Fantasy Woman

I, Brian Davidson, was a late bloomer. All through High School physically I was a boy, not a man; while I had a cute face I was short and chubby. It wasn't until my first year in college that I started to mature, but then it was as dramatic a transformation as any that my doctor had ever seen. By the time that I graduated college I was nine inches taller, seventy pounds heavier, and with 20% less body fat than my freshman year in High School - namely six feet four inches tall and 230 pounds with 10% body fat.

Although physically I was a boy in High School that did not mean that I didn't have mature thoughts. I was fascinated by Virginia Brown - a real woman in High School, not a girl.

Virginia is a year older than I am, was the nicest person possible to everyone that she interfaced with, intelligent, charitable, and as beautiful as a woman could be; plus, she had a body that poets could effervesce about for decades. Although always self-effacing she was the "queen" of everything throughout her High School career; yet no one was ever outwardly jealous of her because of her humility, poise and grace. Although Virginia was always pleasant when I interfaced with her I never had even 1/10th of the courage necessary to have an extended conversation with her, let alone ask her out on a date.

Virginia Brown was my fantasy woman and for years after the last time that I saw her I masturbated to one of her yearbook photos, and compared all other women to her.

************

One thing about fantasies - you have to put them aside when you have to deal with real life on a daily basis. By the time that I graduated from college Virginia Brown was only a pleasant illusion from the past. I fell in love with Missy Granger two years after I graduated college and after dating a year we got married.

Missy is a beautiful woman with a feisty personality; I guess she would best be described as a firecracker. Her spirited persona can be her best - or worst - quality, however, depending upon the circumstances. It is her best trait during most social gatherings and when conducting a business negotiation; it is her worst when she perceives a slight or insult even if one is not intended. Since she is also sexy, uninhibited in bed, intelligent, and usually fun to be with, I never had any real problem in dealing with her occasional outrages or indignities. That is I never had a problem until an episode when my past view of a fantasy woman escaped my lips.

After Missy and I had been married about two years when I arrived at a Friday night party of young-twenty-somethings I was hungry. I hadn't eaten for several hours before the festivities and expected food to be served. It turned out that the only food served was banal snacks of the type that I usually avoid in order to keep my body fat at 10%. However, there were "dangerous" rum swizzles that in view of the general merriment of the event I imbibed in too eagerly, resulting in me feeling no pain for only the 2nd time in my life. While I do not remember exactly what happened and what was said - although Missy apparently did - some lamebrain had the idea of a parlor game.

The game was actually a purchased professionally done one called something like "Awkward Scenarios." At least as our hostess interpreted the game's rules it involved one person drawing a card that had a question on it and asking another person the question on the card. All questions could illicit "awkward" responses. The person asked the question could answer it, decline to answer it and then have to answer the question on the next card drawn, or pass it to someone else. "Passing it on" could only be done once during the game. If by majority vote the other players deemed an answer untruthful the contestant had to throw $5 into a pot to be collected by the ultimate winner.

I never understood how who got to draw the cards, or how the drawer picked who needed to answer, was determined. However, wanting to be a good sport and being looped, I played along.

Things weren't going too badly for me, and there were some humorous moments, when I was asked the question "Who is your fantasy woman/man?"

Of course the intelligent answer would have been "My darling wife Missy," even though it would likely have been voted as untruthful and resulted in me tossing $5 into the pot. However, as I said, I was unaccustomed to alcohol on an empty stomach and suddenly the long lost apparition of my High School crush came into mind. I blurted out "Virginia Brown!"

Almost everyone but she and I laughed when Missy asked "Who the Hell is Virginia Brown?"

I didn't help myself by responding "The nicest most beautiful woman in the world who was Prom Queen at New Trier High."

Then everyone laughed - except Missy.

The game continued until the hostess Barb was declared the winner and she pocketed the $30 in the pot. I was too far gone to drive and there weren't enough able-bodied people to carry my 230 pounds to my car even if Missy was willing or able to drive - which she apparently had no interest in - so Missy and I ended up spending the night at the party venue lying fully clothed on couches with blankets pulled over us.

