Anita & Me: A Story

The wind was cool against my face and it felt great to finally get some exercise but I tired far sooner then I expected, and anyway, I was caught up in the incredulity of my new-found situation. I was feeling like I had just won the fucking lottery. But I was a little troubled, too.

The girl I had asked to take me, the one I wanted to take, was quiet, thoughtful, troubled, vulnerable, scared and scarred. In other words, she was pretty much a female version of myself, a me without the dumb bravado that I use to mask my countless insecurities. But that was hardly the girl who was now taking over my life and it was scaring me a little, like I had signed one contract and was living by another. I'm a lawyer and I know that ain't good. But she is, I think that's absolutely clear to me, and she is good for me, that, too, is no less clear. But the question remains, who the fuck is she and why is she so different now than before?

Is her explanation enough? That she hid behind the wall of her large supportive family, ashamed of her scarred visage, afraid to leave the securities of childhood? At some level that made sense, but it seemed a bit too pat, a bit too simplistic. I thought I'd have to dig a little deeper. But I wanted to believe it, God knows.

The phone was ringing when I got back to my room.

"I want to talk to you."

I recognized the voice right off, "About what?"

He exploded in my ear, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I WANT TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT!" But at the end of the words I could sense a slightly different tone so I said nothing and waited, "Ok, Ok, sorry." He hesitated for a moment. "Jim, I'd very much appreciate the opportunity to talk to you about my daughter, Anita. If you could spare me a few moments, at your convenience of course, I would very much take that as an act of kindness and courtesy."

When I laughed, so did he and we quickly agreed on lunch the following day at his club.

Not knowing where to store them, I dumped the few clothes I brought over on the bed and was most of the way through cooking supper when the apartment door exploded open and she rushed through, throwing her jacket and a shopping bag on the chair before shouldering me aside, turning off all the dials on the stove, moving the pots off the burners and pulling my arm. "Let's go."

I followed her like the naughty child I felt I was and I arrived in the bedroom just in time to see her sweep all my clothes onto the floor. She was looking lustily at the bed, not me, when she started stripping off her clothes but when she had stripped everything down to her bra and panties she stopped and stood straight in front of me. "Well?"

"Well what?" I hate to continue to whine about it, but I found the woman's behaviour really off-putting. She surprises me when she cowards in front of her family, then she shocks me when she acts so brazenly in front of me. The girl I thought I knew had behaviour more towards the humility end. Never in my imagination had she so wantonly ripped off her clothes — not that I minded.

"Do you like it?" She was beaming.

"Like what?"

Now frowning, "My underwear. They said you'd love it."

Clearly, she was adjusting to our domestic arrangement far more quickly then I was. Sure I had noticed the underwear as she stripped off her clothes, I had noticed the colour more then anything, a sexy orange. But at the time I was more intent on understanding her actions, her behaviour then anything else so I didn't pay a lot of attention to it. I was paying attention now. Anita has a terrific body, tight and strong so the thin veneer of whatever it was that was holding her tits and barely covering her hairy pussy added a heady softness and elegancy to the image. I say heady because as I studied her the sight was really getting to me. First, it really mattered to me that my wife, that's the way I was thinking of her, would stand beside our bed and ask me to comment on her near nakedness — that had never happened in my dreams before. And second, she looked unbelievably sexy because of the almost innocent way she was standing for me, but also because of the underwear. I had long suspected I had a bit of a thing about women's panties and bras. Now I knew I did. She looked gorgeous, even as she rushed by me.

She was back in a moment emptying the bag she had brought home over the bed. "If you don't like these, we bought …" When I pulled her around I was surprised to see tears in her eyes. "They said you'd like them."

God, this woman. Brazen one moment, a child the next. "I love them and I love you."

She grabbed me and closed the vice on me so with my arms pinned I just fell onto the bed, turning as I did so I wouldn't fall onto her.

We lay half on, half off the bed and she had my face in her hands and a look of what seemed like fright on her face, "You really do love me?"

"I love everything about you."

She was pulling me up on the bed — by my jaw and I went willingly, not the least to avoid the pain. "I love this, Jim. I can't tell you how much I love this."

