tagLoving WivesTea and Sympathy

Tea and Sympathy

bydtiverson©

People who lead unassuming lives interest me; especially if those folks are anything but simple. So, I'm offering you another trip to small-town Wisconsin. The story, looks at trust, from different angles. It is probably more appropriately a Romance. But, it ticks one of the more cherished boxes of the Loving Wives set; wife-watching. So, I put it there. Of course, my aim is to be original. So, what your expecting, might not be what you get - Enjoy, DT.

*****

TEA AND SYMPATHY

I'm a face in the crowd; taller than most; not handsome, not ugly; just average. Women rarely notice guys like me. But, even a blind squirrel can dig up an occasional acorn; and I found Jane. My life was perfect. Then, fate smirked and said, "Just messing with you buddy!!"

I asked Jane to a party. She said she had a date. I told her how much that bothered me. She laughed and said, "I accepted it before I met you. It's Phi Rho's annual bash. I can't break it. Don't worry. It's just a social obligation." She kissed the phone and we hung up.

The party was going full-blast when I arrived; loud music and wanton dancing. The drunken doofuses were out in force. The shamelessly wasted girls were all there. The predators were on the fringes; scanning the herd for limping members. The booze flowed, the hormones bubbled, the atmosphere crackled with sexual energy and all inhibitions were set to zero.

I heard loud male laughter. I strolled over to see what the source the hilarity was. It was Jane. She was so hammered that she couldn't stand up. She had both arms draped around the neck of a preppie frat-rat. Her head was lolling from side to side, her mouth was hanging open, her eyes were closed and her face was slack. No doubt, THIS was her "social obligation."

The "obligation" was holding her with one hand; while he slyly pulled up her skirt with the other; egged on by a pack of over-entitled douchebags surrounding him. The "obligation" stealthily moved her panties aside exposing her slit. THEN, he forcefully shoved two fingers between her lips. Jane's head snapped up. She gave a loud gasp!! Her eyes flew open; startled. Her mouth began to work frantically. Then her eyes crossed and rolled back in her head. They stayed that way; only the whites showed. She groaned from pure sensation. Her thighs opened reflexively. Her knees buckled and she began making rhythmic sounds of enjoyment. The sniggering increased. It was agonizing.

The "social obligation" vigorously fingered her. She gave a strangled cry of sexual pleasure. The mocking laughter reached fever pitch. Jane's face screwed up. She produced a lurid grunt and yelled, "Uhhhh!!" Then she bucked and quivered through a huge orgasm.

The guy dragged her into a side room, still noisily cumming. I glanced into the room. The "social-obligation" was on top of her now; holding her knees next to her shoulders, legs spread. She was taking him to the hilt. Her fingers were frantically dug into his churning butt cheeks. I could hear her garish moans, over the racket of the party. Then I heard a shriek, "Ohhh!! Ohhhhh!! Ohhhhh! OH-MY-GOD!!"; just another evening of hi-jinks and date rape at jolly old Alpha Rho.

It really shouldn't have bothered me. It wasn't like we were married, or even officially engaged. Plus, Jane was out of her mind. But, she had acted like a slut, no matter the backstory; and now I could never respect her. That certainty caused intense feelings of anger and futility. It was like I had invested everything, only to find out that the advertising was false.

It was all over campus by the next day. My girlfriend had been gang-banged at Alpha Rho. I told them that Jane wasn't my girlfriend. They just laughed at me. Jane's best friend cornered me at the local eatery. Jane must have sobered up, and realized she needed damage control. Her friend told me that Jane couldn't remember most of the evening. The friend added that Jane was totally humiliated by the things she had done; and she was deeply sorry. I told her that there was nothing to apologize for. We weren't exclusive, even though everybody seemed to think so. I kept the bitterness out of my voice.

I said, "Jane shouldn't concern herself with me anymore. I just want to move on." I was lying. But there was a lot of that going-around. The friend's face fell and she said, "Is there any chance?" I said, "Not a chance. You didn't see what I saw." She said, "I'll tell Jane. But this will kill her. She was totally and utterly in love with you." I said grimly, "It didn't look that way."

Of course, I didn't "just move on." That's hard to do when you are an average guy. I had a few dates but they were nothing more than meet and greets. There was never a second one. That WASN'T the case with Jane. Word got out that she was one very hot fuck; once you'd poured a little booze into her. So, every guy on campus wanted a shot at her. The stories were probably exaggerated. But, there was no doubt that she was a popular girl for the rest of our senior year.