Missy was a little testy the next day, the why of which I never would have been able to figure out until Barb explained it to me the next morning at breakfast. Fortunately, within a couple of days things were back to normal at the Davidson household.

About a year after my "Fantasy woman" answer the new president of the company that I worked for - Remarkable Widgets, Inc., commonly known as "RWI" - decided that all managers at my level from offices around the country should go together on a week-long Outward Bound bonding experience. I printed out a copy of the email announcing the trip. The email had as an attachment the names and offices of all of the managers that would be attending. I just scanned the list, not paying much attention to it.

That night I brought the email home to show Missy the dates. In keeping with her detail-oriented personality she perused it more carefully than I did. "Is this 'Virginia Brown' listed here your fantasy woman?" Missy snidely asked after viewing the attachment.

Since I hadn't really reviewed the list I had no idea whether or not that name was there - although Missy apparently didn't believe it when I told her that. When I did look carefully at the list there was "Virginia Brown - Milwaukie Office" only one name away from "Brian Davidson - Lake Forest Office," "Lake Forest" being the suburb of Chicago where I worked and only about sixty miles away from the Milwaukie Office.

After looking at the list I shrugged my shoulders and said "I doubt it. That's a fairly common name and by now she'd be on the order of twenty eight years old, and certainly married with a different last name."

"Why, because she's so hot?" Missy snarled.

"What's with the attitude?" I inquired.

"Isn't she your fantasy woman?" Missy responded, again with a snarl.

Thereafter we had what I hoped would be a minor dustup but which became major when I attempted intercourse that night and Missy declined with a cold shoulder and the comment "I don't want to be a surrogate for you fucking Virginia."

After staring at Missy's back with anger rising for half a minute I took my pillow and dramatically exited the bed and went to sleep in the guest room. That was only the second night in our married life that we went to bed angry, only this time - unlike the last time - I was not going to be apologizing.

Things were cordial, though a little icy, for the next week before the Outward Bound trip. At least Missy didn't bring up the "surrogate" thing again, and we even had sex two nights before I left. I'm not sure exactly why I did it, but during our two sexual escapades I went all out and reduced Missy (and myself) to smoldering embers by the next morning.

Missy's kiss good-bye was only perfunctory, but I made up my mind not to let her negative attitude bum me out. I was certain that I would come back with a photo of a different Virginia Brown than the one I went to High School with, and hopefully the Virginia Brown who worked for RWI would be fifty years old and forty pounds overweight with warts all over her face.

************

When I got to the boundary waters area of upstate Minnesota most of the rest of the RWI managers were already there. I knew four out of the twenty expected; unfortunately one that I did know was Virginia Brown. Despite my hope that it would be a different, forty pounds overweight, Virginia Brown it was my fantasy woman. Even more unfortunate was the fact that - if possible - she looked even hotter than in High School. The only fortunate thing was that she didn't recognize me; how could she since I was now tall, muscular, and trim, not the short, chubby, flabby kid at New Trier High.

Being as amiable as she ever was, Virginia quickly became the social butterfly of the group. Over the first two days I did notice her looking my way with either a perplexed look, or smile, on her face, but I tried hard not to make eye contact. It was very difficult to suppress my "fantasy woman" feelings especially when she wore (fortunately not all of the time) Daisy Duke shorts or bikini bottoms, which showed off the sculptured thighs of her long legs and her bubble butt. The third day the dam broke.

After we had pulled our canoes on shore and were taking a lunch break I tried to find a rock to sit on in an innocuous location. I had no sooner plunked down when the goddess appeared with a big smile on her face. "Brian isn't it?" she grinned as she sat down right next to me with her spectacular gams stretched out in front of her.

"Uh...yeah...Virginia, isn't it?" I countered, thankfully not as tongue-tied as I was in High School.

"You know, Brian; I've been trying to figure out why I recognize your face, and I think that I've figured it out," she chortled.

"Really?" was my lame response.

