Glamour Shots, Chapter 3
Add: 5 August 2015 / 16:17
I took my car, an Infiniti G37, the previous year's model. Sometimes we traded vehicles for various reasons, but today I took my own. I loved driving it, and for me it was the perfect combination of power, sportiness, and luxury, and yet not so ostentatious that I felt like it stood out in a crowd; it fit my personality very well in that regard. I turned to a classic rock station on the radio. They were playing something instrumental, no lyrics; Stevie Ray, I was pretty sure.
As I drove I let my mind wander a bit – a few years, actually, back to the night that Allison and I had first met some seven years prior. As these things often are it had been pure chance, something that almost didn’t happen because I had been resistant to being the third wheel on my friends’ evening out. Sherry and Rob had invited me along to dinner and drinks at a local bar, one which his company had reserved for a private party that particular Saturday evening in celebration of the successful completion of a major construction job.
Understand that for the construction company that Rob works for a large strip mall – which is what this project had been – is a major job. It’s not a huge company; office buildings (rarely over two stories), strip malls, and the occasional apartment building were about their maximum capability. Still, they had turned it over to the owners just a few days previously and the tenants that had been waiting were already starting to move in. About 70% of the space was leased before it was even completed, so there had been some pressure to get it done; owners are always understandably eager to get the rent stream flowing. This party, with free food, an open bar, and a popular local band, was a way to blow off some of that pressure and a thank you to the workers or a job well done.
At that point in my life, seven years back, I was still single, about two weeks removed from the termination of a semi long-term relationship with a woman named Carolyn; we’d been together over six months, almost seven, when we both realized at about the same time that, while we liked each other and the sex was good, we really weren’t destined for anything beyond that. It had been an amicable parting, but it still left me a little down in the dumps, that hollow feeling you get when something that you thought might be serious turns out not to be. It was a letdown, and in that mood I had not been particularly receptive to an invite for drinks, food, and music when Sherry had called. I was not into the whole ‘being on the rebound’ scene.
Plus, like I said, I’d have been a third wheel, the poor guy that can’t get a date on a Saturday night. I probably could have called Carolyn – and she probably would have gone with me if she didn’t have other plans – but I felt it was best to let that relationship rest in peace. Of course, if I had called her, I wouldn’t have this story to tell. But, because I had ultimately let Sherry talk me into going with them, I do. Fate can turn on the tiniest things.
They had picked me up at about 6:30, on a Saturday in mid-May. According to the calendar it was spring, but spring in the high country can be fickle, and it was a very cool night. Not cold, really, but cool and clear, with a light breeze. I wore gray slacks and black loafers, with a nice black, ribbed, heavy t-shirt, under a Harris Tweed sport coat, a herringbone in brown and gray with a faint blue stripe in the weave. I had avoided the style with the suede patches on the elbows, which had just seemed way too college professor-ish to me, but had received many compliments on the fit and style of this particular jacket in the past. Mostly though, I wore it because it was enough to ward off the cool evening, but not so heavy that I was going to be hot and uncomfortable. I knew I might look a little dressy when dropped into a crowd that was to include a number of construction workers, but I was going stag so I went the extra mile.
The three of us had made small talk on the way to the bar. Rob was very relaxed, the project he’d been working on just finished and the next one just getting ready to kick off, and Sherry was also in the mood for a fun evening. I could tell that they’d each had a drink or two to grease the skids before they had left home. The place where the party was being held was a local watering hole called Chubby’s All American Bar and Grill. Catchy, I know, but at least he’d left the “e” off the word “Grill”.
The place was about a mile from my house, and about two from where Rob and Sherry lived, so it made sense for them to pick me up on the way by. Chubby, of Chubby’s All American Bar and Grill fame, is Chubby Chobowicz, a happy, gregarious, rotund, self-described Polack. I feel fairly certain that his parents didn’t christen him “Chubby”, but if he has any other first name I’ve never heard anyone use it. His restaurant is part English pub, with low lighting, a long bar in dark walnut-stained pine, dartboards, and pub tables along the walls; part pool hall, with a couple of green felt tables toward the rear, beneath billiards lights; and mostly sports bar, with numerous flat plasma screens and plentiful sports memorabilia. It’s eclectic, but welcoming and comfortable. Most important, there was not a fern to be found.
There’s an old saying that you can judge a restaurant’s food by the shape of its owner; if there is any truth in that bromide, Chubby’s and its owner are solid evidence for it. We all ate there often, partly because it is very convenient to our homes and partly because Chubby is such a good guy, but mostly because the food is just very, very good and the beer is always ice cold.
He offers basic American grill type of fare – burgers, brats, chicken sandwiches, wings, fries, onion rings and the like – and an array of very good, very authentic Mexican food, for which he gives full credit to his head cook, Lupita Valdez. She’s an absolutely authentic Mexican, a first-generation American immigrant – legally, having come here with her family through normal channels in 1982 as a teenager – and an outstanding cook. She and Chubby are close to the same age, around fifty, and also share the same general well-rounded shape; clearly she enjoys her incredible cooking as much as we all do!
