The Legendary Mrs. Olsen Ch. 02: Next Day

This is a sequel to 'The Legendary Mrs. Olsen.' Although that story does not need to be read first, the sequencing might be better if you did.

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If you'd googled 'bright eyed and bushy tailed' that morning, you would have viewed Gayle's Linkedin page. She wore that indefinable tone of well being, that aura that indicates the right amount of exercise, the ingestion of healthy foods and a positive outlook on life. Or, as a waiter in the coffee shop observed to the hostess, "I'll bet she got fucked last night!"

And that was what had happened, in fact two young studs had picked her up in a hotel bar, accompanied her to her room, and both had screwed her as best they could. As Gayle breakfasted her mindfulness slipped from the newspaper at her elbow to a critique of the evening. It wasn't that the pair had been that great, neither of them as yet knew how to tease a mature woman to a superior experience, the joy had been in their efforts and the forbidden desire Gayle had for both a threesome and youthfulness.

She considered what reply she might give them should they phone and see if she wished a reprise. Tom, the brash athlete, had too much of an ego. He'd pounded her brutishly, powerfully, yet the satisfaction she'd received had been brief and mostly of her own doing. On the other hand, Curt was a dear, a sensitive man who wanted to please her, he simply needed cultivation. If she chose to bed him that evening, it would be sweet, and he'd be a much better lover for the women in his future, but how high would he be able to take her?

The night had been a challenge for them, Gayle was to choose which was the 'better lover.' And unfortunately, on the point system Gayle had chosen they had tied at a score of sixteen out of twenty-four, 67%, barely passing for any college course. That might be acceptable for the young skirts they usually dated, but dreadful for a woman of Gayle's maturity and eminence in the sport. It seemed likely that another tryst would prove disappointing with either, and yet any sexual calisthenics would be better than the alternative which seemed to be a solitary king sized bed.

She had only one night remaining in her business trip and her choices were the pick of one boy over the other, another threesome with both of them (which she was leaning toward,) and the third option, none of the above. As she pondered the fate she might choose, she was startled by a nearby call, "Gayle?" She raised to the source of the voice, it took a few moments for her brain to recall the face, and there it was, Ron Hudson. "What are you doing here?" he queried lightheartedly.

"I'm here for the conference," she admitted, and Ron concurred that was also his business in the snowy midwestern metropolis. For a few hurried moments they caught up. Yes, the husband is fine, I've got a daughter. You're working where now? Oh, it's been so long. And then Ron darted off, subject to the whims of pressing commitments, with a promise of catching up with her in the exhibition hall, where she headed as soon as she'd finished her breakfast.

Ah, Ron, how long had it been? Fifteen years at the very least since he'd left Philadelphia and headed for the coast. He'd been a fellow sales rep at her second job, more than a peer, less than a mentor, someone she could talk to and trust. Sparks had darted between them, but nothing had ever been said, no propositions had been made, she'd been dating the man who would become her husband, he had a wife, any affair would have been messy. But it was certainly nice to see him.

As an 'expert' droned on about the latest technology, a small temblor in her gonads reminded her again of the pleasant adultery of the previous evening. And that was what it was, Gayle neither tried to sugar coat the episode or felt particularly guilty about her action. It wasn't the first - or even the tenth - time she'd wound up in bed with a man not her husband. In the twenty some years of her marriage she'd been tempted many times, often had given in to the enticements, twice she'd actively pursued a lover. A girlfriend she'd confessed to once had asked again and again, 'why?' And Gayle had considered her rationales.

It had nothing to do with the love she felt for her husband. She was firmly attached to him, and to their daughter. She'd defend him zealously should there come a crisis, either political or medical. When faced with a clear choice, she'd choose him every time. He was loving, in his own way, he was open and fair, had always been. When he'd proposed, she'd considered the choice for more than a month, and her agreement had been based on the idea that she craved a family. This man seemed a good choice for a father, she was sure he'd be loyal to a fault. And through the years he'd proven her choice correct.

