George and Martha Pt. 01

The stories on this website are of course fiction, however there are times the characters or situations are based on something that happened in the authors life. This story is one of those, the two main characters are people I knew, he was a white lineman, she was a black school teacher. Both virgins in their late 20's, both introverted and withdrawn. I had the pleasure of being at their wedding the year she turned 29. I hope you find the story interesting.

*****

I have the alarm set for 3am. I'm awake and staring at the dial as it moves to 2:51am. I've gotten up at this hour for so many years now my body's internal clock automatically wakes me. I sit on the bed stretching, yawning, fingers in my hair trying to get rid of bed head, stand up and scratch my butt as the alarm goes off.

I push the off button, shed my sleeping shirt tossing it onto the bed and drop my panties in the laundry basket as I walk to the shower. The warm water feels good as I lather up and wash, then my hair where I stand under the water for a few minutes longer than necessary as I rinse. It simply feels good to have the water beating down on my skin. I step out, drying as I do, watching myself in the mirror as I rub and try to catch all the hidden parts.

I'm pleased with myself, my breasts are firm and certainly fit my body, if they were bigger than a 34C I would look top heavy. My waist and hips flow together, my legs aren't chubby, nor are they skinny. I don't have a bubble butt, nor what is often referred to as an apple shaped ass. I look at myself and I see a thousand other women who are no more than average, we certainly aren't inadequate, we're just ... average.

My hair is okay. Some black girls get naturally wavy curls, some are fortunate enough to possess nearly straight hair, I, like many others have naturally puffy locks that easily turn into a fro. In college I got all caught up in the black is beautiful thing and kept it cut tight to my head with lots of jewelry to show I was a girl.

Over a summer I had let it grow out a few inches, when I returned to school several people commented on my new hair-do, telling me how much they liked it. I've kept it that way for years. Easier to take care of and it doesn't distract from what nice facial features I do have. Most times I part the top down the middle, I like that look and so do others. At least once a week I'll put it into puffy pony tails, I've received more compliments with that hair style than any other.

Just as a thousand times before, I laid out my clothes before bed. White full brief panties, a white cotton bra, my white baker's shirt and pants. The contrast makes my brown skin almost shine, it looks soft and touchable. There I stand, set to head downstairs to my bakery shop and start the process all over again. As I reach for the doorknob, I take one last look in the full-length mirror and tell myself. Martha, you look good, but there's nothing about you that says take me home and ravage my body. Prince charming is on his way, you just have to be patient.

As I'm bringing the oven up to temp and have bread dough in the mixer, I pull the carts with trays of pastry dough out of the proofer. I hear a key in the backdoor lock, hear my aunt and her best friend yammering away about who knows what. Using an old black southern manner of speaking in their sentences. Both having been born in the early 50's, the daughters of share croppers that was how they talked, and some of it still fit them. It was part of who they are.

Aunt Elma walked to hug me as she'd done every morning since we opened the shop 4 years ago.

"How you doin honey? Mmm, mmm, mmm, girl you lookin good this mo'nin."

I often wondered if Aunt Elma actually looked at me since she said the same thing every morning. I smiled, kissed her cheek and went back to work. My cousin Elouise, folks called her Weezy, was getting the fry machine up to temp and ready to go. We had a special order for five dozen cake donuts to be ready by 8, so there'd be no dawdling, ass slapping, or extra chatter this morning. On top of that we had all the other donuts and pastries we normally made for the in-shop customers. We got busy on all the stuff that's normally ready when we open the doors at 6:30 and then tackled the special order as the others cooled.

At 5:45 Weezy got busy with frosting and glazes, along with all the other junk that goes onto our donuts and pastries. She had them done and I was putting the last of them in the cases as the door was unlocked. We usually had a few of the more popular items in the back to re-stock, but all the others were first come first served items, when we were out that was it until tomorrow.

It was already 7:20, where was he? He was always here at 7:15, what could be wrong. He'd been stopping for goodies every Monday through Friday for nearly two years, a big tall lanky looking white guy. I wasn't sure if he was my prince charming, but he sure was cute ... and friendly. I was waiting on a customer when I heard the tinkle of the bell as he walked through the door. Aunt Elma offered to help knowing he would politely say he'd wait for me.