Lupita is not only a fantastic cook, but a total sweetheart, always happy and smiling; her English is excellent but still carries the strong accent of her native land. She’s a very attractive lady, with long, glistening black hair and eyes so dark brown that it’s hard to discern any pupils, and straight, very white teeth behind full lips that always seem to be either smiling or laughing. For guys that prefer their woman with a more, shall we say voluptuous figure, she’d be a catch, funny and irrepressible, busty and full-figured. Everyone loves Lupita, but rumor has it that Chubby loves her in a more physical way than do the rest of us.
Both are single, so it’s not like there’s anything wrong with that, but seeing those two very round, well-padded individuals it’s just difficult to imagine how it could happen. I mean, I’m sure there’s a way, but unless Chubby is extraordinarily well-endowed it’s tough to see how, logistically speaking. Where there’s a will, I suppose. In any event, when we walked in Chubby was behind the bar, helping his new bartender – an attractive young blonde who I hadn’t yet met - hustle drinks. Sherry veered off to go talk with some friends she’d spotted, while Rob and me continued to the bar. Lupita was nowhere to be seen, no doubt back in the kitchen preparing food.
Chubby looked up and saw us approaching, and I nodded at him. “Hey Chubby, how’s it going?”
He grinned. “Robby and Dave! Hey buddies, how’s it hangin’?”
I shrugged. “The usual for me, about six or eight degrees to starboard, depending on crosswinds. You’ll have to ask Rob about his, I don’t keep track of it.”
Rob laughed. “You know me Chubs; I walk into a place with ice cold beer and a gorgeous, sexy bartender like you, it ain’t hangin’ anymore, it’s stickin’ straight up.”
Chubby laughed uproariously. “Now that’s a disturbing mental image! You know, Robby, usually when I see you walk in it makes me happy because I know my profits for the night are in the bag, but with an open bar it scares the crap out of me to see your ugly mug.”
Rob shook his head. “Just get us some beers and quit your whining, fat boy – you’re getting paid by the drink, so what do you care?” Rob calling Chubby “fat boy” was sort of one of those pot/kettle things.
Chubby grinned, shrugging his shoulders. “Sure I am, but at a discount; the way you put ‘em away if I even lose fifteen cents a bottle it will break me!” He dug around in a long tray table packed with crushed ice and pulled out two beers, ice cold and dripping, bits of ice sliding down the brown glass. Quickly popping the caps on an opener mounted behind the bar, he set them in front of us. I took a long swallow of mine; it was so cold it almost made my teeth ache.
Rob sucked down about three-fourths of his in one long draw, and then sighed contentedly. “Well my friends, much as I’d love to sit here getting drunk and trading insults, I suppose I should really go mingle. You too Dave, don’t be a wallflower. You know a lot of these guys.”
I waved him off. “Yeah, I will. Right now I’m just going to enjoy my beer and relax though – if that’s OK with you.”
“Sure, but don’t sit and mope for too long, or Sherry will start trying to fix you up with any single female she can find. Nobody wants to see that happen, my friend!” He wandered off as I laughed ruefully, knowing he was right.
I turned around and leaned my back against the bar, resting my elbows on the rail. He was right; I did know a bunch of these guys, from the workmen that had seen me at the site numerous times as I showed the partially completed project to prospective tenants, to the project manager, who knew I was the guy that had helped line up this project for their firm. It’s an almost incestuous relationship in a city the size of ours, the way that the property owners/landlords, the real estate brokerage firms like ours, and the various construction companies and contractors all know each other, and pass tips, favors, and recommendations back and forth.
On this job, for instance, I represented the landlord and knew the developers that were planning the project, and I had passed along the name of Rob’s company when they were considering construction contractors; so yes, a number of them knew me and stopped to say hi or chat for a few moments, so I did not feel like a stranger in a sea of people that were already friends. That’s always awkward, and I’m enough of an introvert that I would not have enjoyed it. As it was, I was very comfortable, enjoying a beer or two and making small talk as I watched Lupita start to set up the buffet bar of Mexican favorites.
It was while standing there, back to the bar, that I’d seen the most beautiful woman that I’d ever seen, the one that was destined to become my wife (although I didn’t know that at the time…or maybe I did!) walk into the room. I think that I may have stopped breathing for a moment, or maybe longer, because as I looked at her – or, more accurately, stared at her – I felt a little light-headed.
She was – is – simply stunning. Tall and graceful, with dark, shimmering hair, a beautiful, finely-boned face with delicate features, a fine, totally feminine figure with just enough curves in all the right places, and a perfect little round posterior above a pair of shapely legs that seemed to go on forever. I was immediately hooked! I was also slowly suffocating, and I felt like I suddenly had to gasp for breath. I’d never before been affected this way by the mere sight of a woman, but this one hit me like a freight train…except in a good way. I was so intently focused on her at that point that it took me a minute to notice that she had walked into the bar with a man and a woman, and that she was now conversing and laughing with them.
As I watched her (the idea of subtlety not even a tickle in my mind) I found myself fervently praying that the man accompanying her was not her husband or boyfriend. I noticed that he was very deferential to her, maybe even a little flirtatious as he guided her forward, his hand on her elbow; he seemed very smitten by this beautiful woman, as the other woman trailed behind, a slightly annoyed look on her face. It quickly became obvious – to me at least, and allowing for wishful thinking – that the second woman was his wife, and that she was none too happy about the attention he was giving to the object of my sudden fantasies. I felt a wave of relief, although I still knew absolutely nothing about her beyond the fact that she was breathtakingly beautiful.
