Pen 1, Sword 1

I felt gut-punched. Next to finding out that Traci was cheating on me, this might have been the worst moment of my life. But if nothing else, being in the Special Forces taught me that sometimes you had to take a bullet and keep moving forward.

I didn't date again for about six months, and then I jumped back into the game, as much to shut up Dick Reed as anything else.

"There's good pussy out there, bro. You're just letting it walk right by you," he'd say when he saw me.

I wasn't really looking when I first saw her, but circumstances changed that. She was sitting alone at the end of the bar in Stewart's, a favorite hang-out of the office crowd in downtown. I almost never go in the place, but I was in the neighborhood at a meeting, and when one of the guys in the meeting with me suggested we go over after we finished, it sounded like a pretty good idea. What else did I have going for me on a Thursday evening?

As my two companions and I were eating, she walked in, wearing a classy jacket and knee-length skirt combination, took a quick look around and walked over to the end of the bar. I'm not sure what the conversation was about anymore, because I stopped participating and became engrossed with this woman. Her outfit and the way she carried herself said "total confidence, complete control," but she moved haltingly, like she was expecting to meet someone she didn't see.

As her skirt was somewhat tapered, I could tell she had a tight ass and strong-looking thighs, so I guessed her to be, or have been, a volleyball player, especially since she was about 5-10. On her head was a mop of longish, unruly brown ringlet curls, which I found rather attractive. What I also found attractive was her beautiful face framed by all those curls, and her absolutely flawless caramel-colored skin. I guessed her to be about 35.

She sat down at the bar, spoke to the bartender and was served a white wine. The sharks started circling immediately. Maybe this was why she looked so reluctant coming in.

She rejected the first three guys that came up to her, but guy No. 4 seemed to be a little more persistent. When he put his hand on her forearm and she shook it off, I figured it was time to play cavalry. I excused myself from the dinner table after laying down a hundred-dollar bill for the meal, picked up my empty drink glass and headed for the pair.

"I'm sorry for not spotting you earlier," I said to the woman as I approached, "So I was having a drink with Bill and Harry. Can I get you another while I grab another for myself?"

She hesitated, which gave Mr. Forearm Toucher all the opening he thought he needed.

"Nice try, buddy. But the lady is with me tonight," he sneered.

"Well, no hard feelings then. You can't blame a guy for trying," I answered as I stuck out my hand for a handshake.

"No, we're OK bro ... ooo ... ooo shit."

He tried to yank his hand out of my grasp, but I held on tight and started shifting the bones around in his hand. He tried to push me off with his free hand, but I grabbed that wrist and twisted.

"All right! All right!" he half-whispered, half-whined.

I released his hands and he headed off.

The bartender came over and I asked for two more of what we were both drinking. I sat down next to this beauty, stuck out my hand and announced, "Allie Sanford. And no, I'm not trying to pick you up. It's a hobby of mine, saving damsels in distress. You should see me with a sword and a shield."

She put her caramel-colored hand in mine and I shook it gently, careful not to put any marks on that beautiful skin.

"Thank you for not breaking my hand, Allie," she said with a small chuckle.

She was trying to smile, but I got more sadness than anything out of the look.

"Randi -- Miranda White," she said.

"Well Randy Miranda White, that's probably more information than I needed, but it's nice to meet you."

I could see a pink flush start up her neck and wash over her face.

"That's not what I meant. Randi, just call me Randi," she choked out.

"Damn, I knew I just couldn't get that lucky," I rejoined.

She giggled this time, and I realized how long it had been since I had last heard that sound.

We talked for about an hour. Randi was a buyer for a retail chain in the area. She had come into the restaurant for a soothing drink after a tough day. She was aware that with her looks, going into a restaurant or bar alone would mean the inevitable, especially since she wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

"Same problem I have," I joked.

She giggled again, and gently punched my arm.

We briefly talked about why neither of us was wearing a ring. Seems she had one on for 23 years, before finding out that her husband was in the middle of what turned out to be his third affair.

"You were married 23 years" I questioned, sounding incredulous. "I figured you for about 35. Do you mind if I ask your age?"

"As long as you don't ask my weight," she said. "I'm 52."

"Holy shit!" I responded.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she offered.

I could have stayed there all night talking with this beauty, but I didn't want to overstay my welcome. Sometimes going home early is the better part of valor. But as I was saying my good-nights when I walked her to her car, I asked for -- and received -- her phone number. Ka-ching!

I'm not getting any younger, and the chance to date a beautiful woman doesn't come up every day in my world, so I called her almost as soon as I got home from the restaurant.

"I know this seems a little desperate ... OK, a lot desperate ... but do you want to do dinner and a movie this Friday?"

"Well, I've got to admit the desperation is charming on you. Yes, but I choose the movie," she replied.

I found out over dinner that Randi had been divorced for seven years. I tried to keep my face neutral when she said that, because I immediately started wondering ...

"Is seven years not long enough to get over my ex," she asked.

"No, that's not it," I said. "My last somewhat serious encounter still wanted to be free five years after her divorce, so I was wondering if you might also have commitment issues."

Her eyes flashed daggers at me.

"Moving a little fast here, Slick? This is our first date, and you're already thinking long-term? Why don't you relax and just let it happen. We're all different. Let's see where this leads."

"My apologies. I know you are all different. I just got hurt real bad, and I guess I'm anticipating ..."

"Don't anticipate me. Just let us happen."

"Let us happen. I like the sound of that," I thought to myself.