"Good morning George. Your regular?"

"Yes please, you're looking lovely today Martha, as always."

"There ya go, a maple pershing and custard filled long john with chocolate frosting. See you tomorrow?"

"Count on it pretty lady."

To the side during my interaction with Mr. McDreamy my aunt and cousin were busy kibitzing as they always did when I waited on him.

Elma:

"That girl got it bad. Look how she be squeezin her legs together, she aint gotta pee, he make that girl horny."

Weezy:

"Mmm, mmm, mmm. You know her panties be wet. How old she now Elma?"

"She be 28."

"28 and no man or chillun's yet. You and me was raisin a batch o' baby's at 28. What this younger generation comin to Elma?"

With the shop momentarily empty they started on me.

Elma:

Wat choo see in that white boy Martha? He be tall and cute and he got strong arms, nuthin bout the rest of him special. Aint no black boy caught yo eye yet?"

"I'm fine auntie. He's kind to me and polite. This might seem funny to you, but I don't think he see's my skin color. I don't think he knows I'm black."

They both yukked it up and belly laughed.

Elma:

"Girl, unless he be blind he got to know you black. I think that college education done got you all mixed up kitten."

Elma had been my saving grace. As a child I was orphaned early, my mom was an accountant working at a large firm when she met and slept with my father. He absconded the minute he found out mom was pregnant, she made the decision to have and raise me. It was Aunt Elma who took care of me while mom worked. Mom made a good wage and wisely invested in our future, so at the age of six when my mother was caught in the cross fire of a convenience store robbery and died, it was my aunt who kept and cared for me.

The life insurance and her retirement fund were put into a trust for my education expenses and the remainder would be mine at the age of 25 if I finished college or some sort of formal training one could make a living with. Elma stated she would raise her niece and that the money would be there for me when I decided to go to school. She's the one who got me through what I now refer to as my 'dumpy' years.

I still hadn't lost all my baby fat by ten and had accepted the fact that I'd be fat all my life. Auntie would tell me soon it would all change. I'd start having my period, I'd grow breasts and have some hair between my legs as I grew into my body. She was of course correct. When I first noticed my nipples were puffing out, I ran to auntie and pulled up my shirt, anxious to show her. She reached out and held me, telling me they would get bigger as I got older.

My first pubic hair was a similar experience, running into aunties bedroom in my nightie, pulling my panties down and yelling I had hair. She tugged my panties back up and laughed as she hugged me, telling me I was growing up too fast. As I began to grow taller my body filled in, the baby fat disintegrated and my figure filled out. For whatever reason I was one of those girls who never had a date or was asked to prom, so I focused on my studies.

Something my aunt didn't allow was me to speak the way she and Weezy did. Interestingly enough she only spoke that way with Weezy, and me. My aunt was extremely intelligent and spoke articulately. If I drifted off into the lazy southern half speak she and Weezy did, she'd correct me. My inspiration for cooking derived from auntie and Weezy always being in the kitchen cooking or baking something.

After two years in culinary arts I realized my love was in baking and changed schools where the focus was nothing but pastry and confectionery. After graduating I worked in a few larger entities as their pastry chef and decided I didn't want to work in someone else's kitchen, I wanted my own. Auntie and I sat down with the lawyers, I was 23 and wanted to open my own bakery shop. Was there any way the trust could be released to me before my 25th? Unfortunately, it was all tied up in legal mumbo jumbo and I couldn't touch it until my 25th birthday,

Disheartened I continued in my dead end job. At supper a week later auntie told me of a plan. If we could open a shop for less than one hundred thousand she and Weezy had that much available between them, and I could pay them back as soon as my trust was available. I was concerned it would deplete their funds, she reassured me that was not the case. During my search for a building I'd found an old neighborhood bakery that had been closed for a little over three years. The owners retired and couldn't sell, so they mothballed it and lived upstairs.