Time seemed to pass me by; I was in a haze, unable to really focus on anything but this woman. I made small talk with a few people, although I can’t remember anything that was said, and eventually accompanied Rob and Sherry to a table. Some people ordered burgers and things off the menu; most went to the Mexican buffet. As I sat and watched this mystery woman go through the line at the buffet I began to notice details; the way her hair hung in rich, chestnut waves on her shoulders, the way her soft, pale blue silk dress flowed with her movements, drifting back and forth where the material parted from the contours of her body and draped softly to just above her knees, occasionally defining a lean, perfect thigh in passing. She looked toned and athletic, and her waist seemed impossibly narrow. The bodice of her dress was low enough to be interesting, revealing some cleavage and the very top swell of her breasts, but not so low as to be truly daring; what I saw just made my desire to see more intensify powerfully, as if intended to affect me in that way. If so, it was remarkably effective!
She had a simple gold chain with a locket of some sort around her neck, the shiny bauble resting at the very top of her cleavage, and very expensive looking shoes, something with just a strap at the back, and high, thin heels. It was apparent that she was not going out of her way to disguise the fact that she was tall, and that she was secure in her height, and perhaps in her beauty. I found her apparent self-confidence very sexy, if a little intimidating. I noticed that she drew a number of admiring looks from men, and a few from women, although there also seemed to be a few daggers in the mix from the female side of the equation. Almost everyone there that night seemed to be part of a couple; I remember thinking that it was possible, although unlikely, that she and I were the only exceptions. Maybe it was more of a prayer than a thought.
Rob and Sherry had a couple more friends join us at our table and introductions were made, although I instantly forgot all the names. By sheer coincidence, the beauty that had so captivated me was two tables away, on the opposite side so that she and I were facing each other, albeit through the heads of the people across from each of us and at the intervening table. Much of the time, when nobody was poking their big pumpkin heads in the way or passing between us, I still had a clear line of sight to her, and I didn’t seem able to tear my eyes away. At one point our eyes met, and she seemed to look at me quizzically – no doubt wondering why I was staring – as her eyebrows rose and a tiny smile played about her oh so kissable lips. I felt myself blush, and looked quickly away. Not cool, David old boy, not cool at all!
Some time later, as I was finishing my food and I had apparently returned to fantasizing and staring impolitely, lost in my fog of desire, Sherry had startled me by snapping her fingers right in front of my face. “Dave! Come back to us Dave! Hello, are you in there?”
I jumped. “Huh? What’s going on?”
She was looking at me oddly. “I asked you a question, but you ignored me; it was like you were a million miles away.”
Rob laughed. “No, actually much closer; he was approximately two tables away. Bud, instead of sitting here dreaming and drooling, why don’t you just go and talk to her?” It was obvious that Rob had noticed her too – and noticed me noticing her.
“Mind your own business Rob! Sorry, Sherry; what was it you asked me?”
“I’ve forgotten now – never mind, it wasn’t anything important.” She turned in her chair and craned her neck to see what it was that Rob and I were talking about. She turned back to us with a low whistle. “Wow, she is a looker! You want me to go talk to her for you?”
I stared at her, aghast! “Gosh, thanks mom! Wouldja please? Oh, and while you’re at it, see if her mom and dad will let us stay out after curfew, OK?”
She pretended to glare at me. “No need to get snippy, I was just trying to help.”
“Do you even know who she is?”
She shook her head. “No. That’s what I was going to find out.”
“Thanks for the offer Sherry, really, but I think this is one of those situations where I need to just forge ahead on my own.” I remained seated.
They watched me. Eventually, Sherry kicked me under the table. “Well? Shouldn’t you get busy forging?”
I pulled my leg back, out of her reach. “Yeah, I will.” The band was on stage, setting up their instruments and equipment and doing sound checks, tapping on mikes and stuff. “Maybe when the band starts playing, then I could ask her to dance or something.”
Rob looked at me. “Or something? What other activities do you have in mind that are typically performed to music? You gonna sing karaoke or something?”
“You two are a big help. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”
Rob nodded his head toward where the gorgeous object of my attention was eating her dinner. “About now you’re probably pretty glad you did though, right?”
“Yeah, I guess – unless I go down in flames, in which case I’ll never forgive you.” I said it jokingly, but the fact is that I find it very difficult to go up to a woman I don’t know and ask for a dance, or start a conversation. It’s not something I do often, and I don’t handle rejection well; maybe that’s why I don’t do it often. It’s not that I get nasty or surly or anything; in the couple of instance where it’s happened I’ve smiled, and been polite, and said some meaningless thing such as “Well OK, maybe some other time then” or something equally witty. By all appearances I don’t let it bother me, but inside my gut is churning and I’m very embarrassed and chagrined, partly because I’ve just been shot down, and partly because I misread some woman’s glance or something and put her in the equally awkward position of declining my advance. I’m not one of those guys that can laugh it off and simply turn and ask the woman on the next bar stool; I find it painfully humiliating, even though I know I shouldn’t. It’s not a good feeling.
Sherry brought me back from my mental meandering. “You’d better not wait too long, or somebody will beat you to the punch. A woman like that isn’t going to sit alone for long.”
“I know, I know. I’m just trying to act casual, OK?”
