Sans Serif

Once through the park gates, Central Avenue morphed into a twisting mountain road as it snaked up South Mountain, ultimately bringing us to the parking lot for Dobbin's Lookout. "Wow," Ellen exclaimed as we stepped from my car. "What a view."

I'd never seen it myself, so I was also impressed. But I played the experienced tour guide and simply said, "Oh, yes. The best view of the city and the entire Sun Valley." I wasn't sure about the last part of that, but I thought it sounded good.

"And what is this building?" Ellen asked as we headed for the stone structure in front of us.

"It's called Dobbin's Lookout. It was built by the CCC back in the 1930s, during the Depression. Roosevelt was creating make-work projects all over the country, and this is one of the lasting legacies of that policy," I said, trying to sound authoritative and impress the beautiful lady on my arm. And it seemed to work. For she actually did seem to be impressed as we toured the rustic stone shelter and the surrounding grounds.

It was only about five-thirty, and we had to kill about an hour before the sunset was schedule to take place. So, after reading all of the posted information about the lookout, and marveling about the spectacular view. We briefly hiked one of the trails leading away from the summit. But neither of us were dressed for hiking mountain trails, so we soon returned to the lookout and sipping our bottled water, waited for the sunset.

Arizona famously does not recognize Day Light Saving Time. So, according to the chalkboard sign on the lookout wall, tonight's sunset should occur at 6:42 P.M.. And that's good because the park closes at seven, and it's a hell of a drive down the park road back to the entrance gate. Since they had the time of sunset posted, and the lookout was quite crowded for a mid-week evening, I assumed they would let us stay at least until the sun slipped below the distant mountains to the west.

And they did. But once the sun was out of sight, Ellen leaned over to kiss me, and as I wrapped my arms around her, our kiss lingered for - well, I'm not sure how long. But it wasn't broken until a park ranger clearly announced, "The park is now closed. Everyone should immediately proceed to their car."

The moment was sweet, sexy, and romantic - and I just hoped that the sun would never set on our relationship. For even sitting on hard wooden park benches, I could have stayed there all night with Ellen in my arms.

But it was dinner time. So, down the winding mountain road to the front gate. And though I had to consult my tourist map more than once, we soon arrived at "Rustler's Rooste." It's a family steak house and barbeque restaurant. And though the menu may only be three stars, the view at night is definitely five stars. I had reserved a table for two next to the window. And as we dined on green salad, a grilled steak for me, and fried fish for Ellen, the dinner may not have been as gratifying as that of P.F. Chang's the night before. But the bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc and twinkling lights of the city made the evening perfect. Note - I ordered the white wine as Ellen was having fish, and besides, it was still hot outside and the cool wine just made sense.

Once back in our hotel room, Ellen turned to me and with another of her alluring smiles, asked, "Shower?"

At first I wasn't sure what she meant, but the smile said it all. "Together?" I inquired just to make sure I had interpreted her innuendo correctly.

"Of course, you silly boy. We're in the middle of a desert, and we have to do our part to conserve water," she teased as she began pulling my shirt from my waistband. I was wearing a golf-style knit shirt with a US Navy logo on it and blue jeans. It's not as sexy as undoing a string of buttons. But she was wearing a buttoned blouse, so once she had my shirt off over my head, I started on her blouse. Which, of course, gave her the opportunity to start on my belt, jean snap, and zipper. Working together, we were both bare-ass naked in under a minute. Unfortunately, our hotel room only had a tub and shower combination. But there was still room for both of us and soon, with both bare hands and sudsy washcloths, we playfully scoured each other from head to toe. Paying meticulous attention to that normally private area between our waists and knees. Ellen particularly enjoyed holding and stroking my rigid joystick with her soapy hands. And I equally paid added attention to that black forest covering her pudendal mound and the soft tissue that lay just below and out of sight between her legs.

Stopping our labors of lather before our soapy manipulation of each other's body resulted in a climatic conclusion that I think we would have both preferred in bed, Ellen rinsed us both and shut off the water. Helping each other out of the tub. She then pulled two large fluffy hotel towels, allowing us to playfully blot each other dry. Now Ellen did quickly drop to her knees to give Little Dean a quick oral examination. But it was just a Pop Quiz, and not a final exam.

