would be going down swinging.

His one-word question broke a long silence, "Well?"

"Well what?" The words blurted out of my mouth, I was confused, pissed off and feeling really defensive. Was it such a long-shot that I could marry his daughter? Fuck him. I spoke to her, "I've fallen in love with your daughter, I've courted your daughter, I've asked your daughter to marry me, your daughter said yes, I thought it was a done deal, now your daughter tells me I need your permission, I've asked, I'm waiting, and, oh, by the way, I'm wondering why your daughter isn't in my arms right now convincing you she wants nothing more then to be with me and begging you to make it happen."

"I was wondering the same thing."

I don't know what it was about this girl. She'd positively kick ass one moment and cringe the next. I was pretty sure it was Freudian, I couldn't imagine her cringing in supplication in front of me, but in front of her father, that was another thing. "I want to marry him, dad." She said the words to the floor.

"OK, give me a few minutes then come back to the dinning room." He left without shaking my hand, so I wasn't sure what the OK meant.

My cigar had gone out. I went to his desk, relit it, took my glass, sat back in the chair and put my feet on his desk. "I may be the only one in this fucking house who's happy about this but I am, and god damn it, I'm going to celebrate."

She came up behind me and leaned into me so the back of my head pressed against her stomach and her tits seemed to rest on top of my head. "My family loves me, everyone of them, I know that, I've always known that. My mother died when I was in my early teens, that may have cause the acne. Anyway, when it ravaged me, my family circled around me. They protected me — and they haven't really stopped. And I've let them. They have been my fortress against the world. It's hard to break through."

"Where's the girl standing nude in her kitchen confidently sucking back her brewskis?"

She bent down and kissed my head, then wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed me. "That's your wife. Come on."

She tugged me from the chair and I abandoned my cigar and drink with reluctance and she had me by the arm when we walked into the dinning room. Everyone was sitting, stone-faced as if some kind of religious ritual was taking place, but I didn't care. No one, not one of these fucking people was going to stop me from celebrating. I think had the old man's approval, so noth ….

I felt the pain first, the fingers digging so deep into my arm that I thought I could feel her fingernails on my arm bone. It was the noise that snapped me out of it, that and the jumping up and down. The stone statues had turned to carnival joy, I mean real joy, tears in the eyes joy, and she had tears in her eye, too, they were streaming down her cheeks in rivers and her face was stretched so wide I almost didn't recognize her.

And then she did it, she spun me around and held me in that vice grip of hers and when she did everyone burst into cheers. I could see him over her shoulder. He was looking at her, the big, mean, tough son of a bitch was looking at her with a look of absolute, unmistakable love.

It was Sonny who broke her grip, tore me away from her and I was thinking of thanking him when he fucking near broke my ribs with his own hug. I preferred the back slapping, there was a lot of that and a lot of really warm, tight hugs from all the wives.

By the time I passed through the gauntlet I was exhausted; by the time I got out of the house I was pissed.

Anita took me back to her place, I slept all the way and I could barely remember walking to her door but that was the end of it — until the strobe light shining through the window hit my eyes the next morning.

Someone was talking on the phone. It took me a moment to place the voice. It was Anita's but it took some time to figure that out. It didn't sound like her quiet, rational, no-nonsense monotone. This one was bubbling and laughing — and planning. She sounded like an over-excited teenager planning with a friend what to wear to the prom. I stretched out on the bed and my right leg found a wide wet spot where she had been. I pulled the covers back and looked at it, then I got up and walked to the bathroom.

When I returned to the bedroom she took the towel from me and I watched her rub the spot, watched her tits flop back and forth as she tried to sop up the … whatever it was. "Did I have anything to do with that?" I lay on the dry side of the bed.

"Hardly."

"A solo?"

"It was the most exciting night of my life. I was ready to explode," she snickered as she jumped on the bed, straddled me and put my prick in her, "I guess I did."

"So am I," I pulled her too me, pressed my face into her neck, bucked at her a few times and came so hard I almost passed out.

I was useless now and she knew it. She got off me and kneeled beside me, kissing my lips lightly. "He likes you, and so does everyone else."

"I thought you were going to hang me out to dry."

"Ya well, that was then, this is now."

When she pick up my dink, I pushed her hand away. "Seriously, what was all that about."

"In that house, with those people …"

"… your family …"

"… my family, I have always …. No. That's bullshit. The truth is I have always felt ugly, I didn't want to face it, I sought protection, they gave it to me, I played the role of the vulnerable little girl who never emotionally grew up. You've seen her."

"I rather liked her."

She hit me, "Seriously, that's the way I lived most of my life. But recently I've been trying to break out of that, that's why I wrote what I did in the modeling course. Anyway, look at this. You're here, lying on my wet bed and I'm kneeling here, all tits and pussy. I love you, I've given myself to you, we're going to be married — I have broken out, big time. I told my dad last night that we are going back to school. He's OK with it. That was Stella on the phone, she's already helping me plan the wedding and so are the others." She took my prick in her fingers, kissed it, gave the head a few sucks then looked up at me, "I'm meeting her at her place at 3."

When she left for Stella's I went to my rooming house. We had agreed I would stay with her until we made more permanent plans so I wanted to get some clothes. She thought she'd be back by around supper time so I had a couple of hours to kill and took to my bike, something I had planned to do a lot more of now that I had gained an additional 12 hours to my day.