Rob laughed. “Hate to tell ya pal, but that’s going to be tough to pull off with your eyes bugging out of your head like that.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “Jesus! With friends like you…” I left it hanging there and stood up. “I’m going to the restroom.”
“Ah, the old ‘escape to the restroom’ gambit. Very clever!” Rob again.
He looked at me “Huh?”
He just laughed.
As luck would have it, I had to walk right past her table to get to the restroom. Our eyes met again for a moment, and this time I didn’t look away. As a result I saw the subtle blush rise up her neck and turn her face pink, and caught a glimpse of that little Mona Lisa smile again before she looked way. I took that as a good sign, and my heart hammered hopefully. The restroom was empty when I entered; I took a quick leak and stepped to the sink. I noticed that my palms were sweating, never a good sign, and then washed my hands, drying them carefully on a paper towel. I could feel them becoming moist again almost immediately. There was a condom machine on the wall, and I looked at it for a moment. Nah, that was silly! I mean, I needed to at least say hello to her first! And anyway, first meetings are only like that in Penthouse stories – plus, I didn’t want to take any chances on jinxing myself. I passed it by.
On my way back the the table I was so focused on my mystery woman that I’m surprised that I didn’t run into anyone and knock them down. Approaching from behind her, I noticed how the lights made her dark hair shine, and her graceful neck, and the way her shoulders were squared up so proudly beneath the fine, clingy blue silk of her dress. The band had just started playing when I got back to my seat, and a few couples began to drift toward the dance floor, Sherry and Rob among them.
The band was very good, well known locally for performing at small venues and dance bars. They played a selection of covers, mostly classic rock and a smattering of country – the Eagles, Beach Boys, Alabama, Beatles, CCR, etcetera - and some newer stuff like Matchbox Twenty and other somewhat more contemporary rock bands. They had a male lead singer with a very versatile voice who also played guitar, and a talented female vocalist that did a credible Beyonce, as well as being very solid on Faith Hill and other top female country performers. Very entertaining, and I knew they didn’t come cheap.
I sat and listened to them through several songs, gradually working up the courage to make my move. Finally I took a deep breath, dried my hands on my pants legs, and stood up. My knees felt a little weak and shaky as I headed over to speak to her, to finally take my chances. All of the very few times I’d done this in the past, I had been aware of the butterflies in my tummy; this time I had ravens, eagles, maybe even a few condors in there, and they all seemed very agitated about something - and I don’t think it was the enchiladas and burritos, either. In yet another interesting phenomenon, my armpits suddenly started doing a very effective miniature imitation of Niagara Falls. I was really glad, at that moment, that I’d kept my jacket on, and I made a mental note to shop for a new anti-perspirant.
Just as I stepped up to her I realized that I hadn’t really settled on an opening line, whether I should just introduce myself, or ask her to dance, or maybe if I could buy her a drink – neglecting to remember, of course, that it was an open bar. When she looked up at me and I looked closely and directly into those remarkable eyes for the very first time, none of that mattered; any organized thoughts I might have had in my head suddenly burst into a soft mist and blew away, and all I could do was stare into her eyes.
It was probably only for a few seconds, but it seemed like much longer, and as she looked at me expectantly I realized that I looked like an idiot, and that my staring was probably making her uncomfortable, so I dove in head first. “Uh, excuse me, but I was wondering if you’d like to drink…um, I mean, if I could buy you a dance?” Wow Dave, that was smooth! Mentally, I was kicking my own ass.
It was her turn to look at me for a few seconds, no doubt wondering just what kind of morons they let in this place. Again, I’m sure it wasn’t a long time; just long enough, in fact, for me to wonder if any major medical studies had ever been done regarding sudden-onset dyslexia. Finally she said “Well, I already have a drink – and it’s an open bar, you know.” Her voice was sexy, low and rich, smooth as silk and soft as velvet, and I was slowly dying.
Then a miracle happened; she reached out and saved me, pulling me back from the brink. She took my hand as she stood up, and, in that same great voice, said “I’d love it if you’d buy me a dance though.” There was that tiny, playful smile again, and a mischievous, sexy sparkle in her eyes as she acknowledged catching my clumsiness and gently teased me about it. She’d saved my life, and I fell in love.
We’d made our way to the dance floor, and although that period of time and the first couple of dances sort of passed in a fog for me, I do remember that our first dance together was to “Proud Mary” – not the sort of song that occasions a lot of close contact – and that as we danced and smiled at each other, the big wheel kept on turnin’ as we were rollin’ down the ribah. I’d always sort of liked that song, whether it was the original Fogerty version with CCR, or Solomon Burke or Tina Turner covering it, but that night it became one of my all-time favorites.
The first few dances – three, I think – were like that, the kind where you mostly danced apart from each other. We got close enough for me to learn that her name was “Allison, although my friends call me Alli”, and for me to tell her that my name was Dave. We’d exchanged a few other minor bits of information before the band settled down into a slow song, “Wonderful Tonight”, a Clapton song which I was familiar with of course, but which I remember because she did look so wonderful that night.
