Yolanda and the Professor

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olivias
olivias
36 Followers

"It shouldn't be long now," he said when he returned.

I felt myself give a little gasp. It took me a couple of seconds to realize that he was talking about the mechanics coming to fix my flat tire.

For the next twenty minutes Paul and I sat and watched Yolanda, free of her kimono and dancing, almost in place, the space in the alcove being severely limited, Isadora Duncan style in several layers of diaphanous scarves that, by intention, I was sure, hid nothing. She had put a scratchy record of someone I took to be Enrico Caruso on her phonograph. The sun had come out again and lit up Yolanda's curvy, full-bodied figure as she swayed to and fro on the crinkled rug in her alcove.

Paul sat, entranced, watching her every movement. I could tell that, for him, this was as good as sex. And I had to admit that it was moving me in that direction too.

The ring at the front door broke the spell—for me, at least. Although Yolanda gave me a brilliant smile and blew a kiss to me as I stood by the door, ready to follow the auto mechanic down to my car, she continued her dancing.

Ever the good host, Paul saw me to the door and gave me every appropriate wish of farewell and a good onward journey to Wabash. But all the time I could tell that his attention was still connected with Yolanda and her sensual—yes, I'll have to say it was sensual—mid afternoon dance. He never took his eyes off her.

Two blocks from the house, I stopped at the side of the road, and I sobbed for a good ten minutes before I could go on—without fully knowing then why I was crying. When I stopped, I put the car in gear, and then I laughed half way to Wabash.

* * * *

"Did you go back to see the—?"

"No, I couldn't," I said, interrupting Ted's question. Our coffee cups were empty—and had been so during most of my telling of the story—but neither one of us seemed to be antsy enough to rise from the table and get another one.

"I wanted them to stay the way they were. The only way I could do that was never to go back."

We sat there in silence for several minutes, still with no interest in that second cup of coffee.

"But that story . . . I don't understand. You were going to tell me something about the bank."

"If you'd met my wife, Sheila, you wouldn't have to ask," I said. "I was thirty when I took that trip to Wabash. I had just met the most fascinating girl, ten years younger than me."

"Sheila or someone else?"

"Sheila. Although I was permitted to take the trip—I was already registered for it—the bank manager at that time had given me an ultimatum. He'd learned about Sheila. You see, Sheila was a pole dancer at a local strip club. In those days that just wouldn't do—a bank official couldn't be involved with a stripper younger than him. It didn't matter that Sheila considered herself a dancer above all else and that it was all she was doing in the club. And the announcement today shows that it still won't do."

"You stayed with Sheila? You picked Sheila over promotion?"

"Not at first. When the bank manager told me it was promotion up the line or a pole dancer, I went to Sheila and broke it off. When I left for Wabash, she was running alongside the car, sobbing and telling me that she'd be anything I needed her to be—anything that the bank demanded of her—just if I didn't leave her. But I left her in the dust."

We sat in silence for a few minutes. Ted could tell that I needed to compose myself.

"That's why the story of Yolanda and the professor is important to this," I said in a low voice when I could control my emotions. "They taught me not only what is important in life but also how fleeting life is. I didn't actually make it to Wabash. Half way there, I woke up to why I had cried and then laughed when I left Peru. I turned around and drove straight back to Kokomo, stopping only long enough to buy a red velvet, heart-shaped box of chocolates and a dozen red roses, and begged Sheila to take me back. Then, when she said she would, I went to the bank manager and told him he could stuff his promotions."

I stood up then, and so did Ted, seeing that I was ready to return to the bank. At the door of the coffee shop, he laid a hand on my forearm, and I turned to look at him.

"But now. Twenty years later. The pole dancing."

"Oh, Sheila almost immediately went to work as a dance instructor. She now owns three modern dance studios and let's others do the dancing."

"But then. The bank. Now . . ."

"I never told any of the managers at the bank that Sheila found a job that even they could respect. I almost lost the best thing in my life for job promotions. Yolanda and professor taught me what priorities are in the realm of love. But they also taught me how easy it is to lose the best things in life—even when you stumbled into finding them. Not telling the bank is my form of atonement for almost being an idiot. And you and the other tellers need not feel sorry for me. With Sheila I've gotten the best of the deal. At the end of a work shift, bank managers have to stay and go over the books. I get to go home to Sheila."

I let Ted go back to work on his own. When he had left the coffee shop, I walked down the block to a florist shop and picked up the dozen red roses I'd ordered. Then I went straight to the car, where I'd already placed a red velvet, heart-shaped box of candy and a CD in the trunk. The CD had been a real find. An old recording of Enrico Caruso's. Sheila had asked me what I'd like for Valentine's Day and, after thinking a few moments, I'd said there was nothing I'd like so much as to see her dance a dance of diaphanous veils for me in our living room to an old recording.

olivias
olivias
36 Followers
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AnonymousAnonymousabout 7 years ago

Dear Author, A perfectly splendid loved story that transitioned into a unique plot with surprising results. Well crafted and captivating, this tale held my attention throughout and offered me a wonderful literary journey. Thank you for your story and the warm feelings it created. jntiques

CatBrownCatBrownabout 12 years ago
Different, but good

I've never seen an erotic story on here without actual sex (except one of my own series, but it will get there eventually), but this is quite good. I really liked it. Thanks for giving us something for our imaginations and not just our libidos.

estragonestragonabout 12 years ago
Like Good Coffee, Light and Sweet

Very good story. Well-written, solid mechanicals, nothing to distract the reader, engaging, believable characters. More!

AnonymousAnonymousabout 12 years ago

Well done, this is an original for sure. I look forward to reading more of your work.

TigerladyandhimTigerladyandhimabout 12 years ago
Liked

Loved it.

Very nice story

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