Once back in the bedroom, Ellen pulled back the bedspread, blanket, and top sheet. Then motioning for me to lay on my side, she promptly laid beside me, but with her head toward the foot of the bed. She then scooted up until her face was aligned with my pleasure zone and her hairy hill just inches from my face. It was apparent we were to give each other oral sex at the same time. And to do it side by side, reminding me of the Taegeuk - the Korean symbol of peace and harmony.

Tenderly she took me in her mouth and began an oral massage of my most prized possession. And simultaneously she raised her upper leg and gently placed it over my head. It was very clear what my mission was here, and I quickly put my lips and tongue to work.

Now I must correct myself one more time. Referencing our night together in Washington, I referred to giving a woman oral sex that had just stepped from the shower as tasteless and as uninspiring as kissing your sister. I argued that there was no scent, no aroma, no taste. Well, that may have been my experience in the past, but not with Ellen. Admittedly, she was sucking my dick at the same time. But her tender fellatio of my manly member, must have triggered her own pheromones, because her juices and her overall bloom were the perfect blend of sweet and pungent as well as salty and savory.

After a few minutes, I was able to insert several fingers into her. And again, I have no idea where or what a G-spot is. But I must have found someplace she liked. For as I sucked and gently hummed on her clit, suddenly she started squirming like a little kid being held down and tickled. I should mention, using a wet finger on that area between my nut sack and my ass hole, all the while tenderly licking and sucking my dick, she had brought me to the same point.

As I began my uncontrolled release into Ellen's mouth, I pulled my fingers from her, and as I quickly sealed my mouth over her opening, she also flooded my mouth. We had simultaneously brought each other to intense orgasms and were flooding each other's mouths. Who produced more liquid, I don't know. But based on the sound of our gulps, it must have been about the same.

As our respective bodies slowly ceased their convulsing, and we had consumed equal parts of our lovers' bodily essences, we both rolled to our sides, and breathing like racehorses, stared at the ceiling. Eventually Ellen took my hand, and interlocking our fingers squeezed as hard as she could. "We came together," she whispered.

"Shouldn't lovers always do that?" I questioned.

Pausing first to catch your breath as well as her thoughts, she said softly, "Yes, but I think that was my first time. - ever."

I squeezed her hand, but I didn't verbally respond. I honestly couldn't remember if I had ever reached nirvana in coordination with a previous lover or not - ex-wife or girlfriend. But secondly, that implied that Ellen had previous lovers. And though I apparently top them all, at least one of them may still be standing between us.

After maybe five minutes of heavy breathing and staring at the ceiling, I got up and walked to the hotel mini fridge. Finding a bottle of white wine, I poured us both a glass and returned to bed - thank you IBM. Handing a glass to Ellen, she scooted up and leaned against the headboard, and laying down, I joined her.

For the next several minutes, we both silently sipped our wine. I know what I was thinking about - was she available to me. But what was she thinking about? I don't know. With her wine about half gone, she reached over me to grab the bottle, and refill her glass. She then chugged most of it. Placed the glass on her bedside table, and then kneeling over my mid-section, slurped my wiggle stick back into her mouth.

She still had cold wine in her mouth, and the sensation was amazing. I had never had any woman ever do that before, and I had no idea it could be so stimulating. My dick shot back to life, and that was clearly her objective. She quickly laid on her side with her back to me and raised her upper leg. The invitation was clear. She wanted to spoon, and for me to fuck her while I was doing it.

This was another first for me. I guess I'd seen it in porno movies before. But I'd never actually tried it. I'd never had a partner request it, and I'll be honest, I'd never considered it. But as I slid into Ellen from behind, I was able to throw and arm over her body and cup her breasts while I was fucking her. And as I had a massive orgasm only fifteen or twenty minutes earlier, I lasted a long, long time. It was so surreal; I had never made love to a woman like this in my life. Please God, tell me this is not a dream. Please tell me that we can me together forever.