But sexually, he was at best competent. Oh there were times, even now, when they'd be caught in a rapture that would last an afternoon or even a fortnight, when they'd ravish each other nightly, when they'd lust together. But there were many more and much longer periods when he seemed detached from her needs, if they made love at all it was punctual, uninspired. Gayle knew from the beginning it would be this way, even as a maiden she'd observed the way of married couples, knew that passion was rarely a trademark of a successful union. And so, even as she wore her veil on her wedding day, she suspected monogamy might be a stranger in her marriage.

Two years after the ceremony, when she found herself out of town, a dashing bachelor had bought her a drink at the bar and then insisted he take her to his room. She hadn't resisted, or at least not more than a token, and she'd happily accepted him into her body. The next morning she'd been physically ill with guilt and over the succeeding weeks she'd tried to silently make it up to her husband, had even almost confessed her transgression. But the stigma had gradually weakened, leaving only the cloying memory of a night of crazed passion. And when, months later, she'd repeated the experience with another man, the feeling of betrayal lasted not as long, seemed not as deep.

Yet another factor was the time she'd found the proverbial lipstick on her husband's collar. There could, of course, be an innocent reason, the comforting of a widow, an unexpected bumping into of an old college chum, but when combined with absences of an evening, quiet telephone conversations in the den, Gayle leapt to the most likely interpretation. She kept silent of course, for what's good for the gander is certainly fine for the fowl.

So over the years, when an opportunity had risen, Gayle had sometimes accepted it as a gift. Particularly when she was out of town, an illicit evening or three with a stranger she never expected to see again was to be cherished. And four times she'd had affairs, lasting from a dozen encounters to a bit over four years, always with married men, for single men, she realized, would never have an appreciation for the prudence required. She'd learned that an extended liaison was better in some ways than a one night stand, in that intimacies develop, sexual satisfaction seems deeper and more sustained. But she also discovered the grinding pressure of the constant need for caution, the frustration of finding safe times and places, and the heartbreak that accompanied the eventual end of the affair.

It had been fourteen months since the last time she'd found herself in a compromising situation, a lover of two years had finally given it up when his wife discovered Gayle's presence and presented the ultimatum. Gayle had been gracious, had even screwed his brains out one last time, then had tried to forget him. And then she'd been celibate (except, of course, for her husband,) until the two boys had shown up on her barstool and incited her.

The lecturer wound down, and the next session was a panel. Although the topic was mildly interesting, the questions from the audience ranged from the inane to so esoteric that one of the members rolled his eyes and laughed out loud. Gayle used the hour allotted for lunch for phone calls to clients and the office and was only forty minutes late to the next session. Thankfully, it was of greater interest to her and so her fidgeting was kept to a minimum. At the break she was selecting her can of diet soda when she heard the voice, "Hey, adorable, enjoying yourself?"

"Staying awake most of the time, at least. How about you?" she asked Ron.

"Oh, the only reason I'm here is one of my top clients wants me to usher a new VP around. Otherwise, I wouldn't come near this place. Unless, of course, if I'd known you were going to be here. That makes it all worthwhile!" Gayle dimpled at the compliment, Ron continued. "How about dinner tonight? I've got a cocktail party I just have to go to, but I could pick you up about eight. Let's catch up."

"I'd love to," she agreed, and then someone jostled Ron's elbow, he flashed the international symbol for 'I'll-call-you.'

During the final session of the day, Gayle brooded more over what her evening would be like than the essence of a lecture she couldn't care about. And while she was calming a customer down over an imagined dilemma, her phone beeped with a 612 area code. After she'd completed the call, she redialed the number, it tuned out to be Curt, not Tom. "Hi!"

"Hello, Gayle. Hey, we said we'd call. I'm sorry, Tom's a little under the weather, he won't be joining us tonight." So that was the lay of the land, Tom had tossed her to Curt, not particularly a bad thing. But Gayle had to quickly make a decision, a dinner of futile conversation with a man half her age followed by a potentially lame sexual encounter, or dinner with an old friend ending sterilely. She made her choice. "Curt, I'm so sorry, but I bumped into a very old friend, and I'm going to have dinner with him."

She could hear the dismay in Curt's reply. "Oh, I see. Well, maybe tomorrow night?"

"I'll be flying out then. But it was nice. Take care of yourself." And she pushed the hang up button before he could beg further. Her attention then turned to the encounter she had chosen. "Excuse me, is there a nice restaurant in the area?" she asked the hotel desk clerk.

