Stealing Bliss

I was in the middle of my workout when she caught my eye. I had already hit the weights and was on the treadmill. It seemed there was something familiar about her, but maybe I just wanted there to be. She was breathtakingly beautiful—I'll admit, that was the first thing that struck me about her. Her long, dark brown hair was tied back into a ponytail. She was wearing no makeup and was looking around, lost, as if unsure of what to do. She looked like she'd just stepped into the gym—fresh and ready to exert herself. Newbie, I thought. She was wearing a tank top that showed off the smooth, creamy skin on her shoulders, arms and neck. It was low-cut enough to show a hint of cleavage without being overt about it. She had nice-sized breasts. Very large and round. Her tank top was baggy around the middle, and tucked into black tights that showed off a round, firm bottom and strong thighs. She had well-shaped, long legs. She looked to be about my height, and really young.

I couldn't take my eyes off her as she worked on the free weights and then found a treadmill across from me. I would look away, but inevitably my gaze would come back to her. It made me feel like a creep, but I couldn't help it. She wasn't the usual type I saw around there, and at the time, she was the only woman in the place. I know those are not valid excuses, but like I said, there was something about her that made me want to keep looking.

To get my mind (and eyes) off her, I went to the ab machine. As I did my crunches, I glanced up and thought I saw her looking away from me. If she had or hadn't, I didn't get the chance to know for sure, because by the time I dared to look again, she was gone.

I finished up, stretched, and went to the locker room. It was mostly empty. I went to the locker where I'd stashed my gym bag, pulling off my sweaty shirt. Standing in my shoes and shorts, I looked myself over, giving my reflection a half frown. It was a nice illusion to believe a woman like that had been looking at me, but it couldn't be true. My chest was broad and my biceps weren't bad, but I was still working unsuccessfully on my six pack. I'd developed a bit of flab before becoming more active, and it was being stubborn. I was just shy of six foot, slim. My legs were strong and toned. My hair was a light blondish-brown, and shaggy. I had stubble because I only shaved a couple of times a week, and gray had started showing amongst the hairs. My eyes were green and sparkling. I'd often been told I have gentle eyes. Aside from all that, I found myself plain . . . nondescript. One of those guys who fade into a crowd.

Tiring of my assessment of myself, I hit the shower, dressed and left. The night was cool—autumn was in the air. I had thought to bring my light jacket, but there was a big hole in the right knee of my jeans. I hadn't thought about how cold it had been lately when I put them on. I started towards my car, but changed my mind last minute. The sitter would have my son in bed by now, and what was the harm in paying her for another hour? I was in no rush to get back to my mostly-empty, quiet apartment. Slinging my gym bag over one shoulder, I instead went to the coffee shop down the block. I usually went there once or twice a week . . . even though it was a bad idea for me to have caffeine so late. What can I say? I felt like being bad.

The coffee shop was as dimly-lit and busy as always. I found both things comforting. Sometimes being surrounded by strangers made my loneliness worse, sometimes better. Tonight, it seemed, the latter would be the case. I ordered my coffee, awkwardly flirting with the cute little barista. She knew me by sight, if not name. No matter how many times I told her "Jon", she always wrote "Jay" on my cup. Eh, close enough. Cute girls can get away with a lot with me. (And get inordinately large tips in the process.)

Still smiling from the encounter, I went to an empty table in the back, sitting so I could observe the other patrons. I tucked my gym bag under my seat and stretched my sore muscles. As I sat and sipped my coffee, I thought back to the young woman in the gym. I could have tried talking with her. I was glad I didn't. It was tacky to hit on someone at a gym. Bad form. At least I thought it was. I didn't have any experience picking up women. All my relationships had been long term besides some fooling around in High School. So, regret or no, it was probably better that I didn't approach her. Same with the barista. Who wants to be asked out at work? Flirting I could do . . . I found myself inadvertently flirting a lot these days. With cashiers, coworkers, my doctor, my best friend . . . I didn't think it was something I could help. It had to be a subconscious reaction to my loneliness. I'd never been like that before. It was a strange and frustrating contradiction—to be able to flirt shamelessly, but not be brave enough to back up the flirting with anything substantial.