Worse, I would occasionally cross paths with her. Every time I saw her, she gave me a shamefaced look. I tried to ignore the bitch. But inevitably, I couldn't avoid her. It was in the stairwell of the library; just the two of us. Jane was coming down the steps. I was going up. She stopped, hesitated and said in an anguished whisper, "Can I explain?"

I looked at her like she was an imbecile and said, "Nothing to explain Jane. I fucked up. I trusted you and you made a fool out of me. Ipso-facto; what is there to explain?" She said, "I am so ashamed. I didn't go to that party to get alcohol poisoning. It was just one mistake. It would NEVER happen again." I said patronizingly, "I hope not, now please excuse me;" and continued up the stairs. I heard a little sob behind me. I felt nothing but wretchedness, humiliation and despair.

Some people treasure their final semester in college. After those godawful last months, I couldn't wait to get out. I had a teaching certificate and I found a job in the middle of Wisconsin. It was a fifty-fifty split between Business and Computing. I also had a coaching offer. I had played intercollegiate soccer and the Superintendent liked my experience.

There were perhaps 700 students in the entire consolidated district, K through 12. It served three little villages along U.S. 12. The high school was in the town closest to Eau Claire. Teachers don't make much. But it was a solid income with plenty of time off in the summer and I loved the kids.

I finished a Masters part-time at Madison, and my pay went up. I was also the varsity soccer coach and the supplement added to my take-home. We won more games than we lost. The locals considered that a feat, since we played bigger schools. I liked the respect and it just seemed right to put down roots.

The area was a center of the lumber industry a century ago. The economy might be less affluent now. But the houses still reflected the former wealth. The streets were shaded by mature oaks and the homes were old and comfortable.

So, I bought one. The banker's kid played on my team. The mortgage was a foregone conclusion. It was a rambling, one-and-a-half-story Craftsman style home with a traditional, pillared Midwestern porch. The porch went all the way across the entire front. The wiring might be scary and the plumbing antique, but the house featured good wood and early 20th century workmanship.

I spent a solid year making it into exactly what I wanted. It was both gorgeous and comfortable. I was proud of the gleaming hardwood floors and oak paneling. When I tore the century-long buildup of cheap wallpaper off the walls; I discovered some exquisite crown molding. Things were idyllic if you overlooked the fact that I had no social life.

The area's gathering spots were the churches and the Hot Spot Café. The Hot Spot was a legendary small town joint. The owner was a tough old bird named Dot. She must have been a knockout when she was a girl. Since she was still a good looking 70-year-old woman. Her daughter, whose name was Eve, was gorgeous. Eve was a nurse and half the area's health-care team. Eve's husband was the other half. He was a Licensed Physician's Assistant and the two of them ran the local clinic.

They had a precocious ten-year-old named Brooklyn. Miss Brooklyn had all her mother's beauty and she worked the denizens of the Hot Spot like the Mayor of the town. I liked to eat breakfast there. It was the prime location to get the district gossip. I was wolfing down a plate of Dot's legendary Swedish pancakes, bathed in lingonberry sauce; when I gazed into an intelligent pair of eyes. Brooke was studying me like I was in a zoo. I pushed my plate toward her and said, "Want some?" She looked incredulous and said, "Seriously??!! I get as much as I want from my grandma. She spoils me outrageously." I thought what ten-year-old uses the term "outrageously?"

I said conversationally, "So what's up?" Brooke eyed me and said, "My mom thinks that you and my teacher ought to get married. I was trying to figure-out what she sees in you." I laughed out loud and said, "And why would your mom care about my marital status?" Brookie said, with her voice dripping reasonableness, "How would I know? I'm just a little girl."

I thought, "Hah! Right! ten going on forty! What is it with little girls and romance?" But I said, "Who's your teacher Sweetie?" She said with conviction, "Miss Randall, she's old but she's still very beautiful." I thought, "Probably a wrinkled old crone of 24." I said, "I don't work at your school Honey. I work at the High School, so I've never met her." Brooke eyed me archly and said, "You will. My mother is going to invite you to dinner. You'd better be nice." I laughed again. Brooke was a schemer indeed.

