Ask me why I'm here.
You don't want to? Well, I'll tell you anyway.
I'm a procrastinator.
I meant to go to a Procrastinator's Anonymous meeting but I could never get around to actually doing it.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'll never do today what I can put off until tomorrow or perhaps even next week.
If not get out of doing forever.
Until recently I never thought about why I put things off.
Heck, there's a lot of my personal issues that I tried not to think about and, even though I tried to put them off, some would decide to haunt me at inopportune times.
Yeah, I'll bet you think inopportune times are usually when I'm "getting busy" with my wife, but no , these are the little things that wake you up between two and three in the A.M. and keep you from going back to sleep. Some thoughts are not restful at all.
Doubts, despair and indecision. That last is a good thing, you know. Or maybe not. A lot depends upon who is and who isn't.
I've joked that the Brady Bill has saved lives from those who don't think far enough ahead to be prepared. I wonder, despite having been a boy scout, why am I still so terribly unprepared for life?
So, even though you didn't ask, why does procrastination explain why I'm still here?
Well, I get depressed.
So? You would think little of this and move on. Everyone gets depressed now and then, right? It's part of life, isn't it?
Right. Everyone faces moments of depression. I am not any more immune to the vagaries of depressive moments than any one else.
And, yes, everyone who faces depression does entertain thoughts of making an early exit; that grandly futile gesture of saying "fuck it" by flushing all of one's future days down the commode in one big go instead of letting the days sift through your fingers at a more "normal" rate, all because you're certain that the "fun" part of your life is over and can't recall having had any fun.
So I'm a procrastinator and, yes, I am very good at it, too. I've got a lot of practice and, in a way, I guess I have been prepared for some of my challenges by not being prepared to escape my life.
That's not to say that I'm sure I'm all that alive, either.
When did most of my spirit die? When did I transition from entertaining a future to just existing? Am I alive? Or am I a member of the living dead? Or have I really just chosen to put off living until I can afford to enjoy it?
How can you tell that you're alive, after all?
I've heard it said that feeling pain is one way to know if you're alive and awake. If that is true I guess I am very alive, though, unlike some others, my pain is mostly emotional rather than physically imposed; internal rather than external.
So I get depressed.
Yeah, I know: Big fucking deal.
But depression is just a symptom of something deeper, isn't it?
I've seen people on anti-depressants and, to my eye, these medications merely make it easier to ignore the pressures, making the situation feel more bearable.
They're no more alive than I am. They don't even seem to feel any more alive than I do; the difference is that I can think about my situation and learn from it.
I'm insecure which probably drives my wife up a wall. I, being stupid and insecure and lacking self-esteem thought that the marriage would heal many of my defects.
Ha!
All right, so marriage helped; I learned that most of those who seem happy are faking it but the reality for them was not that much better than my own.
I made enough mistakes by becoming emotionally dependent upon my wife. Mistake number three. I figured she could help make up for my lack of self-esteem.
I know you're laughing and, yes, I know where I made my mistake: self esteem depends upon self. Being in any kind of relationship makes it difficult to deal with "self" issues because there are so many interactions between the partners that denies any uncluttered view of yourself and your own strengths.
A lack of self-esteem just adds to the problem of not being able to feel lovable (much less loved) without depending on someone else to provide a complimentary mirror.
So I spent a lot of my marriage dealing with my "baggage". She had her own baggage, of course. Being human basically requires us to have imperfections to deal with. It seems strange now how I felt more imperfect than anyone else.
You see, I still didn't believe myself to be lovable.
This simple belief imposes a large blind spot making it hard to recognize when you're loved. In therapy I learned that I needed to pay attention to this blind spot and try to see "around" it and to not automatically assume that I am undesirable and unwanted.
My wife has her own problems consuming her and so it seemed that my needs were put on hold, awaiting her recovery. So she's dealing with a whole bunch of issues which, really, tend to make mine look like small change.
And, of course, there's that lament from the back of my mind whining "what about me?" Whenever I heard that part of me speak up I'd gotten to feel disgusted with myself for being selfish.
It is in this atmosphere where both my wife and I were neglecting our marital relationship that I fell into the orbit of Carrie and Leah, a pair of co-workers.
Carrie Richter was an interesting person. I got along with her very well since our technical skills sets meshed well and our tastes in sci-fi authors matched closely enough. I introduced her to new authors just as she did the same for me.