The scrape of a chair a few feet away caught my attention. I glanced up and saw a pretty new arrival. She had long, brown hair worn down, and was wearing black-rimmed glasses , a thin-strapped black blouse, and tight, form-fitting jeans. She turned away from me to put a gym bag under her chair and I got a glimpse of her bottom—round and firm. As funny and horrible as it sounds, it was her ass that gave her away. This was the beautiful newcomer from the gym! I watched her sit and sip from her coffee, trying to hide my examination of her with a pull from my own cup. As I discretely watched her—taking in her big, round eyes, her narrow, arched eyebrows, her full tender lips that curved at the edges as though she were always smiling to herself about something . . . I suddenly realized I'd seen this woman before. My initial impression at the gym was that I'd recognized her, and now I was sure that was true. I'd been thrown off by seeing her in an unfamiliar place, without the glasses, and with her hair pulled back. I'd seen this woman several times before. In fact I'd noticed her at the coffee shop a couple of times, and at a gas station nearby. At the grocery store a mile away wrangling three kids along with her cart. She must live close, like me. It could be a coincidence that I'd seen her so often—it wasn't a huge city—but at that moment, it felt like it must mean something.

As she played with her phone, I forced myself to look away, concentrating on my hands, my coffee, anything. I felt jittery and nervous, and it wasn't from the coffee. I'd barely drank any of it. I was nervous because I'd decided to seize the moment. I had to talk with this sexy creature, or I'd hate myself for a month. Sometimes deciding on a course of action can help-- not in this case. I was stressed out. I wondered if this was why I only flirted with the inaccessible. Women behind counters and on the clock; my doctor who was far too professional to reciprocate; my best friend who lived 1600 miles away. It made sense. I could only be brave when there was a barrier. I knew I hadn't always been this way. I'd had three long-term relationships, and I had been the initiator in all cases.

"Excuse me?" said a small voice. I looked up. As I'd worked myself into an oblivious frenzy of nerves, the woman had come over to me and was standing in front of my table, hands crossed in front of her. I tried to answer, but was so taken by surprise that I couldn't. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I've seen you around before."

I took a breath and found my voice. "Yes—the gym. Are you new there?"

She nodded. "Yes. This was my first visit. Can I . . . can I join you?" She looked up and our eyes met. Hers looked greenish in the low light of the shop. I found it amazing that a woman this physically perfect could be shy, but that was what the tone of her voice and her expression were conveying to me. Somehow this fact made me feel more at ease, and I found my courage returning.

"I'd like that," I said, standing and gesturing to the empty chair across from me.

She smiled and went back to her table to get her bag and coffee. This time she was facing me as she put her bag under her chair, and I caught a glimpse of her round breasts inside her blouse. With difficulty, I averted my eyes, not wanting to make her more nervous. As she sat down, I took a deep breath, hoping that I wasn't blushing. It felt like I was. She smiled slightly, offered her hand and said, "My name's Amy."

I took her hand and gently squeezed. It was so soft. "Jonathan," I said, taking my hand back and fidgeting with my coffee cup. "Er, Jon. Everyone calls me Jon. Except for the people who think my name is Jay." I chuckled, feeling dumb.

She giggled at this, but I could see some confusion in her expression. She seemed to disregard this, though, and said, "I've seen you around, and not just at the gym."

"Is that so?" I asked. I wondered briefly why I was being coy and decided to just go with it.

"Yeah," she continued. "Here a few times, at the grocery store. You probably never noticed me." She smiled broadly at me for a moment and went back to her coffee.

Her smile was infectious. "I've noticed," I admitted. "You're the pretty woman with all the kids."

She laughed at this. "Right. That's me. The mom. I've seen you with a kid too. Is he yours?"

"Yes he is. Johnny. I'm one of those single dads. So I take it your husband is too busy to watch your children while you go grocery shopping?" I hoped I wasn't being too obvious with this question, but I had to know. I didn't see a ring, but you couldn't be sure . . .

"My husband is . . . out of the picture. Kicked him out. Working on the divorce now."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, suitably concerned. I wasn't sorry. No, not at all. This meant she was free. "I've been there myself, and it's a bad time. But ultimately, it's for the best."

She nodded. "It is. It's stressful, but I feel much better without him."