The oven, walk-in coolers and freezer, mixers and all the rest were there, it needed to be made operational, inspected and we needed to clean, but it was all there. I was able to buy it with a small mortgage, the older couple could afford to move out and I moved in. Ten weeks later on a sunny spring day Dee's Donuts and Bakery was open for business. Two days before on a warm bright Saturday we did a trial run, setting up tables out front and giving away a sample donut to all who wanted one. We had made up 300 and they were all gone by 3:30 that afternoon.

One little guy had come back three times, telling me it was for someone else. The third time I followed him around the corner and saw him eating the donut. He grinned as he saw me, I wagged my finger at him and he ran down the sidewalk. After he'd gone I wondered if he had simply been hungry. He didn't look malnourished, but sometimes you can't tell. I'd had a good childhood in a loving atmosphere, I was learning not everybody had what I did growing up. Auntie made sure I didn't get everything that caught my eye, at the same time I never lacked or went without.

Though the business was prospering and growing I wanted to get auntie and Weezy paid back as soon as possible, so when the trust became available, I immediately had the lawyers draw up paperwork to pay them back and set up a profit sharing program. They were essential in starting my dream, it was only proper they share in the profits as well.

Back to the present:

I was all smiles and twitterpated after George left, mind you the only way I knew his name was George is because of the name tag on his uniform, the same way he knew my name was Martha. Sometimes name tags can be a good thing. I knew that he worked for Interstate Power as a lineman, that much I'd gotten out of him during our brief conversations while he bought pastry. Weezy was right, I was wet between my legs. As I excused myself to the ladies room I could hear the two of them giggling and snickering.

I thought about going upstairs and putting on dry panties, but we were far too busy at that time of day. Wiping the goo from my panties and my vulva I wondered if he would ever ask me out. I wasn't necessarily hooked on white boys, but neither was I hooked on black boys. I really didn't care what color their skin was as long as they treated me with respect and would love me for who I am.

This was my morning routine every day Monday through Friday. We were only open a half day on Saturday and most of those sales were breads. I had two younger recent bakery school graduates working Saturdays for extra money and experience. Living above the shop I was always available after 9 if needed. At 7:10 Monday through Friday my heart would begin to race, my legs would become wobbly and I would watch the door like a hawk. He always waited for me and the other two made sure customers were cared for so I could enjoy my five minute date with Mr. McDreamy.

Once he'd gone, I would make my way to the girls room and clean myself up. I'd considered bringing a second pair of panties with me but hadn't done so yet. It was another busy Tuesday morning, like every other morning. There'd been storms through the night, when I opened the shop I checked the signs out front to make sure all were intact. My heart sank when George hadn't come in by 8. Did he find another donut shop? Did he find someone more interesting than me to talk with? I had a dozen questions with no answers.

Because we open at 6:30 we close at 5, or when everything is sold out, whichever comes first. Most days we're open until 5, saving what little pastry was left over and set it out the next morning at a reduced price under a banner that said, 'fresh yesterday'. It generally sold, and if it didn't, we knew plenty of homeless who were happy to receive it. It was my day to close shop and I was dragging my depressed body around cleaning and bagging the few remaining items that hadn't sold. At 4:50 the door opened hitting the bell, as it sang its song of ding a ling a ling I looked up. My day instantly took on meaning.

There he stood, wet, sweaty, dirty and worn out, the most handsome man in my world. Mr. McDreamy hadn't forgotten me. I locked the door and asked him to sit in the back and have a cup of coffee with me. He'd been out on calls all night , working straight through to repair the storm damage and get peoples power back on line. He'd been on the truck almost 22 hours when they were relieved by a fresh crew. I had saved his favorites in hopes of him stopping by.

I put them in front of him on a paper plate along with a cup of coffee. As I set them down his huge left hand touched mine, squeezing ever so gently.

"Thank you. You're nice to me, not all folks are. I'm tall and gangly, as a kid I was a klutz. In fact I was so uncoordinated they gave me the nick name of Wobbly George. I hated it. I was always the last kid to be picked for anything during recess, and the only reason I got picked at all is because the teacher insisted I be included or recess would end early."

"Yes, but you're a lineman. Surely you can't do that and be uncoordinated."

"Like so many other kids I grew into my body. By the time I was 18 I was completely filled out and no longer a stumble bum. I went to school to be a lineman and fortunately got hired by Interstate right out of school. I'm not a city guy and tend to make country boy mistakes, so I still take a lot of crap."