The next morning, Ellen had to be at the airport by seven-thirty to catch her flight. I allowed her to shower first, get packed, and I drove her to the airport to save her from having to rely on the shuttle. I dropped her at the "Kiss and Fly" lane, and then went back to the room to pack and checkout. I had a six hour drive back to San Diego, but I wasn't in any hurry. I had very little time to think of our relationship while getting her off to the airport. But once I was on I-10 heading west, she was all I could think about. How and why did our connection through the Selectric work? And why only when I had the Letter Gothic typeball on? And why was she so secretive about her personal life. She was still wearing the opal ring. Was that symbolic of anything? And where did she live and with who? She clearly was attracted to me. She sent me her travel schedule. But she never indicated that I could meet her at her home. And was she a dog or cat person - so many questions and so little information.

Once back home in San Diego, after petting and wrestling with Henry for a good five minutes, I went to my bedroom to see if Ellen had left a message on the Selectric. No, nothing yet. So, I typed her a quick note. 'Ellen, I had the most wonderful two days and two nights with you. Thank you so much for sending me your schedule and allowing me to stay with you.'

I thought that was sweet and proper under the circumstances. However, later that evening as I was eating my Chinese takeout, it occurred to me - what if she didn't live alone - and what if she wasn't home yet - and what if her domestic partner, whom ever that might be, saw the message before she did? This scenario had never occurred to me in the past. But I had never written such a revealing message before without knowing that she wasn't live on the other end. I know this was stupid. But the more I fretted over this imaginary threat to our relationship, the more paranoid I became. I couldn't take it back; I'd already sent it. And just like e-mail, once it's gone - it's gone.

I tossed and turned all night, wondering if I had screwed up or not. But luckily, just after four in the morning, I heard the Selectric click on. I flicked on my bedside light and shot out of bed to read the message I knew was coming. One minute went by, and then another. Finally, almost three minutes later, the typeball sprung to life. 'Dean, it was great seeing you again. I had a wonderful time as well.' And that was it. No sweet little innuendos, no I can't wait to see you again, and not even a little XXX (kisses).

Well, at least I knew she made it safely home. And maybe she was on her way to work, it would have been seven in the morning there, and she just didn't have time for a longer response. I took the paper from the typewriter, dated it, and filed it away. I then rolled a fresh piece on the platen and went back to bed. Of course, I couldn't sleep after that exchange. So, ten or fifteen minutes later, I got up, showered, and got dressed for work. I was an hour early, but as I'd been out of the office for three business days, I had plenty of e-mails waiting for me.

By lunch time, I had managed to put most of my anxiety behind me. I ate lunch with co-workers, and they all wanted to know where I had been for the last three days. I told them I had gone to Phoenix to see a cousin I hadn't seen in years, and that pretty much put the question to rest.

That evening, Henry and I walked down to Chicken Charlie's, a local bar and grill with a dog friendly outdoor patio. It's one of Henry's favorite places to go, as you can imagine. Not only do I provide him with plenty of handouts. Other patrons flip him pieces of meat as well.

Henry and I returned home around seven-thirty, and as I walked into my bedroom, I realized the Selectric was on. I dashed to see what was typed on the fresh paper. 'Dean, you home?'

My heart soared. 'You bet, I'm here.' I typed as fast as I could.

'Dean, I am so sore.'

I wasn't exactly sure what she was talking about, but I had a pretty good idea. 'From the plane ride?' I joked.

'Ha Ha! You know what I am sore from Dean,' immediately followed. 'You fucked me and fucked me and fucked me.'

I suppose I could have taken this message either way. She was either pissed, or she was thanking me. I took it as the latter. She was alone and she was sexting with me. 'I didn't hear you complain,' I wrote.

'I couldn't. I was either busy sucking your dick, or I was absolutely breathless.' There was a pause as I was trying to think of something witty to say. But before I could respond, she added, 'You are the sweetest, dearest man I have ever met.'

Oh my God, she all but said it out loud. She all but said, I love you. I was beside myself, as well as speechless. Did I dare use the "L" word? She didn't actually say it, but she certainly implied it. So, maybe I should temporarily skirt the issue. 'Ellen, I have been waiting for you all my life.'