Randi was a calmer, quieter personality than Amy, although once I finally got her into bed -- on our eighth date -- she wasn't any calmer nor quieter when I put my tongue on her pussy. In fact, those strong legs of hers almost choked me into submission the first time I ate her pussy. By her fourth screaming orgasm by mouth, she was breathing like a freight train and I was sucking air like a drowning man with my face stuck as deep into her pussy as it could be. I quickly tapped both legs to get her to release the vice grip she had on my head.

I came up sputtering for air with KY lube and her cum up my nose.

"I'm sorry, Baby, I got carried away," she quickly apologized. "Nobody's done that to me in a long time ... and nobody has ever done that to me that good! That was amazing!"

Once I caught my breath, I flipped her over into doggy and took her slowly and passionately. She came once more before I did, then when we were finished we spooned for about 15 minutes, with me occasionally planting kisses on her lightly sweating back. Her skin felt as smooth as it looked. She moaned a lot while we were cuddling.

"Nobody's done this with me for a long time either," she purred.

When she went to get up, I rolled her onto her back, sucked for a while on each breast, then licked that wonderful smooth skin from her boobs all the way up her chest and neck to her lips. And despite the fact that my face was coated with her cum and KY, I planted my most passionate kiss on those lips. She didn't back off even the tiniest bit from the kiss, and in fact, noted she liked the taste of herself on me.

"Good, because I'd like to make that a regular thing," I chuckled back to her.

I later found out that both of Randi's parents were teachers, which, I think, explained the fact she was very precise in almost everything she did. I, on the other hand, had a tendency to wing things when it came down to crunch time. Special Forces had taught me to plan well, but be ready to be adaptive and go off-book when I needed to get things done and the plan wasn't working. My spontaneity, shall we say, sometimes irritated her, sometimes flabbergasted her, and then sometimes blew her away. For my part, I have to admit that sometimes her seeming obsession with perfection got under my skin. We'd have little stupid arguments over these differences in our personalities, and then of course we'd have to have makeup sex. And then I'd point out to her that she never had a problem with my spontaneity in bed, and she'd just get that pink flush up her neck and into her cheeks.

About the only time Randi ever showed any real spontaneity was on the dance floor. We would occasionally go out to a club, and that girl just loved to hoof it. I have pretty good stamina, but after a while I'd have to sit down and rest. She would just keep on going with whoever was around her, and in minutes there would be a group of both men and women dancing with her. I was OK with that as long as no one put his or her hands on her. I explained to her my rules about fidelity and touching, and she agreed wholeheartedly. But every once in a while, some young stud would try to hold her or take her hand and bring her to his table against her will, and then I would have to intervene. Usually I could get that done quietly, but every now and then I'd literally have to twist somebody's arm and take him over to club security for a quick ejection. I guess the word got out, though, that I was former Special Forces, because I never had anybody waiting for me in the parking lot.

As had become the tradition since Traci and I split, my oldest daughter, Lauren, made family Christmas at her house. That, and a few other family times during the year, were the only times Traci and I were together. It took great restraint on my part just to be civil to her, while she continually tried to get back in my good graces. Lauren had told me once before that Traci figured that she and I would eventually get back together, once I got over my wounded pride. Lauren had the good sense to look sheepish when she told me.

I had been dating Randi for about nine months, so I asked Lauren in a phone conversation if I could bring her to Christmas. Lauren hesitated, then asked me how serious I was about Randi. When I responded "very," Lauren simply said OK. She told me that she was going to warn Traci that I was bringing someone so hopefully there would be less drama.

"If there's any drama, I can guarantee it won't come from Randi," I stated.

Randi never had children. It seemed that her ex was shooting blanks. But judging by the way she took to my children and my grandchildren, she would have been a natural as a mother. My kids, by the way, were as taken with Randi as I was, and Lauren asked me why I was waiting to pull the trigger.

"Man up, tough Special Forces guy, and ask this woman to be your wife before somebody else steals her away," Lauren said. "We all love her, and I think the grandchildren would love to have her become Grandma Randi."

For her part, Traci was rather standoffish for the two days we were at Lauren's, which was probably the best I could hope for. She was not quite civil when I introduced her to Randi.

"I didn't realize you were fishing in the kiddie pool," Traci said to me as Randi frowned.

"Believe it or not, Randi's just a couple of years younger than us," I said quickly trying to defuse the situation. "It's that perfect skin that does it, I think. I, too, thought I was stealing someone's youngster."

Traci looked disgusted and walked away. I gave Randi one of those eyebrows raised looks that says, "What are young going to do?"

But the best part of the holiday came when Traci's mother, Linda, was leaving early after the Christmas meal. I had always gotten along great with Linda, and I know she had hoped I would stay with her daughter despite "Traci pulling a rock," as she put it. When she came up to me for a good-bye hug, she leaned in close and whispered, "I like her. Get this deal done."

I waited three more months, and on the anniversary of our first official date, I handed Randi a diamond ring and asked if we could make this a permanent thing. She jumped into my arms, gave me the best hug I'd ever had in my life and then outdid that with the most passionate kiss I'd ever had. Then she broke down in tears, completely soaking my left shoulder. All in all, I'd have to say it was a pretty positive reaction.

"Well it's about time, Slick," she said, calling me by the nickname she used on me on our very first date. "I thought maybe I scared you off when I told you that you were moving awfully fast. But just maybe you knew something that I didn't."

++++++++++

I sent Dick Reed a bottle of 18-year-old Jameson Irish Whiskey the other day as a belated thanks. Randi and I just celebrated our 10th anniversary, and, in truth, Dick had a hand in that. If left to my own devices, I would have become a hermit after my divorce from Traci. But Dick just wouldn't shut up about how much pussy a single guy in his 50s could get, so as much as anything I went back into the dating scene just to shut him up. And the rest, as they say, is history.