"If it's none of my business, please tell me so, but what happened?"

She seemed eager to talk about it. "He was a liar. And a cheat. Immature. There were a lot of reasons. We were all wrong for each other—got married way too young."

"That can do it. Hey, at least you realized before you wasted your whole life. You're still young, right? You look young."

"I am. I'm twenty-two."

"See? You have plenty of time to find someone who fits you." I didn't show it, but I flinched inwardly at the age difference between us. I was thirty-three at the time, and my last girlfriend had been the same age as Amy.

"I guess," she said. "My husband is two years older than me, but never acted like it. I felt like the only adult in the relationship."

"Some people never grow up," I said. "So, what are you looking for in a new relationship?"

She thought about this for a moment. "No idea," she finally admitted, laughing. "But I do know I'm in no hurry to get involved with anyone any time soon."

"Probably a good idea."

"Yeah. I know it won't be hard to find someone better than my ex, but I need to figure myself out first."

"That's important," I agreed.

"I've been working out a lot—at home until tonight. Dieting. Working on losing the weight from my pregnancies. They all happened one after the other, so I never got the chance until now."

"Whatever you're doing must be working," I said. "You look amazing."

She looked down, and I could see her blush even in the dim light. "Thanks. Everyone always tells me that, but I can't see it. I'm not to where I want to be yet."

"You'll get there. Just keep working at it," I said, encouragingly. Although I couldn't see what else she needed to do. She looked incredible. Nowhere near fat, not skinny . . . she had curves and that was what had always attracted me to women.

"My ex never wanted me to lose weight," she said, with a touch of bitterness. "And he would have freaked out if he'd seen what I wore to the gym."

"Didn't like you wearing revealing clothes?"

"Nope. But screw him. I can wear what I want now."

"Exactly!" I agreed, grinning. She was losing her shyness the longer we talked and I was getting little glimpses of her personality through her words and tone. Here was a woman who'd been subjugated for a long time. Only now was she able to start to break free and figure out who she was. I remembered a time like that for me after my own divorce.

"And if he knew I was talking with a guy . . . and not just that, but a guy I don't really know? He used to get insanely jealous. Usually for no reason."

"You're being rebellious," I offered, grinning.

"Well, I guess. A little," she said, giving me a sweet smile as she tipped her eyes up to me. Strangely, they look blue now. "I don't even know why I'm telling you all this. I'm not usually this open."

"Maybe it's because you've seen me before?" I offered.

"Could be," she said. "Or because you're a dad, or because you're cute. Or have a kind voice. I don't know. Maybe you just have a trustworthy face."

I smiled at her unexpected barrage of compliments. "What, this old thing? I just wear it to pick up chicks in coffee houses."

She giggled again. I was fast coming to like the sound of her giggle. And her voice. And, well, everything about her. "Honestly . . . " she said, her voice soft. "I kind of came in here tonight because I had a feeling you'd be here."

"Really?" I asked, surprised.

"Yeah. I promise I'm not a stalker! It's just, I don't know. You seemed interesting and I wanted to take a chance and talk with you. I figured it would be easier when we're not surrounded by kids."

I gave her a reassuring smile. I'd actually found the admission flattering. "I understand. And so you're just looking for adult conversation?"

She raised her eyebrows, bobbing her head. "Adult things, yes. It's a lot of mommy stuff day after day."

"It can be stifling. You need time to be around adults too. Especially now that you're separated."

"I wasn't with an adult before," she said, the bitterness tingeing her voice again. "Bad with money, no ambition, never helped with the kids or around the house. Sex couldn't even be called that." She blushed again, looking away. "Sorry. Too much information."

"It's fine," I said, smiling. I wanted to stay on this subject. "I take it he left you unfulfilled?"

"For years," she said, the bitterness turning to venom. "I was horrible. I . . . ugh. I won't even get into it. Just . . . awful."

"That's no good," I said, gently, reaching out and resting my hand on her arm. I was starting to get an idea of why it was me she'd approached, although I was finding it hard to believe my perception of the situation.

She looked at my hand and then up at me, her eyes big, sad and lovely. "Nothing I tried made it any better," she said, softly.

"You can't be the only one trying. If he wasn't, that wasn't your fault."