"If you like Italian, Ciao Bella is highly thought of, it's about five miles away."

"That'll be fine," and Gayle got the directions. After a long shower she began dressing, her options limited by her suitcase. While she primped, she phoned home, talking with her husband for nearly half an hour, her teen-aged daughter for only a few sentences. When he asked her what she was doing that night, she confessed, "Oh, I met some old friends from the early days, we're going out to dinner. Then I'll probably be in bed early." And when they were done, she said - and meant - "I love you."

She met Ron in the lobby at eight, his first words were complimentary. "You look wonderful. How have you kept that wonderful figure after so many years?" She beamed at the ovation, wondered if it wasn't meant to be flattery, and returned a like remark, just in case it was. They drove to the bistro, decided it was a good selection. The atmosphere was dark and elegant without being overly pretentious. She let Ron order the wine, realized it was from the high end of the list, she was glad it was going to appear on his expense account, not hers. And the chat turned to the olden days, when she was a fledgling, he still struggling to make it to the top. "What ever happened to Rich?" "I heard from him a couple of years ago, he wound up in Dallas as a senior VP, then got booted out with a silver parachute." He confirmed that she was still married after a couple of decades, she found out he'd divorced, moved back to Philly, remarried and was living in a Montgomery County suburb. Old stories were remembered and laughed about, and when the dinner got to the coffee and desert stage and the room was nearly devoid of customers, Ron had a divulgence. "You know, back then, I always wished I could date you."

"Why didn't you try?"

"Well, you were seeing your guy, the one you married, remember? And I was married, figured if I came on to you you might take offense."

"I wouldn't have. I sort of wish you had made a pass, I wonder what I would have done. Ah, the times we had." A sense of wistfulness invaded the table.

"Do you remember the time we played strip poker?"

"Vaguely," she admitted, when in actuality her recollection was acute.

"It was late one Friday afternoon, the year we won branch of the year. Rich was gone someplace and we had some drinks in the office and were all in a playful mood."

"There was you and me, and Bill and Steve and Mary, right?"

"Right. And then when Mary was about to lose her bra, she quit."

Gayle remembered the rest. She'd been down to her bra, too, the boys had been bare chested. She remembered the lustful glances from the men at her breasts before she put her blouse on again, just the memory aroused her libido. Gayle wondered if Ron even knew the rest, how they'd all adjourned to a nearby bar, Ron tried to outlast Bill, had failed, and then she and Bill had headed to his car and made out. She would have gone with either of them, she was drunk and horny. Suddenly, she perceived that if it had been Ron, she probably would have let him have her.

"I left the company right after that," Gayle remembered.

"And then we lost touch," Ron sadly remarked. Two hands met in the middle of the table, unhappy that they'd let so much time slip by, yet thankful for old friends and great memories.

The check was paid, Gayle drove the ten minutes back to the hotel. The car wasn't exactly silent, but the vibrations of the minds infusing the cabin was pronounced. Nothing, exactly, was said, but Gayle wondered where - if anyplace - the night was going. And if she was amenable with the developing predicament.

In the lobby, it could have ended. They might have gone to the elevators, she would press her floor button, he his, and that would have completed the night. But Ron asked, "How about a nightcap?" and pointed to the den of her previous night's depravity.

Gayle paused, reached a verdict. "Why don't you get another bottle of wine, and let's drink it in your room."

A bottle of white was purchased at the bar, and the elevator rose to the twelfth floor. Gayle sat on the bed while Ron poured, then the mood rested on that little, awkward shelf in the cliff. Eyes met, the silent question was asked, 'are you sure?' and it was Ron who advanced, "You were always the most beautiful girl in the office. Everyone wanted you."

"Did they?"

"Yes. And I still want you." This was enough for Gayle, she put a hand on his chin, lips converged. The pair reclined on the mattress, foreplay began with directed sluggishness. Ron had his methodology, and Gayle responded submissively enough that he felt free to practice the arts he'd learned through the decades. First this garment was removed, kissing ensued, a pair of trousers fell to the floor, erotic zones were probed. Eventually, Gayle found herself on her back, and Ron was pulling her panties over her knees. Then, the world became brighter for Gayle as she found that Ron knew all about a clitoris. With just the right amount of licking and sucking, Gayle was brought to the edge of her climax, then leaped into the crevice. Four or five times he brought the woman out in her, and even after his tongue muscles wearied, he laid beside her and fingered her to subsequent crests, never forgetting to pay sufficient attention to her nipples.