She had my face pressed into her neck and her arms and legs were wrapped around me like a constrictor that seemed to be tightening with her mounting passion. This was starting to become familiar territory, the pain I mean. I pushed at her and I eventually popped free and took her in a hug and squeezed her as tight as I could, kind of in pay back, but in the process she managed to turn me onto my back and was kissing my face, all over it. "I want us to be happy, Jim. I want to make you happy."

Just then I became conscious of my right hand stroking the delicate fabricate covering her ass. The material was unbelievably soft and thin and hot. When I pushed her off me I slid down a little and placed my face on the material on her breasts. I must have let out a moan because I heard her say, "Do you like it?"

I think it was the tone of her voice but it could have been lust, the lure of the material or any number of animal instincts but I sat up, tore off my clothes and when I lay back down again I pushed my face into her panties and I had to fight like hell not to come when I realized that she was so excited her panties were soaked.

I was sucking on her panties when she took me in her mouth and with my prick gripped between her lips she neatly turned me onto my back and the second I was settled she pushed herself away and hungrily kissed and bit my lips from above me. "Jim?" She had pulled away now and was looking down on me. "I just want to make you happy. I want to be sexy for you. I want you to want me." Even upside down I could see she was waiting for a response.

But I didn't know what she was looking for so I didn't know what to say. I mean, just a minute before I had told her I love her, what beats that? I guess I had taken too long because when she spoke again she sounded a little wounded.

"Don't you like the underwear?" She reached over and scooped up a handful of the stuff that were under my legs. "I can put something else on." She held a fistful of colour in front of my face. "Which …"

I think you have to be a bit of a prick to keep your woman in doubt, to keep her off balance, to keep her guessing. I didn't like her look of insecurity. I reached behind and roughly pulled her forward so she fell on her face beside me and when she did I rolled her over and pushed my face into her stomach just above her panties and I rested there for just a moment to collect my thoughts. When I pulled up I leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips but when she rose up and tried to close her arms around me I pushed her back and reached for some of the underwear that was lying beside her. I leaned back on my heels and as she watched me I dropped the panties and bras on her stomach, retaining a single pair of panties in my hand. I held them up and inspected them, they were blue, really flimsy and really sexy and I mashed them into my face before dropping them on to the pile on her belly. Then I sat beside her and watched my left hand play about her wet panties as my right hand gently stoked the material on her breasts.

The eyes that looked up at me were glazed with excitement and hooded in expectation, her lips were smiling at me, signaling her pleasure and approval. "Jim?" I was looking at her but not really seeing her. My senses were absorbed by her magnificent wetness and her now stiff nipples. "Do you like them? They said you would."

It was impossible for me to believe that she actually needed an answer to the question but she clearly did. I was conscious of her squirming against my fingers as I probed deeper into her pussy, "I love you, Anita. I love to look at you, I love what you do to me, I love the way you think, I love your body and I love it all, even more, when you're dressed like this." And then it sort of hit me, "Who said I would?"

The lips that had stretched into such an open, innocent smile, constricted for a moment as she tried to understand me. "Stella, and the girls. When we broke off from our planning they took me to the mall. They helped me pick this stuff out — they paid for it."

"They helped you pick out your underwear?" That this could even be possible had never crossed my mind. What man ever helped another man pick out his underwear? I shuddered.

"What's wrong?

The fabric covering her stiff nipple, now less stiff, had changed to my touch. It seemed somehow now more course. The intimate apparel seemed more contrived as if it was a planned come-on, a kind of come-on by committee. So much for intimacy.

Anita soon filled in the unsettling silence. "Of course, they would want to help me choose my underwear. They have been married a long time. They have a lot more experience then I do. Why wouldn't I listen to them, why wouldn't I seek and take their advice?"

She clearly didn't get it. "Because this is about you and me. Not them."

"No," she said, defiantly, "this is about me being the best wife I can be to you. I'm going to need all the help and advise they will give me. You should be really happy they want to give it to me. I am."