I was uncertain whether she would want to dance to something like that with me, since we’d barely met, but as I stepped back and held my hands out in question she moved into my arms like it was the most natural thing in the world, and my heart soared. We danced, and I held her, and I was hyper-aware of every detail. She was lithe and firm, the muscles in her back taut as they moved beneath my fingers, her firm breasts tight against my chest; she rested her head against my shoulder, and her hair carried a vague floral scent, probably her shampoo. Her perfume was also very subtle, a sexy, feminine scent that caused electric tingles to spread from my olfactory system throughout my body – just as the manufacturer intended, no doubt.
The one that really got to me though, the one that did me in, was just her own unique scent, a natural, soft, warm, healthy, inviting feminine scent , one that worked with the warmth and firmness of her body pressing against me to light my fire. I could feel my heart beating faster, and the butterflies inside, and my penis responding to her nearness and her powerful, overwhelming femininity. I willed it to stop, but it rarely obeys my will, and as my erection hardened fully I pulled slightly away, so that hopefully she wouldn’t notice.
She didn’t let me get away with that, pressing herself to me again, and I knew that she could feel my hardness against her stomach. She turned and glanced up at me, and I know I was blushing. I shrugged helplessly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
I’m not even really sure what that meant. She smiled and rested her head on my chest and shoulder again, and softly said “Don’t apologize. It’s kind of a compliment, really, don’t you think?” She glanced up at me again, and I suspect that I was so red I was probably approaching purple. Her acknowledging that she was very aware of my arousal hadn’t helped my embarrassment, despite her words.
She smiled again, and kept looking into my eyes as I lost myself in hers. “Dave, if it helps at all, please know that I’m reacting the same way, and I don’t feel bad at all about becoming aroused. Neither should you.”
Oh, now that helped! It wasn’t enough that just being near her was launching my libido, now she’d gone and told me that she was responding sexually to me! The thoughts and images that brought to my mind turned my cock to steel, and she pressed against it. When the song ended we stepped apart, and I hoped that the bulge in my pants was not too obvious. There are a few advantages to not being hung like Secretariat, and this had to be one of them. I suddenly felt very awkward again. “I guess I’m not really much of a dancer.”
“You were fine! I enjoyed it.”
“Hey, at least I didn’t smash your toes or anything, so I’m proud of that! Dancing really isn’t my forte.”
She smiled. “How about walking?”
“Oh, I’m good at walking! I hardly ever fall down or anything.”
She laughed. I guess she thought I was making a joke, so I didn’t disabuse her of that notion “Well Dave, that’s good to know; but what I meant was would you like to go for a walk?”
Of course that’s what she’d meant! Duh! “Oh, yeah, sure. That would be great. I was going to just ask you if you wanted to go for a walk, but I was afraid you’d think I was just trying to get you alone so that I could knock you over the head and abduct you or something.”
She looked at me oddly. “Is that something you were contemplating?” It struck me that I was going to great lengths to make myself look like an utter fool, but for some reason I seemed incapable of stopping. I’d have done a more thorough job of washing my feet if I’d known I was going to have one or both of them in my mouth most of the night.
“No, no I was just trying to make a joke! Apparently that’s also not my forte. But since going outside was your idea, should I worry that you’re planning to do that to me?”
She laughed. “What, abduct you? You never know, I might; you are kinda cute. Would I need to?” The way she so openly and boldly looked at me was something I found very sexy, and also somewhat disconcerting.
“No. No, you definitely would not need to.” I looked around. “Do you want your jacket? It’s a little cool outside.”
“Yes, please.” I grabbed it off her chair on the way by, and held it so that she could slip her arms into the sleeves. Once outside, we just walked. There was a small park at the end of the block, across the street, and we seemed to be on the same wavelength as we both turned in that direction. As we walked, we talked, and I was relieved that I was finally able to get past my nerves and act somewhat more intelligent. Just a little, maybe, but I was OK with baby steps at this point.
I found out that she had turned 21 just a couple of weeks before the night of the party, which made her about four and a half years younger than me; four, at that moment, as I was 25, but I’d turn 26 in October and then be five years older than her for a few months. She’d seemed so sophisticated and self-assured – especially as compared to my own amateurish bumbling – that I’d thought maybe she was at least my age. She looked young though. Young and gorgeous and sexy.
The way we’d walked and talked that night had been my favorite part of the evening; I think I was able to acquit myself with a bit more grace and savoir-faire than my initial attempts might have indicated I was capable of. I remember her asking, at one point, if my bumbling approach was just a clever ploy that I used to make myself seem more easy-going and endearing, and I’d laughed and replied that yes, I’d always found that women were deeply attracted to trembling, stammering, stumbling ninnies.
Why would anyone intentionally want to make that kind of first impression?
The funny thing was, when I admitted to how nervous I was about approaching her, she’d replied that she had been hoping that I would – and that in case I didn’t she had been trying to work up the nerve to approach me! She said that she was horribly nervous and hadn’t known whether she could do it or not. I have to give her an A+ for hiding her nervousness, because she was certainly a lot better at it than I’d proved to be! Her admission had put me at ease though, that evening; it didn’t occur to me until much later that maybe she had said those things precisely for that purpose.
It was very ego-flattering to think that a woman as beautiful as Alli had wanted me to approach her, to ask her to dance or something, and that she might even have asked me if I had chickened out. She’s beautiful and gorgeous and sexy, and I’m sure men must come on to her all the time, but I’m Joe Average in almost every sense. I’m slightly taller than average, I suppose, at 6’1”, and I make an above average income now, but when I’d met Allison I was just becoming successful, and even now, other than those few things, I am the white Toyota Camry of human males; ubiquitous, and therefore invisible.