At work, Carrie held equivalent responsibilities to mine, albeit for a different management food-chain. As system administrators, she supported one group of developers while I supported another. We had a lot in common so we tended to "borrow each other" more than just a couple of times a week. Where we didn't mesh directly was in the systems we each had experience in; I had a leg up in both Linux and Solaris systems while she could smoke me dealing with HP-UX and AIX. Since we both had a mix of the full range of systems, we traded favors when the other had the knowledge we needed.
Working like this had us soon lunching together and, being the innocent I was, didn't see it as more than socializing with co-workers. We got along well and found a lot of the same workplace insanities amusing. We especially tended to laugh over her scathing memos where she'd hammer a clueless yet arrogant idiot into the ground.
The joke about rating her memos on the "Richter Scale" got spread around the support groups and some of these would pass from hand to hand collecting laughs.
We had good teams. After all, "TEAM" stands for "Teamwork Eliminates Asinine Management" and our managers assiduously avoided stepping on any of our toes.
Added to this mix was Leah Vassinsky, the Windows guru working in Carrie's area. Leah could have qualified as a chaperone on our lunches except for one key problem: Leah was already emotionally involved with Carrie.
In hindsight I still can't explain why I never really looked down on Leah given her specialization with the Windows OS, but, hey, I used her skill set more often than I should have given how I tried to not touch Windows boxes.
Color me naive. I didn't know how close Leah and Carrie were when the situation came to a head. At that point it was too late for me and I would have fought to stay in their web.
Now I've been married a long time and was already over fifty years old. By this time I had gotten used to the sudden thrusts of despair over feeling I could never be loved or lovable despite the therapist's work to teach me that I was just not paying enough attention to how I was being told I was loved.
All right, so I didn't trust words and so, like an idiot, I kept thinking that being sexually desirable would be a nice start to feeling loved and lovable.
Yes, I admit here, in front of you all, that I put too much emphasis on my sexuality as a way to feel worth-while. If you don't like it, sue me. I am fairly certain I was not unusual in this kind of thinking. We all want what we feel least worthy of, don't we?
The "stepping back" from myself that therapy provided also allowed me to see another strangeness in me: I had usually coped best socially with people I have the least in the way of emotional connections or expectations with. So, in some ways, I was more open to talking with my co-workers than any within my family, including my wife.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I can hear someone judging me as a prick.
Okay, so I'm a prick. At least in some ways.
The upshot of this strange dichotomy is that I don't trust my wife to resist the urge to criticize me. I never did get over being told, on more than one occasion, that I was "wrong to feel" a specific way whenever I expressed (or was I complaining?) my feelings of discomfort. After a while anyone would just stop telling their partner what they feel because it won't make any difference or invites additional criticism.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm a man, so the main reason for me to marry was to learn all of my faults.
Being criticized taught me to keep my feelings to myself.
Silence is not necessarily the best way to manage the stresses of life and relationships as many of my closer co-workers can probably well attest to, just from my own example. Heck, even my manager told me he could see when a "dark cloud" hovered over my head.
In any case, my mood swings were more visible to those I work with than I would ever have thought possible and, with that, Carrie and Leah were reading me better than I my wife could have.
Carrie is not super model material but is still quite pretty given her age of forty-two. She was divorced, and, I mistakenly believed, embittered about men in general given the abuse she related to us about her husband and his family. I had believed that she didn't see me as more than a co-worker who shared many interests outside of work. I didn't realize until later that she also had a maternal streak that I appealed to.
All right. Carrie was still an attractive younger woman to my eyes yet I'd been so certain of my undesirable status I had never considered going further than "work friend". Some blindness to her attempts to pass me messages caused them to go over my head.
So I went to lunch with Carrie, and, later, both of them.
Now my wife would give me grief whenever I mentioned talking to my female co-workers that I eventually learned to avoid mentioning lunches and the like. I got to the point where I didn't want to get a lot of verbal abuse over someone I primarily talked shop with.
You know, maybe my wife realized how vulnerable I was to a woman who was willing to show me attention. Maybe my wife knew that I'd prefer to get attention that flattered me. If so, her telling me to "avoid contact" was as effective as saying "just say no" to teen-agers about sex or drugs since all it did was ensure that she had neither control nor influence over me.
Yeah, we're talking about a comedy of errors. She assumed that she was in control and that I'd adhere to her orders.