There was now a longer pause, as I'm sure she was trying to carefully craft her words as well. The typeball went into standby mode as I waited. Then suddenly, 'Dean, what are you wearing?' appeared across the page.

'I'm fully dressed,' I typed. 'Henry and I just got back from dinner.'

'You were on a date with Henry,' she teased.

'Henry is a roommate. Don't you have a roommate?' There I said it. For the first time, I asked her flat out if she had a roommate.

The typewriter was silent for a moment. And then, 'I'm sans clothing, why don't you do the same?'

She didn't answer my question. She is hoping that typewriter sex will change the subject. Now my heart sank again. She was clearly avoiding the topic, while trying to maintain the relationship we had. Do I insist on knowing what her intentions are? Or do I get naked and play along?

'I'm unbuttoning my shirt now. There's one button - there's two buttons... '

Forty minutes later, I was breathing like a racehorse and looking for a washcloth to clean up the sticky mess I had just made. Ellen had me wrapped around her little finger. But what was I going to do? I honestly had never met a woman like her in my life. I didn't even think they existed. But I guess they do, as I had one on the line - I just needed to safely reel her in.

Over the next three weeks, we exchanged messages via the typewriter almost every day. And we playfully enjoyed typewriter sexting at least once a week - usually on the weekends. But I was getting frustrated that I couldn't talk to her. I hinted several times that we should exchange phone numbers, but she never gave me a direct answer. She would usually ignore the question, or just change the subject like she didn't see it.

Not satisfied with the status-quo, I finally went out and bought a cell phone. Not unlike today, the phones are fairly cheap, I think I only paid a couple of hundred dollars. But the cell service was expensive, especially then. There was a monthly service charge, which was about the same as another landline. But then there was the per minute charges. I think I initially only got twenty minutes included in the basic monthly plan. And then I was charged for every minute of talk time after that - regardless of who called who. And it added up fast.

That night, Ellen messaged me as usual. 'Hi Dean, are you home?'

'Hey Sweetie,' I had started calling her that by now, even though there were very little reciprocal terms of endearment. 'Guess what? I bought a cell phone today.'

'Oh, I'm afraid I'm sans cell phones' she quickly typed back.

'My new number is 619-555-6989. You can call me anytime.' I then added my land line number, as if she was going to call me, it would be cheaper for both of us if she used that number. Besides, if we were going to have phone sex, it would probably be easier over the landline.

There was no immediate response, so I added, "May I call you?'

Now there was a longer pause. I didn't expect her to say yes, but I was hoping. So, I wasn't surprised when the Selectric typed, 'Oh, Dean. I've got to go. Later Baby.'

I was disappointed. But she called me 'Baby.' That was the first time she had ever used any sort of term of endearment. So, our conversation for the evening may have come to an end. But it was worth it to get a 'Baby,' as I knew we would be chatting again soon.

Over the next several months, we returned to our predictable schedule of three or four evening typewriter chats. And at least one night of typewriter sexting. Those were usually on the weekends and could last for an hour or more. It was always my favorite way to end a week.

I was careful about asking for too much personal information. I would drop little lines like, 'So, what's the weather like where you are?' Or 'How long is your daily commute?' Those would never get a direct response and would usually be followed by a reciprocal question of her own. And when I would playfully bring up the question of cats verses dogs, she would always respond with, 'Sans pets - no animals.'

Suddenly, at some point in mid-November, Ellen mysteriously stopped communicating. I would leave her a note on the Selectric every day or two, 'Hey Ellen, are you there?' To which there would be no response. After a couple of weeks, I was afraid she was ghosting me. My daughter and her boyfriend invited me and my ex-wife over for Thanksgiving dinner, and it was much appreciated. They had been living together for several years, and this was the first time I had ever been to their house for anything other than to fix something or to deliver a purchase they had made and couldn't get into their tiny car.

It was also awkward being at a family event with my ex. To be honest, we got a long much better after the divorce than we did the last couple of years we were married. And I think my kids realized that, so it was nice having the family together at least one day per year. We missed sharing the holiday with my son, as he was at sea, and there was some irony in that. For twenty years, I was usually the one to be missing family holidays for the same reason.