I am invisible in a crowd because I am so utterly unremarkable. I’m not so handsome that women give me a second glance, nor so hideous that children run screaming; I’m not a skinny rail, and I stay in shape, but neither am I a wide body or a muscular hulk; my hair is a mousy brown, straight and fairly fine, nothing anyone but a bald guy might wish for. I’ve thought from time to time that I would have made a perfect spy, or maybe an assassin, because nobody would notice me even when I was standing right next to them. Even my penis, as I’ve mentioned, landed right at the top of the ‘size’ bell curve, spot-on average. I’d never really had any hang-ups about any of those facts, but still, when Alli basically said that she had wanted to meet me – and that she had become aroused while we were dancing – it was an enormous ego boost. If I hadn’t fallen in love with her already by that point, I probably would have then.
The worst part of the whole evening was when we’d parted at the end of it, but the best part of the whole evening was when I’d asked if she’d like to go to dinner sometime and if I could call her, and she eagerly gave me her phone number; in fact, she took my cell phone and put her own name and number in it, and then put my number in hers! It doesn’t get any better than that. Well, actually, yeah it does, but not on a very first meeting!
And at that point I was rudely yanked out of my reverie, my reminiscing about meeting Allison ending abruptly when the traffic on the highway in front of me came to a screeching halt, and I had to brake hard to avoid rear ending a pick-up truck! I grabbed my briefcase and Alli’s portrait to keep them from flying off the seat onto the floor; I would have been heartbroken if I had damaged that gift, and I think she might have as well.
Ours is not a large city, roughly 168,000 people in the immediate metro area and about another 80,000 or so in the expanded market area, but it was enough to have our own traffic jams in our own mini rush hours. The particular stretch of highway where I’d come to a stop was a nightmare this time of year; some brilliant developer (nothing we’d been associated with, thank goodness) had seen fit to build a four-story office building alongside the highway, at the Ninth Street exit, and for about two weeks on each side of both the vernal and autumnal equinoxes this glass box caught the early morning sun on its eastern face and reflected it back - right into the eyes of the east-bound drivers who were caught off guard by the unexpected sudden glare, because the sun was behind them. It was enormously hazardous, and pile-ups caused by blinded drivers were frequent.
Now, in early October on my birthday, we were enjoying the last few days of our autumnal equinox reflection hazard. Numerous fixes were proposed, from expensive non-reflective coatings up to and including tearing the building down, and lawsuits had been filed. But the guy, the builder, had gotten all of the necessary permits and inspections before he built. The city council and the inspectors – the people who are supposed to catch these things – hadn’t, and now things ground on in the courts as we all tried not to kill each other.
I noticed that I was only a few car-lengths from the exit ramp, so I worked my way onto the shoulder and passed them to get there. There was a Starbucks on the corner a block up (as there seems to be on most corners in America) so, since I was standing still anyway, I stopped in there to get a couple of coffees. I got a large dark roast Jamaican something or other for me, just plain black, but it was their coffee o’ the day or whatever they call it, and a Grande latte for Marci. She would have ordered something more involved if she were there, but I can’t bring myself to order any coffee that takes longer to say than it does to drink. Besides, she likes the latte, and I was buying. I knew she wouldn’t complain.
I also got a couple of Danish, strawberry for me and cheese for her, and headed back to my car. I nestled the coffees snugly into the drink holders, looking at Alli’s beautiful face and sexy body as I did so. I was still amazed that she had gotten the portrait done! You’d probably have to know her to fully understand, but it is just something that is so completely out of character – and then to admit to me that she had not only found the courage to do it, but that doing it had left her so turned on, so aroused that she had practically knocked me down and climbed on when I got home…well, it was just a lot to wrap my mind around.
I stayed on surface roads the rest of the way, to avoid the traffic jam and because it was a change of pace to take a different route. I needed to think a little more about all this, and I thought maybe a fresh route might open up fresh neural pathways. Or something like that. The thing about Alli…
I guess the best word is enigma. Or maybe paradox. No, I think I’ll stick with enigma, and Allison is one. She’s modest and shy in her public persona; she does not dress daringly or in revealing clothes, she doesn’t really engage in a lot of sexual banter, teasing, or innuendo with friends – or not that I’ve ever seen, anyway. She blushes readily, and tends to come across as beautiful (unavoidably so) but maybe a bit stand-offish, or perhaps as just shy and easily embarrassed. She doesn’t play the sexual games that boys and girls tend to play; not with friends, and certainly not with strangers, and I’ve never known her to display any trace of exhibitionism. She’s not prudish, just reserved.
Alone with me though, at home or away, she has a very strong libido. She takes a great deal of pleasure in sex, and in both giving and receiving pleasure, and enjoys it openly and joyously, the way it was meant to be enjoyed; she is adventurous and open to experimentation, enjoys sensual pleasure and romantic games in many different forms, and is utterly unabashed about me looking at, touching, and otherwise enjoying the delightful playground that is her body. It took me awhile to figure that out, after we’d gotten together and become intimate, but as I was doing so each new excursion was exciting, and each seemed to come with some new revelation. I was – and still am – utterly addicted to this woman.