So, one day when I was really under a dark cloud and feeling like an early exit would save everyone a lot of pain and suffering but not having enough enthusiasm to take care of that problem today, both Carrie and Leah dragged me out for lunch. And, no, going to lunch with them wasn't an unusual occurence and had, in fact, provided me surprising levels of cheer.
Do you remember how I told you that I over-emphasize sexual interest as a measure of feeling loved? Well, finding Carrie climbing in to the back seat of Leah's car with me, straddling my lap and pushing herself against me lifted the dark cloud I'd been under almost instantly by replacing it with a whole new type of cloud: Confusion.
I found my arms wrapped around Carrie before we even got out of the parking lot but then my hands were soon guided from around her back to her front and the substantial breasts she kept there. Being told to play with them was acceptable as I started to do what "came naturally" to a man with his hands on a pair of tits.
Needless to say, under Carrie's butt, my erection did it's erect rather than level best to make an impression on the person sitting on top of it.
It is now certain to me that a man with a pair of breasts in his hands and a hard-on is in a surprisingly cooperative and attentive state. A stray thought arrived and fled that my wife didn't seem able to appreciate this means of pacifying me. With Carrie on my lap I was awash in pleasant feelings and her verbal encouragements to handle her "accoutrements" were the best ways I'd ever experienced to lift my spirits.
Was I really depressed 10 minutes ago? Really? I didn't think it could be proven to me now...
The huge cloud of confusion that I'd been engulfed by burned off quickly like a fog bank in bright sunlight as I engaged in something I liked the idea of doing but had been taught over the years was seen as "disrespectful". I enjoyed this moment, my hands on the second set of breasts I had ever felt and their owner was behaving as if she really wanted me to do this.
Carrie sighed as I worked her breasts and she slumped even closer to me, her head finding a cradle on my shoulder as my hands seemed to operate on autopilot. The noises she made were more than a sign of merely tacit tolerance but sounded more like enthusiastic approval warming my heart in ways I'd not felt for years. I kissed her forehead since I could easily reach it.
Carrie's voice was softer and smoother than I'd ever heard before as she told me "Jason, that feels wonderful. Kiss my neck, please tell me you like me, please?"
Confusion reigned as I tried to balance this against being married, so I had to work through that conflict before I could respond properly to the passenger of my lap. I worked out of the conflict so I could be here and now: "Yes, I have always liked you a lot, Carrie. And now I can tell you how good you smell to me, how good it feels to have you in my arms, how much your voice turns me on... and it feels good to me that I please you."
She sighed in my arms, my fingers barely able to find the bumps of her nipples but still circling and playing with the small nubbins that just bareky popped through her brassiere. They were only detectable as areas of hardness in the softnesses encased within her clothing. The moaning Carrie did as I caressed these bumps gave me goose-bumps up running and down my back.
When the car came to a stop and the engine turned off, she pulled back from me and I looked around; seeing us in a carport at a garden apartment complex surprised me since I didn't know where we were. Both women soon hustled me out of the car and up some stairs to a cozy two bedroom unit on the second floor which didn't give me much time to gather any of my scattered wits together; I didn't even have enough sense to try to hide the tent my erection was making. I soon found myself pushed down onto the couch and my lap covered again by Carrie.
I was shaken and confused again so my new lover took pity on me by taking my hands and guiding them to her chest, telling me to get back to work. My hands, returned to her heavenly bosoms, knew what to do and dragged the rest of me into this comfortable daze, calmed by her enthusiasm. The next change happened when Carrie kissed me, which I barely had enough working brain cells to return. I knew I was clumsy but did my best to learn how to please my lover.
In hindsight it was obvious what happened to her blouse and brassiere; all I knew in my dazed state was that I was suddenly able to feel the bare flesh of Carrie's breasts. The warmth and hard nipples pushing into my palms seemingly electrocuted whatever pleasure centers I had and Carrie herself made noises which, when I had a second brain cell to process them, sounded like she was getting as much out of this touching as I was.
I moaned. She moaned. We moaned. Apparently it was really not an awful thing to enjoy playing with a pair of hard and crinkly nipples. Her noises told me that it was a pleasant thing for her pair of hard and crinkly nipples to be played with, too.
When she shifted I couldn't resist following her.
I followed her, standing, my eyes focused on hers, once she climbed off my lap. My face met hers and we kissed again, her arms around me, holding my head to her lips, keeping me from escaping.
As if, in that eternal moment, I'd ever want to escape.