Sometime later, Gayle decided it was time to pay attention to her paramour. Of course she already knew the size and shape of his rod, a little larger than normal, a slight northern curve, a foreskin that had never been mutilated, but now was the time to let it know it was appreciated, and Gayle's mouth proved pliable. For a good five minutes she licked, tippled and massaged. She was thrilled when she heard Ron's groans, tasted the thick, clear nectar, was a bit surprised when Ron begged, "Enough! Or it's going to be too late."

She figured that it would be time for the two sets of genitalia to meet each other, but Ron flabbergasted her when once again his head was between her legs, her short screams indicating his proficiency. And then - it seemed to Gayle a surprise because by that time she was a bit out of it - she was on her side and scissored, one of Ron's legs at her front, the other stretched behind her. And her womb was being abruptly infiltrated, thrusts were matched, and the magic of copulation flowed.

Gayle was no stranger to the multiple orgasm, but if a new record for her wasn't set that night, it was certainly approached. Then, in the middle of a particularly colossal frenzy, she was pleased to feel Ron shudder, stop and start again, and groan lowly as he released inside her depths. It was the perfect fuck!

They stretched beside each other, unable to speak, chests heaving until Gayle reached for her wine, sucked nearly the entire glass down in her need for liquid, and then the couple held each other. Strokes were given, as you might a cat you were particularly fond of, and Gayle's head rested on Ron's shoulder. Compliments on technique and satisfaction were exchanged and accepted, and then Ron remarked, "What took us so long?"

"Well, you were married, I was engaged. That sort of put a damper on it back then." But the woman in Gayle couldn't help display her curiosity, and so she asked, "And what would your wife say now, if she saw you here with me."

Ron ducked his head, his face contorted wryly. "Nothing. Karen and I sort of have an open marriage. So she'd probably congratulate me."

"Really! That must be a nice. How did that start?"

"Ahh, it's been that way since we met. You want to hear the story?"

"Absolutely," Gayle agreed enthusiastically. She'd always wanted her relationship with her husband, Ben, to be more honest, more open, and maybe she could pick up some pointers.

Ron poured another glass of the wine, began his Tale of the Ancient Womanizer. "When I moved back to Philly after my divorce, I started dating this girl. She was a slut, but it was what I needed at the moment. She loved sex of any kind, and she knew some people that were into groups. So for a few months I was the guy she brought along to throw into the scrum."

"Sounds like tough duty!"

"Oh, it was," Ron laughed. "Well, anyways, we were at a Christmas party one night at somebody's home, and I bumped into Karen. She was wearing this elf costume, all transparent mesh and bust and we just looked at each other and knew what we wanted and a little while later we were in a room by ourselves. She was really great, almost as good as you are."

"Oh, get along with you," Gayle giggled, but the compliment solidified her nipples.

"Well, it turned out that Karen was dating the guy she'd brought - you had to be a couple to attend these parties - but she wasn't all that excited about him. She dropped him, then we started seeing each other and fell in love, but we never bothered to stop going to those parties."

"Wow."

The story had rekindled the pyre, Gayle and Ron resumed kissing and pampering, but it was too soon for Ron to regain what he'd given away, more talk was in order.

"So, do you and Ron have an open relationship?"

"No, far from it. Oh, I'm pretty sure he's had some girlfriends over the years, I don't care. It works best for us if we sweep it under the carpet."

"And you, how many boyfriends do you have right now," Ron teased.

"I'm not the goodie two shoes you think I am."

"Oh, what do you have to confess?"

And Gayle sensed she was breaking a taboo, but chose to jump the hurdle. Yes, the wine and intimacy loosened her tongue, but she also trusted Ron, and she suddenly, desperately, wanted to tell someone, to brag a bit. "Well, for example, I was sitting at the hotel bar last night, and a guy tried to pick me up. He was with a buddy, and I took both of them back to my room."