The fact that she had felt so liberated and unfettered while displaying her body in front of the photographer – a complete stranger, for all intents and purposes – was just one more exciting peek into the enigma that is my wife. The fact that it had left her incredibly, almost unbearably, aroused…well, that was a revelation. Another one.
And then, meeting me at the door naked the way she’d done those few weeks ago, obviously aroused, and eager to tease me by telling and then showing me that she had started without me, her slippery, wet, delicious fingers in my mouth…
Well that's an example of what I’m saying about her joyful sexuality at home. It is as liberated and unfettered as she had apparently felt that day in the photographer’s studio – although, of course, I had not known the cause of her intense arousal at the time. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth – or any other anatomical orifice – I had simple gone along for the ride.
I chuckled remembering it, shaking my head. Anyone driving near me probably thought I was insane, laughing and shaking my head as I drove along, but I didn’t really care. After letting me taste her arousal on her fingers – and telling me that she had started without me - she had suddenly looked very worried, and asked me if I was upset because she had been masturbating rather than waiting for me.
I’d told her no, of course not. I’d said “Alli, you know me; if I was upset it would be because I didn’t get to watch.”
“You’d actually want to watch me do myself?”
“What are you, crazy? Of course I would!”
She’d given me a sexy, teasing smile. “I already came three times, but I could do it some more – if you really want to watch.”
At the time I’d eagerly encouraged her to go ahead; now I was driving down the street remembering that night, and my dick was getting very hard. Pretty soon I’d be able to steer without using my hands.
She’d insisted that I “get comfortable” first, by which she’d apparently meant get my pants unzipped and my cock and balls out in the open, because that’s what she did next. I was already rock hard, because my cock had sprung proudly to attention when her wet fingers had touched my lips and her sweet scent had entered my nostrils. I’m pretty easy that way. She’d slid me into her mouth for a moment, just to get me wet, I guess, because it was not possible for me to get any harder. I remember that I’d gasped out loud at the warm, wet, incredible sensation of her tongue and lips on me.
She’d looked up at me. “Where do you want to watch me?”
“I don't know...from right in front of you, I guess?”
She laughed. “No, I mean what room should we go to?”
“Anywhere. Right here in the entry is fine with me.”
She laughed again. “Naughty boy! Let’s go up to our bedroom.” That decision made, she’d grabbed me by the firm, convenient handle that was jutting out of my open zipper and led me up the stairs. Not that I was in any way resisting; truth is, she could probably lead me off a cliff using that same grip without a peep of objection from me.
Once in our master bedroom she led me over to the bed and then sat down on the edge, again taking my cock into her mouth for about thirty seconds of loving attention. When I began to unbuckle my belt she slipped her lips off of me and grabbed my hands. “No, you stay dressed. I’ve got the important parts out already. Now just watch – no touching remember, you’re just a spectator here.”
She lay back on the bed, her bottom about a foot from the end and her legs dangling momentarily until she pulled them up. Heels buried in our comforter she let her legs fall apart, opening herself to my eager gaze. I looked down at her and started to reach out to stroke her thigh, but she immediately reminded me that I was not to touch, so I pulled my hand back. It had been almost a reflex action on my part, wanting to touch her; it was so automatic that I hadn’t even thought of the no-touching rule.
It was apparent that she was aroused. First of all, she’d told me so, so it’s not like it required a lot of skillful detective work. Second, even had she not said a word, one look at her body would have told the story. Her nipples were hard, dark and rosy and jutting proudly, begging to be touched and suckled. Her neck and chest were flushed, and there was a thin sheen of moisture on her upper body, that light perspiration that accompanies her arousal and makes her glow. I could also read it on her face, and especially in her eyes, which take on a smoky, wanton, yearning look.
And of course there was her very wet, very aroused pussy, right there in front of me, her pink clitoris, swollen to the size of the tip of my little finger and hard, peeking out from beneath its fleshy hood. Her inner lips were swollen with arousal as well, puffy and wet and making my mouth water, and there were a few dark tendrils of her pubic hair curling in around the edges, evidence of her earlier arousal - and of her self-administered cure for that problem.
She began to run her hands slowly up her thighs, stroking those same sensitive areas that I touch to tease and arouse her. I stood over her, staring down, my cock standing at attention and throbbing as I watched her. One hand found her sex, and she lightly traced the perimeter with one finger, touching, stroking, exploring, until it rested at the bottom, between her two openings. She then drew it slowly upwards parting her inner folds, opening her lips, tracing them to where they met at the hard bud of her clit. I finally remembered to blink, my eyes smarting as they dried out, and my hand found my straining cock and began to stroke it.
I felt a little silly standing there fully dressed (hell, I hadn’t even loosened my tie!) with just my cock sticking out and my balls dangling. But if that’s what she wanted, I was not about to argue. Not when she was performing for me, and when my fully dressed audience character was apparently a part of the performance!
She’d looked at me about then, and saw that I was touching myself, and ordered me to stop. I’d objected. “Hey, you’re doing it! What’s good for the goose…”
“Yes, but I can come again – several times, even in just the next thirty minutes or so. How many times can you come in half an hour?”
She had a point. I hated that I had to concede, but there it was. “Once, for sure…maybe twice, with a little help.”
She’d laughed. “Biology, baby; you got cheated!”
“Apparently. Can I take off my shoes and pants?”