My hands were still on breasts that were eager for my hands to stay there. My lips and tongue were busy being told by another set of lips and lively tongue that their duel was a friendly activity that was being encouraged.
Attention is a slippery thing. Carrie had at least 173% of my attention by this point and I didn't have enough left over to notice much before I felt the breeze on Mr Happy.
When I got pushed back down I lost contact with her breasts and lips but...
Carrie, even in her distracted state, along with Leah, were excellent choreographers. Before my brain caught up with the activities while sitting on the couch, not only was my lap full of a wet and excited Carrie, Carrie herself was full of me.
One of my fantasies was coming true-- a woman was riding me and, in effect, "taking" me.
Yes, I know quite a few think this is a stupid mind-set but, in my marriage, it was up to me to show any and all sexual aggression. This one-sided approach to sex had me always in the role of pursuer dealing with a woman who was always playing hard to get in one form or another which left me feeling undesirable and under-valued. Here, though, the tables were turned: a woman showed that she found me desirable enough-- and valuable enough-- for her to pursue me .
In retrospect, a man could get pretty damnably smug if this kind of thing happened often enough.
I gave her my attentions as well as I could given this position and, shortly after she came like a freight train and was panting as she came back down, I provided a gift of DNA. If Carrie hadn't been post-menopausal, this could have started a new life.
I held Carrie on my lap, kissing her shoulder and neck as she calmed down while using my hands to rub and scratch her back in between hugs.
Carrie purred as her hands were rubbing and scratching the parts of my back that she could get at too.
Leah spoke, then, with "Carrie, sweetheart? Your promise?"
Carrie nodded and carefully climbed off of me, pulling my not yet limp dick out of her delightfully live pussy and, with a hand to keep her labia closed, laid down on a towel on the floor.
This was a strange tableau. What was going on here?
Before I could say "Huh?" Leah was lapping at Carrie's pussy, her own bottom pointed at me and another set of wet lips were visible to me given her shaven pubes.
The noises they both made, Leah's moaning working to excite Carrie's climb to climax with those sound effects are not something anyone can handle dispassionately. My ability to think was going away again as my body tried to respond to this renewed stimulus.
I watched this, a sense of wonder at the show of affection and, to me, incredibly hot sex, and my member wanted to remain in the club. The noises and evident enthusiasm of both exhititors was contagious and so it took very little time for my dick to return to being a club. I was so turned on and thinking with my dick that I couldn't stop once I started to move off the couch.
Leah squeaked when I slid into her wet pussy, pushing her face into Carrie's pussy. The squeak, in my excited state, did not sound unhappy. I started a slow, deep fucking and, shortly, Leah pulled back from her muff diving to tell me "Yes, give it to me too!" and returned to giving Carrie attention.
Now I'm certain that Leah is linguistically talented but the noises from both of them seemed to indicate that my thrusts, pushing Leah's face against Carrie's lower lips, were helping things continue apace. Carrie moaned and encouraged me to keep pounding our small lover.
Given my earlier donation directly to Carrie, it was going to take me a while to catch up and give Leah the same gift. Leah had no problems reaching climax, though, and I enjoyed the feel of her pussy twitching around "me" as she came.
That I'd never felt that sensation before Carrie had ridden me was a thought to be considered later on as I continued to drive Leah's body through a two more orgasms on the way to my own.
Carrie was quite vocal and, after coming several times under Leah's oral attentions, finally pulled away to watch us. I looked at her as she panted and tried to catch her breath just before Leah reached her third climax of our session.
I didn't realize how turned on Leah was and discovered, by continuing my pounding, the tiny twenty-seven year old woman could not stop coming. Her body was...
Let's step back for a moment, all right?
I was feeling wonderful since Carrie had made the first move by jumping me, admittedly with a fair amount of assistance from Leah, proving to me that I wasn't just desirable but actually wanted. I'd never actually felt so desirable before in my life, even going back to when my wife and I first had sex. Feeling desired to this degree ignited the fire I had been despairing of ever having lit: I was loved. I was, in fact, lovable. A woman had wanted me. I was good enough to be wanted.
Far more impressive, though, was that two women wanted me!
Given that sense of being loved I had turned the corner of my depression and despair. That had made it easier for me to jump Leah.
It can be said that Carrie had "taken" me by giving me her affection and not giving me much choice. Granted, I didn't act the aggressor because of workplace rules and not wanting to offend or otherwise scare away Carrie.