She was getting a bit pissed, I could tell by her face but she had also stopped squirming against my fingers so I gently took them out of her pussy and reassuringly stroked her wet panties. I didn't want to piss her off, I didn't want to disappoint her, that was the last thing I intended to do, but while I wasn't quite getting her, I was smart enough to know that that didn't necessarily make her wrong. In fact, the gulf between us on this issue was so wide that I started to doubt myself — I mean, I've already said I have next to no self-confidence, so why would I think I was right, and why would she be wrong? So it occurred to me that just because men didn't help men pick out their underwear, men didn't go to the toilet together, either. What's wrong if women cared enough about each other to help out with intimate choices? When you think about it, it's kind of sweet. I leaned down and lingered on Anita's lips hoping the developing pout would pucker into greater friendliness. When it did I pulled back a little and said something I hoped I'd never regret, "I think it's great they're helping you and I hope you'll ask them to help me be a better husband to you."

Her eyes grew wide with excitement and she rose up and, just before she grabbed me in her vice, she said, "You do?"

She was crushing the breath out of me so I just nodded dumbly and she was about to flip me on my back again when I fought her off and pushed her down, returning one hand to her pussy and the other to her sexily shielded breast. She was happy again, she had that look and I felt an excitement deep within me that took me a minute to figure out: a month ago I was absolutely alone in the world; today I had a whole team of experts at work trying to make me happy. I've got to tell you, for a guy who had never belonged to anything or anyone before, that was something … something that I'd have to sort out later. But now, I just wanted to get intimate so I lay down beside her and pulled her wet pussy into my face and I sucked the juices from the fabric like I'd just left a desert.

She was pushing at her panties so I sat up and took them off and when I settled back down again I pressed my face between her legs. I love her smell, I love her taste but most of all I love that she wanted me there, which was obvious, not only because she was open wide in welcome, but her groaning told me so, too and her muscular, kneading caresses on the side of my ass. I didn't know what I was doing, of course, I had never actually seen what my tongue was now exploring and I didn't know which bits were best touched and how, so I sucked up the courage and asked her but she dismissed me, "Oh, God, not now, later," so I kept up my attack and was soon rewarded with a shrill squeal that really thrilled me, it was so genuine, so primordial that I didn't want to leave, so I just relaxed where I was and licked at her juices until she pulled me away.

She lay still on the bed as if she had passed out — with a kind of knowing smile fixed on her face and I lightly kissed her lips as I lay back down beside her, this time head beside head. I had settled down on my back, propped up on two pillows and was admiring my hard-on and the imminent prospects for relief when she leaned over me and licked my face, she actually licked her juices from my face. I don't know why, but I found that an absolute turn-on so the moment she finished I pushed her on her back, climbed onto her and into her and exploded in a gusher of, ya, wanton lust, but love, too — I was finding new reasons to love this woman and that was more exciting to me than anything else.

But, frankly, I was a little pissed off with myself. I always was a bit of a quick hitter and I'm fairly impulsive so I wasn't surprised by my action but it didn't make me like it. I was lying there like a spent cartridge. I wished I'd held off for awhile to see how she'd work her magic on me. Instead, I had given in to my needs and took before she offered, something I vowed never to do again.

"Are you hungry? I had her hand in mine and I squeezed it.

She squeezed back, and a lot harder, "No." She turned and leaned in to me and kissed me and licked my as if some of her juices was still there. "Do you like my underwear?"

I grabbed a handful of the stuff and washed her face with it. "I love your underwear," I said, truthfully, "don't you dare leave home without it."

In fact, that dumb statement did sound a little off to me but I ignored it. But she didn't. "Do you mean don't leave home without it, or don't come home without it? They are two entirely different messages."

"You know what I meant." I hate to be corrected.

"No. I don't. If you want me to wear sexy underwear to work, well, that's one thing, if you want me to wear sexy underwear home, well that's something else again."

I didn't know if she was teasing me or playing it straight — that's how well I knew the woman, so I took a peek at her, trying to read her face — which she had contorted into a leering gargoyle. I elbowed her in the side. She elbowed me back, harder, right into the bone just above my elbow. It hurt like hell and I yipped and grasped the injury but she wasn't having any of it, "Oh, what a wuss. You want me to get a band aide, maybe I could make up a batch of plaster of Paris."

"It hurts."