At that point her mother arrived. Eve was strikingly beautiful, even in her middle forties. She had the type of perfect Swedish face that has propped up the fashion industry for the past sixty years. But, her body was NOT model thin. She had a supple, full-bodied, athletic figure that you would see on an Olympic skier. Her hair was her best feature. It was exceptionally thick and blond and she wore it in a stylish bob with wings that framed her classic oval face. It looked like she was wearing a golden helmet.

She said lovingly, "Brooke, how many times have I told you not to bother the customers." Brooklyn said, with condescension dripping from her voice, "I was just telling Jake about Miss Randall." It was like she was explaining something to a small child. Her mother got the long-suffering look that every parent of a gifted kid gets, turned to me and said, "My husband and I had discussed inviting you and Penny Randall to dinner. It's hard to get to know likeminded people in a rural area like this. She gave me a rueful smile and said," Penny is Brooke's fifth grade teacher and I'm sure that Brookie has already talked to Penny about you. So, would you like to join us for dinner this Friday?"

It sounded excruciating. Absolutely the LAST thing I wanted to do was spend an evening getting to know some, no-doubt. painfully sincere, fifth grade schoolteacher. But I liked Eve. So, I said with phony enthusiasm, "That sounds great. What time?" Eve read my tone. She said guardedly, "How about 5:30? I know you'll enjoy getting to know her."

I realized what Eve was doing. Small town women are habitual match-makers. But, she was wasting her time with me. It didn't matter whether I enjoyed meeting this woman or not. The calculus of love is just too complex; there are too many variables. So, a long time ago I decided to get out of the game.

Maybe I'm insecure. But, I value a safe bet over a gamble. I didn't know this lady. So, she was a risk. Especially if she was beautiful. I believed Jane. She had NOT gone to the party to act like a slut. In an alternate universe, she might have just yakked all over the guy, or passed out completely. She might have been alert enough to take his head off when he jammed his fingers into her. Or, she might have gone stomping out of the party. It all depended on the alignment of a transitory set of conditions. Sadly, all those conspired to make the girl-of-my-dreams fuck half the Alpha Rho house.

THAT godawful spectacle encouraged me to stay single for a very long time. Even so, I showed up promptly at 5:30. I tried to dress casual, sweater and slacks. I didn't want to look eager. I had a bottle of good Cabernet under my arm and flowers for the hostess. Her husband met me at the door.

He was the local equivalent of the town doctor. He was a little guy compared to me, perhaps five ten and 190 pounds, barely taller than Eve. But there was something in the way that he held himself that told me that he was more than a gentle small-town healer.

He moved like a stalking jungle cat. He was wearing a polo shirt, tails-out, with one of those little alligators, and jeans. I could see that he was whip hard underneath. He had overdeveloped forearms and the kind of eyes you see in Western gunfighters. He was also as attractive as Eve; in a dark and dangerous way, with deep brown eyes, an unruly shock of nut-brown hair and a thick mustache. I could see that they were a well-matched couple.

We had not formally met so I stuck out a hand and said, "Jake." He grabbed it in a semi-crushing grip and said, "Jon." His wife appeared behind him. I handed her the flowers and the wine and said, "Thank you for inviting me Eve." The smells emanating from the kitchen were mouthwatering. Then a little cannonball came flying past and buried itself in my midsection. I went, "Oof!" as Brookie threw her arms around my waist and gave me a huge hug.

She said excitedly, "Miss Randle isn't here yet. So, you can play with me until she arrives." Eve looked indulgent and said, "I think he wants to play with the adults, not you." Miss Brooke said dismissively, "He'll have plenty of time to play with you guys, after I show him what I've got in my room." It was obvious that force-of-nature personalities ran in the female side of the family.

I took her hand and said, "Why don't you show me your room sweetie and then I can spend the rest of the time with Miss Randall. You DO remember that I am here to meet your teacher - right?" Brooke gave me one of those head-smacking "Doh" looks and said, "That's RIGHT I forgot. You'll have to hurry" and dragged me off. It never crossed her mind that I wouldn't want to go.

Brooke had the equivalent of the Starship Enterprise's bridge set up in one corner of her room. She had three monitors going and she had been working on a 3-D animation application that had rabbits hopping from one screen to the next. I said, "How much of that did you do yourself?" She said proudly, "All of it," and proceeded to show me. It was awe-inspiring proof that she was one very smart little girl.