"I knew a Brian Davidson at New Trier High School in Winnetka, Illinois; could that be you?"

"I did go to New Trier," I responded; "did you?"

"Yes, I did. Do you remember Virginia Brown - that's me; I think that I was one class ahead of you."

I knew the jig was up so I pretended enlightenment. "Oh yeah; I thought that you looked familiar. You were a cheerleader, or something, weren't you?" I feebly responded.

Thereafter we chatted like old friends while I tried my best to keep something on my lap so that she wouldn't see the unwelcome tent that had been raised at my crotch. She made more than a couple of comments about how well I had matured and how muscular my physique was, probably resulting in my face blushing profusely.

Also unfortunately, Virginia became much friendlier toward me than she was to the other males on the trip, and did her best to team up with me in bonding exercises and to get me to be her partner during canoe trips. The canoe trips were especially bad because she sat at the bow and I stared at her perfect ass and golden hair flowing out of her helmet, and during breaks at her entire consummate body.

Actually, even more uncomfortable than the canoe trips were the bonding exercises, particularly the "trust fall" where she fell backwards and relied on me alone to catch her. The "trust fall" often resulted in my hands unintentionally brushing her prodigious tits - which she never complained about; instead she knowingly smiled.

My mind was in turmoil, and my cock at least half hard, the entire trip after Virginia recognized me. I was really glad when it was over. Of course it would have been totally inappropriate, if not physically impossible, to engage in sexual activity on the trip for numerous reasons, including because I was married. Virginia knew that I was married however she never gave any indication of having a husband and actually denied it on at least two occasions that I overheard. She was exceedingly flirtatious.

When the trip was over and we drove in vans to the Minneapolis Airport Virginia commandeered the seat next to me and fell asleep with her head on my shoulder and one of her hands on my arm. As was my M. O. for the trip I covered my lap with a magazine.

At the airport Virginia gave me an inappropriately long hug goodbye and said "We should get together when we get back home; you're only about fifty miles from my house."

"I'm sure that Missy would like that," I replied, trying hard to deflect any expectation of any relationship except a platonic one.

When I got home the first question Missy asked - completely direct with no pretense or foreplay whatsoever - was "So, was the Virginia Brown your fantasy woman?"

"Would you stop with that already; we've gone over this. An offhand comment when I was drunk for only the second time in my life cannot be construed as the gospel. So I had a schoolboy crush on her; I'm married to the love of my life and am an adult now, devoid of any crush. To answer your question, though, yes it was the same Virginia Brown that went to New Trier High and she still looks pretty good," I snapped back.

"Did you get to fuck her?" Missy ragged.

"Where the Hell is that coming from?" I responded. "No, I didn't fuck, suck, feel up, or kiss her. I'm married to you, bitch, and I don't cheat."

After the exchange of a few more "pleasantries" I tried to defuse the situation with limited success. At least I talked Missy into going out to dinner with me and I cajoled her into sex that night and tried my best to show her that I had to have been chaste since I gave her close to a dozen orgasms.

Things had settled down at the Davidson household for a few weeks before the shit really hit the fan. In his wisdom the CEO of RWI mailed out a photo album of the Outward Bound adventure to all of the participants' homes. Regrettably Missy got home before I did, got the mail, opened up the envelope with the photo album in it, and looked through it.

There may have been - except for the car ride back to the airport and Virginia's unwelcome hug once we got there - only three or four times that I had touched her on the entire trip. Of course one of the times was me holding her hand while she stepped out of the canoe when it wasn't properly beached and she had a big grin on her face. There were also other photos that we both were in though not touching. The photos were high quality, however, and clearly displayed Virginia's beauty.

When I got home the day that the album had arrived Missy was nowhere to be found. However, there was a sticky-note with the message "Looks like you were at least fucking her in your mind" on it secured to the photo of me helping Virginia out of the canoe.

Missy never showed up that night, but I didn't even bother to try to call her cell. If she was pissed at the photos I was even more pissed at her for her lack of trust and entirely intolerable outlook. I didn't know for sure where this was going but unless she had an attitude transplant things were not going to end well.