You could almost see the peel of laughter reaching from her lips to the ceiling.

"It did." I insisted.

"It did," she mimicked, then she turned into me and hugging my arm she kissed all over it, "Is the owie gone now, lambskins."

Two can play at this. In a single motion I grabbed her arm and when I turned her over I jumped on top of her. She was laughing pretty hard and using her knees against the bed she tried to buck me off. Holding on, I was felling a little awkward and silly, like a cowpoke on his first horse. While playing the buckeroo I didn't know what to do, so out of desperation I snapped her bra strap. It was dumb, I know, but as I said, I didn't know what to do. But she did. She started to wail into the mattress, "Oh, God, please, not that. Don't lash me, anything, anything but that."

Her laughter was uncontrollable now and I couldn't help but feel I was the butt of her joke. I didn't like it. I got off her and walked to the bathroom where I kind of hid out for five minutes or so until I thought it was safe to return. I returned early.

She was lying on the bed in what for her was a sultry pose. She had on a new and rather fetching set of undies and a newly discovered provocative look that seem to shatter the image I carried around of her: innocent, sweet and humble. She looked like a vamp and bit of a trashy vamp at that which I was alarmed to discover affected the angle of my penis.

"It's not lambskin, it's lamb-KINS," I said, but she could have cared less.

"Well?"

I shrugged, "you look nice." But then I got a little more aggressive. "But you have to ask yourself, is it you that gets to me or your underwear?"

She didn't bite, instead, as I sat down on the bed and caressed the luxuriant material of her white panties with the back of my hand, her face crunched into concentration, "I've got to find a fetish."

An opening for revenge. "I know one you'd like."

She sat bolt upright. She was definitely interested.

"A girl in my office, she works in accounting, maybe we could ask her over …" She kicked me, I hope a lot harder then she meant to because it really hurt but she didn't notice, she was deep in thought.

"I don't know if a fantasy is a fetish, but I've had a fantasy for a long time."

I lay down beside her, on my belly to hide my growing hard-on.

Funny how when you walk into a room you tend to know where to look for someone. I mean, some of the people you know would be hiding in the shadows or on the fringes of centre stage. And some, like Big John, are always found dead centre in the centre of that centre stage, under the brightest light. Not that the guy is all show. He isn't, far from it. If anything he's pure performance. Born of a humble background, he rose through the ranks of the construction racket through hard work, determination and, well, it's construction we're talking about, ruthlessness and, my guess, plenty of pay-offs. But the guy has two sides, that one and the family side. He married Anita when they were both not yet 18; they had 6 kids together before they reached 30, and he nursed his wife into the grave thirteen years ago, on her 43th birthday, when my Anita was just 13. By all accounts he has kept her alive in his heart ever since. It's a real love story.

The two guys standing at Big John's table laughed heartily, one slapped him on the back and they nodded to me and left as I was waved into the chair across from him.

"We got off to a bad start."

"You did, I got off to a great start." I was glad to notice that this confused him and I was about to explain when the waiter materialized. We ordered and as the waiter left Big John glared at me with a look that positively extracting my explanation. I told him that I had crashed the first dinner I had attended and enjoyed every minute of it, even his scowls. And I was getting one now, so I backed up a bit. I told him how I had met his daughter, had fallen in love with her, what a tough nut she was to crack (he scowled at this, too), and how I pursued her. It took me maybe five minutes to make my report, something I instinctively knew he wanted and when I finished, I relaxed, glad that my duty was done.

I won't give his speech, although it was a good one, lasting maybe ten minutes. He didn't threaten me, per se — but the inference was unmistakable. But he ended it nicely, with a reference to how happy Anita appeared to be. So, with our duties done just as the food arrived, we ate in awkward silence until the coffee came and he offered me a job. The pitch was simple enough: he could use a good corporate lawyer, I could use some money while I was going to school, the business was a family affair, he would take it as a personal favour if I accepted and, well, I was about to say ‘it was an offer I couldn't refuse,' but I thought that might cut a little close to the bone, a metaphor that, at the time, made me cringe to myself a little, and the deal was done. When we shook hands on the street I got the impression he trusted me a little more, but that I had a long way to go.