"He said it was," she said, looking down. Her other hand had crept to mine, and I gave her arm a little squeeze. "I know that it wasn't true. He was trying to hurt me. I'm sure of it. He just didn't put much effort into making it work. I don't know if he was lazy or inexperienced, or what."

"Probably both."

She nodded, but only barely. "He was a kid in a lot of ways," she said, sadly.

"You need a man," I suggested.

"Yeah I do."

"He'll be one lucky bastard."

She giggled. "If you say so."

"Oh, I do," I insisted. "Sex shouldn't be awful. If you're with someone who knows what they're doing, who gives a damn about your needs . . . it can be bliss."

"I'd like some bliss," she said, the longing clear in her voice.

"You deserve some. But it's not always just going to happen. Sometimes you have to look for it. Go out, find someone willing and take some bliss for yourself."

She gave me that sweet smile again. "I like that."

The way Amy was looking at me, hopeful, still shy, but with increasing courage . . . the openness with which she had told me her story . . . these things all made me think my earlier theory had been correct. She had selected me for what she wanted to get out of that night. She'd had her mind made up already, and the whole conversation had been a test. Seeing how I'd react, if I was up for it, if I was safe. I was—I could attest to that, but looking over at the sweet, young, vulnerable woman across from me, I was very glad that I was the one she'd chosen. There were a lot of dangerous guys out there. I wondered why it had been me . . . she could have anyone, but she chose me. Was it because I looked gentle? Or a vibe she was getting from me? Or could it be that she was actually attracted to me and so desperate for a good experience that she was able to throw caution to the wind?

"So maybe you do know what you want? At least for right now?" I asked, my eyes still on hers.

She nodded, not looking away.

"How sure are you?" I asked. "I know you're in a complicated place right now."

"I am," she agreed. "Still, I'm sure about this. I've thought about it a lot. Too much. I don't want to get burdened down with emotions, or stuck in a new relationship. I can't bear to be hurt again. I just . . . I need something good. Something just for me."

"I understand," I said, and I did. Hoping the test was over and the time was right for me to say this, I added, "We could go to my place."

She didn't answer out loud, just nodded, but her hand gripped mine tightly.

"If you change your mind-- " I started.

She cut me off quickly. "I won't," she said, sounding like she knew it for a fact.

I smiled. "Okay. But still." She nodded to this too, and I could see I didn't have to finish the thought. She could tell I was willing to call the whole thing off if she asked. She trusted me, and I would make sure that trust was in the right place.

We grabbed our bags, tossed our mostly empty cups and left the shop. Once we got outside I took her free hand, smiling when I felt her holding it back. I led her to my car and unlocked the passenger door, opening it for her. I took her bag, dropped it into the trunk along with mine and went to the driver's side. Shortly after, we were driving.

It wasn't a long drive to my apartment. I snuck glances at her now and then. She was sitting and staring straight ahead, not seeming to be looking at anything in particular. I was struck again by how unbelievably beautiful she was. This wasn't the sort of beauty that came from clothes, or makeup. Those things enhance it, sure, but her beauty was in every aspect of her. It was inescapable.

She didn't notice my glances. I could tell she was still nervous, but determined not to back out now that her choice had been made. I resolved to find a way to break the tension, and an idea of how to do this came to me as I turned onto my street.

I pulled up to the curb and looked up and down the street. Cars were passing by, but there wasn't much traffic. No one was on the sidewalk. There were lights in many of the apartment windows, but none of the curtains appeared to be open. Satisfied, I scooted over to her. She was looking at me curiously. "We'll go inside in a moment," I said softly. "I just wanted to ask one more time. This is what you want?"

"Yes," she said, her voice only a whisper. "What about you?"

I smiled. "I can't express how badly I want you. So forget words and let me show you." I put one hand on her cheek and went in for a kiss. The kiss started off slow and sweet and quickly became frantic. I was almost left behind in her eagerness. My hand slipped from her cheek and instinctively found her right breast. I gripped it through her blouse and bra, wishing there was nothing in the way. She arched her back, pressing the firm globe against my clutching hand. She moaned into my mouth, but didn't stop the kiss. Her tongue was in my mouth now, the feeling of it pressing against my own tongue was making my erect cock throb in my jeans.