"Do you mind if I ask how old you are George. Is it okay if I call you George?"

"Yup, I answer to most anything except late for supper. I'm 30 in two months."

We sat and talked until well after 6. He decided he needed to go home and rest, I needed to get upstairs, have a bite to eat and hit the hay. Three o'clock would be here soon enough. Lying in bed I considered changing my panties, they were very wet after spending over an hour with George. I don't make a habit of masturbating, it leaves me feeling empty and alone, but tonight I was touching myself. I opened my legs a little and felt the crotch. Not only were my panties soaked, my vulva was swollen and engorged, pushing against the cloth. I slowly ran my finger along the slit and my body shivered.

I wondered, is this what it's like when a man is feeling you up? No wonder it's so dangerous, feeling this good it wouldn't take much to get my panties off with the right guy. Next morning at 7:10 my dreamboat walked in, came to my spot of the counter and smiled, changing his order to an apple fritter and cheese Danish. As I handed him the bag he made sure his fingers grazed mine, holding them there for a second longer than normal.

"Martha, will you still be here at close today?"

I shook my head no, "I'm off at 3." He looked disappointed.

"Wanted to take you for coffee, but if you're busy."

"Nope, not busy, just not my day to close. What time?"

"I can be here by four thirty, is that too late?"

"Not if you have me home by seven."

"It's a date then, see you at 4:30."

My heart was pounding out of my chest, did he say date? I was light headed and unsure if my legs would hold me up. We were busy the next hour and none of us had a moment to ourselves. The rush ended around 8:30 as it usually does, giving us a while to get off our feet and have a cup of coffee.

Elma:

"Did I hear right? He takin you fo coffee? You best be ready honey, he be a man on a mission as they say."

Weezy:

"You got anything to wear other than them white grannie panties you wear unda yo pants eva day?"

"Why would I need any other kind of underwear? No one see's them but me."

Elma:

"Uh huh, but you neva know when somebody else might. Like I said girl, you best be ready."

Weezy:

"Sometimes you meet the kinda guy who talk you outa yo panties and then it starts. Mm, hmm. Mark my words girl, get you some a dem tiny little things that hardly cova yo koochie. Neva know when you might want him to see yo body."

"You two are unbelievable. George is a polite man, he's not like that."

Weezy:

"Then why you goin out wit him? Don't care what color he be, if he aint lookin to get in yo pants, sumthin wrong there suga."

The bell dinged and I walked back into the shop, my mind was going a hundred miles an hour. As wet as he makes me, what if I did end up in bed with him? Maybe I should get something different. I wear the white ones because you can see through the pants slightly and I don't want someone staring at striped underwear. Walking back into the kitchen aunt Elma took my hand.

Elma:

"This boy really unda yo skin aint he?" I nodded. "Chil' you neva know what gonna happen, get you somethin sexy to wear. He don't hafta see it fo you to know it's there, it'a make you feel mo sexy and wanted. Listen to yo auntie on this one sweetie, I aint neva steered you wrong befo. You take off at two, I'll close."

Leaving my apartment, I headed across town to the lingerie boutique. I'd been in it only a few times but always with someone else, and certainly never looking for myself. Walking around I found myself blushing at some of the outfits and lingerie. I felt silly and out of place, as I was about to leave an older woman walked toward me, her name tag signifyin she was employed there.

"Hello sweetheart. You look confused and embarrassed. Is this your first time shopping for personal lingerie?" I nodded.

"Is it for a boyfriend or a husband, or just because you want to feel sexy beneath it all?"

"I don't have either of the first two, yet, so I guess the third option is closest to reality. I have a date tonight, my first ever, and all I have are white cotton briefs. I don't plan on him seeing my underwear, but my auntie says I should be prepared."

"Your auntie is right. I wore full briefs up until about two years ago, now I wear whatever I want, or whatever my boyfriend desires, within reason. I had a husband once, he left me for a bimbo half my age, I decided two can play that game. I took him for half of everything he had and found a boyfriend. He likes lingerie and I like it when he takes it off me."