While I watched, she added the sound of some nasally female singer, who was wildly popular with the teenies. I said, "That's very impressive Brookie. Maybe you should show the high school kids how to do that." She looked disgusted and said with deep world-weariness, "They wouldn't get it." Unfortunately, I agreed with her, which accounted for MY world-weariness. I left my little genius as she was adding more colored rabbits and lizards and walked back to where the adults were.

The group had one new member. This was obviously Penny Randall and she took my breath away. She was the photographic negative of Eve. Where Eve was tall blond and athletic, Miss Randall was short, dark and voluptuous. She had thick auburn hair that hung in ringlets past her shoulders. Those shoulders were broad and she looked powerful in a five-two frame. I was approaching her from behind and I couldn't miss her beautifully muscled legs, in four-inch heels. Those legs extended a surprisingly long way up to a round, firm butt.

But, I nearly fainted from pure lust when she turned around. She had a heart-shaped face with perfect Anglo-Saxon features. Her eyes were extraordinarily large and they were stunningly china blue, rather than the brown that you would expect with her dusky coloring. The disparity was striking. Nevertheless, in all honesty, the part of Penny Randall that couldn't be missed were two of the biggest and shapeliest mammalian appendages ever mounted on a female frame.

I instantly dropped all hesitations about gambling.

Her boobs sat proudly on her chest like twin mountains guarding the gates of heaven. I had to fight off the urge to bury my face in her cleavage and gather those beauties around my head like ear-muffs. Crude, DEFINITELY!! Neanderthal, probably!! No female wants to know what is going on in the average male mind. But seriously girls??!! Did any of you EVER think that your man was Mr. Darcy?

I walked up to the group and extended my hand. I said, "You must be Miss Randall. My name is Jake and I work at the high school." She gave me a speculative glance and said in a low husky voice, which was jam-packed with irony, "Brooke has filled me in." She added with a smile, "But I already know you from the exploits of your team." I said self-effacingly, "It's the kid's doing. I just babysit." She laughed and said, "That's not what I hear. You're inspirational." Well, that was a promising start.

Eve was right. I found Penny Randall captivating. Besides being a stunner, she was smart, funny and well read. We swapped stories about backpacking around Europe. We talked about all the places we had visited. I tried to keep my eyes above her neck. But they would occasionally drift lower. The two big mounds moving around underneath her tasteful, black cashmere turtle-neck were irresistible objects. It was more than mortal-man could bear.

I asked Penny to coffee the following Saturday, just to make sure that she wasn't an illusion. She came into the Hot Spot in a pair of skin tight jeans with strategic rips and a genuine Wisconsin Badger football jersey. The jeans were probably $200 and the jersey looked authentic. I said, "From the regalia, I assume you graduated from UW. She said, "I did. They are playing down in Madison today and I always dress for the game. I was a cheerleader all four years in school. So, it just seems natural."

I said, "Is that an actual Wisconsin jersey?" She said modestly, "Yes; it was my former fiancé's. He played for them. He's in the pros now." I thought, "Great!! She's fucking one of the Green Bay Packers." She gave me an angry look and added, "We parted company over an incident the end of our senior year."

She wanted me to ask so I did. I said, "I wonder if it was anything like the problem I encountered at the end of mine." She said ruefully, "It depends on whether it involved your best friend. I am never going to trust one of you deceitful creatures again." I nodded my head meaningfully and said, "Me too."

She gave me a funny look, smiled and said, "So, it's just us two lonely castaways in the wilds of Wisconsin." I grinned and said, "That about sums it up." I had an inspiration. I said, "Where are you going to watch the game?" She said, "I was thinking of driving down to Camp Randall. I can always get a ticket." I said, "Can you get two?"

The drive was a couple of hours. We talked and laughed and bonded all the way. Penny Randall had a lot going for her besides being built like that proverbial brick shithouse. She was smart, funny and above-all a very level-headed woman.

Camp Randall Stadium was rocking when we arrived. The place is in the center of the University of Wisconsin campus; located so close to three big lakes that it seemed almost nautical. We parked near the Wisconsin Memorial Union and walked several blocks to a special gate. Penny marched right up to It. Watching those big round buns moving was inspirational. The people greeted her like visiting royalty. She said something to an older guy who appeared to be in charge. He turned, beckoned to me to follow, and personally escorted us.

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