I left the photo album right where it had been when I got home when I left for work the next morning. When I got home the next night Missy still wasn't there. We needed to have it out; either she was going to have a complete change in stance or I was filing for divorce. Since I didn't know when she would be home, and I sure wasn't going to call her to ask, before I left for work the next day I set the alarm system in our house so that it would provide me a text notification when the alarm code was properly entered.

************

It was just before lunch time the next day when I got a notification that someone had entered the house, obviously Missy since she was the only one with both a key and the alarm deactivation code. I immediately got in my car and drove home. Missy's car was in the driveway and another car on the street. I quietly entered the house and immediately noticed clothing items discarded on the stairs and muffled noises coming from upstairs. I took a deep breath, took out my iPhone, activated the video feature, and walked up the stairs.

I couldn't believe it - actually maybe I could - but there was Missy lying on our bed, naked, with her legs spread while some asshole was reaming her pussy. I quietly walked around them videoing the activities making sure that I got good views of both of their faces. The asshole guy finally noticed me and yelled "What the fuck?" Missy looked my way and screamed.

As calmly but as sarcastically as possible I said "Don't mind me, I'm just packing," as I pulled a suitcase out of the closet and put my iPhone - still recording - in my pocket.

As I was throwing things into my suitcase the fuckers apparently separated. Missy started yelling "So you can fuck your fantasy woman but I can't have fun myself?" I ignored her.

The asshole approached me - still naked - and said "I need you to delete that video" as he grabbed my arm.

I threw his hand off my arm and with the most intense glower I could manage sniped "If you touch me again, asshole, I'll make sure that you're a soprano - go back to fucking the whore." I then continued throwing stuff in my suitcase.

About twenty seconds later I heard a gun cock and the asshole said "Give me your phone or I'll blow your nuts off." I turned to see him holding what looked like a 9mm handgun. He obviously wasn't thinking straight because he was too close to me for the handgun to be completely intimidating.

I pretended to be scared and nervous and said shit like "Please don't shoot - anything you say..." as with hands shaking I pulled my still recording iPhone from my pocket and made sure that it briefly caught him standing there with the gun pointed my way. Funny, my shaking hand dropped the iPhone on the carpet a couple of feet to my left, his right, and when his eyes followed it I pounced.

I grabbed the asshole's gun hand - I think that I heard Missy screeching in the background - and turned the gun toward him as I knocked him to the floor. I squeezed the trigger, over his trigger finger, when we hit the floor and the gun was pointed at his left shoulder. The noise of the gun making a big hole in his shoulder was deafening, and he dropped the gun as he screamed in pain. I retrieved the iPhone - still recording - and got video of him rolling on the ground screaming, and of me kicking the gun under the bed so that he couldn't reach it.

By this time Missy was uncontrollably screaming and sobbing. I finished packing, closed up my suitcase, turned off the record function on my phone, and called 911 as I walked down the stairs. I told the 911 operator that she needed to send both an ambulance and the police to my address, and then terminated the call. Then I emailed my video to my email address, my attorney's, and my accountant's.

I put my suitcase, home laptop, and a couple of other items from my home office, into the trunk of my car and was sitting on my front porch waiting when first the paramedics, and then the police, arrived. I told the paramedics where to find the asshole and about the gunshot wound to his left shoulder and told the police that the gun was under the bed so that the asshole likely could no longer reach it but to be careful.

Missy must have dressed the asshole with his boxers and pants because when he came out on a stretcher he had them on - but no socks, shoes, shirt, or sport jacket. His eyes were glassy but I'm sure that he saw me grin and wave.

By the time that the two first policemen on the scene came back downstairs a CSI unit, another patrol car, and a plain clothes car - which looked remarkably like the one on the street - had arrived. The two cops with the miscreant's gun in a plastic evidence bag, a shoulder holster, and some sort of ID talked with the two plain clothes cops for a couple of minutes; then the plain clothes cops came over to me. I started my video record back up on my iPhone.