“Can I at least loosen my tie?”
“Jeez Alli, you’re killing me here!”
“Nobody ever died from a severe case of blue balls, they just wished they could. Now behave – and watch. This was your idea, remember?”
I remembered. She’d gone back to touching herself, really getting into it, her fingers touching and stroking her aroused sex, one hand going to her breasts, squeezing, pressing, then rolling and tugging her hard nipples between her fingers, while the other stayed between her legs, beginning to focus more on her very sensitive clitoris, stroking that hard little bud at a gradually increasing pace until her body arched and shuddered in orgasm. It was incredible to watch, my body shivering with arousal, my cock leaking heavily. There was a large bubble of clear fluid balanced at the very tip of my penis, and a long-thin strand hanging down to a wet spot at the edge of our comforter, where I’d already dripped.
“God babe, that was so hot! I can’t take much more of this.”
“Well I’m going to keep on for awhile, but you don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.”
I’d laughed at her silly premise. “You’re joking, right? I couldn’t stop watching now if I wanted to! Which I don’t, in case you were wondering.”
“Mmm, I kinda figured that.” She’d rolled over on her stomach then and rose up onto her knees so that her ass was sticking up in the air and her head and shoulders were down on the bed, her hair splayed wildly around her. She moved her knees about a foot and a half or so apart, and her hand snaked out from beneath her belly and once again found her sex. This was a very inviting pose, and I thought seriously about just mounting her from behind and getting on with it; God knows I was more than ready, but she wasn’t done yet. No, she still had some more self-help she wanted to do, and a husband that very much wanted to watch her do it. So I did. Watch her, that is.
My face was just a couple of feet away from her pussy, so close that I could hear the wet, slippery sounds her fingers made and breathe the heady, arousing feminine scent of her sex. I ached, my cock straining, and I glanced down to see if my balls were swollen to the size of a basketball yet, but everything appeared more or less normal. I dropped to my knees behind her so that my face was just inches away. Dropping down like that made the slider on my zipper bite the tender skin at the back of my balls, but I ignored it.
Her fingers touched and played again, spreading her soft lips so that I could enjoy seeing everything, and stroking up and down her needy sex, occasionally venturing slightly into her slick tunnel. Her entire pussy glistened wetly, and her moisture coated her fingers. When she began to concentrate once again on her swollen clit I knew she was close, and when her orgasm rocked through her and she thrust her fingers inside herself I couldn’t take any more; I junked the no-touching rule and buried my face in her wet, aroused, incredible sex. She didn’t object.
I licked her and lapped her, and when her fingers slid out of her vagina I licked them, sucking her sweet juices off her own fingers; I then concentrated on her aroused, puffy sex, sucking her clit between my lips and tugging at it. She moved her hand completely out of the way and turned me loose, and I spent several moments showing my full appreciation for the free sex show she’d provided, and I made her come, and then again. As her second orgasm – no, wait; it was way more than her second, but I’d lost track – well, anyway, as the second one provided by my lips and tongue rolled through her I stood and entered her from behind, suddenly and completely, pushing my straining cock all the way into her hot and willing pussy.
She gasped and came again, and collapsed flat down onto the bed. I rode her down, and she arched her back and pulled her knees together and up to thrust her bottom up slightly, providing the perfect angle of attack for my cock. Straddling her now, I continued to thrust into her, mashing my aching scrotum into the ’V’ where the backs of her thighs met her ass with each thrust. My zipper was using its scores of teeth to chew eagerly at my balls, and I was vaguely aware of being way over-dressed, but I really didn’t care.
I wish I could say that I pounded her mercilessly then, driving her to such heights of ecstasy that she passed out beneath me, but the truth is that I lasted maybe thirty seconds – and it’s possible that may be an exaggeration. I was so aroused by her arousal, so over-stimulated from watching her, and the feel of her slippery sex on my lips and tongue and her sweet taste in my mouth, and by breathing her sexual arousal into my lungs, that I came too quickly, suddenly and explosively, jamming myself deeply into her as I poured out all of my pent-up energies…and fluids. She came again as I did, but I think I was probably the one that came closest to passing out.
I continued to fuck her, gliding in and out of her cum-soaked sex until my erection waned to the point where I slid helplessly out of her, semi-limp and slathered with our combined juices. I flopped onto my back alongside her, breathing heavily, my heart pounding in my chest. My flaccid cock was making slimy snail tracks on the front of my dress pants, but I didn’t care about that either; that’s what dry cleaners are for.
Her face was buried in our bedding, so her voice was muffled, but I heard her say. “You cheated – you weren’t supposed to touch yet.”
I tried to answer, but my throat was dry. I coughed and swallowed, trying to work up a little moisture, and tried again. “I couldn’t help it. I think the devil made me do it.”
She turned her head so that she was facing me, our noses inches apart. “That devil is a smart guy. I was ready, and he knew it.”
“You were obviously ready even before I got home! Whatever you did today, you should probably do it more often.” She’d laughed softly and agreed, but she hadn’t told me what it was she’d done. I was just making a little joke – I’d actually attributed her arousal to just normal stuff, or maybe her physical cycle or mere coincidence, serendipity, so I didn’t pursue the cause at the time. It was only now, weeks later, that I’d found out that posing semi-naked for another man is what had left her so desperately horny.