When I turned it around and pounded into Leah, I was, just as Carrie'd done with me, "taking" her the same way and showing the slim woman how womanly I could see her. It did not help that Leah was aggressively multi-orgasmic which does wonders for a man's ego.
Strangely, neither of these women looked unhappy. I got a big smile out of Carrie that faded as I suddenly hit my peak, moaned and slammed deep into Leah, and came.
I was still coming when Carrie told me that "You really want to avoid coming in Leah, Jason-- she's not only fertile but I just remembered-- she's due to ovulate today!"
The announcement had come too late as I'd already come deep inside of a wailing and pulsating Leah. The shock effect had goose-bumps pop up on my arms as I couldn't keep myself from trying to push myself even deeper into Leah as the last of my spasms delivered one more pulse to her womb.
That this tiny woman, just barely more than half my age, would likely conceive a child from this act of love had made the climax, for me, even harder. Leah's panting as she came down from her orgasmic state was loud in the room and I was momentarily afraid of what she'd think. Leah paused and told me to lay us down in spoon position, which we did.
Carrie, now that Leah had her brain cells gathering, spoke up "Leah, hon, we forgot that you're due to ovulate today."
My little lover panting in my arms nodded. "Yeah, it was feeling the pain of ovulation that pushed me over the edge the third time and I just couldn't come down after that happened."
I stroked her hair saying "I'm sorry, I didn't even think about it..."
Leah giggled. "Put your hands on my tits, please? I don't want Carrie being the only one around here to get felt up."
I put my hands on her barely present breasts and played with the nipples; her much smaller size was compensated for by nipples that were larger and hard as spikes, exciting my palms as I ran my hands over them. My dick was twitching as it softened, making a vain attempt to reverse the trend with this new input but my age won out and I became limp as I gave her as much comfort as I could.
Carrie smiled at us as Leah luxuriated in the attention I was giving her breasts and said "Leah, at yeast now you know how it feels to be kneaded by him."
Leah's giggle at this pun was contagious; I chuckled, too.
Carrie soon came over to us and sandwiched Leah between us, touching the younger and smaller woman who seemed to purr as she lay in my arms.
Color me primitive, all right?
Yes, I was almost twice Leah's age.
Yes, I had a fair amount of gray mixed into my beard.
Yes, I had emotional problems.
Yes, I'd just, with almost no thought, likely impregnated a much younger co-worker.
Yes, I had just broken my wedding vows.
On second thought, fuck the wedding vows; my wife might as well have been my sister for all the good it did me in the sack. Oh, I still felt love for her and a desire to care for her, but the feeling I had with both Carrie and Leah had satisfied something in me that Holly hadn't in years.
So I continued to cuddle this small woman and, indirectly, Carrie. It was a pleasant time resting like this. Today I felt pretty damn good.
We laid like that and quietly cuddled for at least fifteen minutes, luxuriating in having our lovers so close to us. I already knew that I wasn't about to back off. I was in this relationship for the long haul: Both of these women were, in my eyes, wonderful. I'd liked them for a long time and had seen them, when I allowed myself, as sexually desirable.
So I wanted to stay in a relationship with them.
If they let me. If they still wanted me. If I was more than just a sperm donor. It seemed I couldn't completely escape my doubts.
Interrupting both the idyll and my doubts, Leah's pager went off.
It was time to get back to work, dammit.
As Leah called in to find out who'd managed to fuck up one of her servers-- being the Windows admin meant she spent a lot more time as a button-monkey than either Carrie or I did-- Carrie and I went to ready the shower. I had to get the last of my clothing off but this wasn't a big deal as we got under the spray.
Both women got extra attention from me in the shower and while drying each other afterwards. The talk we had while cleaning up told me I was still wanted in their lives, even if Leah didn't conceive. Having each woman ask me to check if her breasts were dry-- and then each having me adjust their brassiere-- went a long way in reassuring me.
So, just before Leah parked her car at the office, Carrie told me "We want you again. And again. And again."
Leah nodded. Enthusiastically. She added "You look so much happier now, and we want to be happy, just like today. And I want to see you smiling tomorrow. It makes me feel good when you smile."
Tomorrow. Yeah, I can deal with that.
I can handle anything as long as I won't face any pain today, but...
Linking arms with my lovers in the parking lot, we hugged and I smiled like I haven't in years. We soon separated a bit to walk in the building, our hands brushing each other's and sharing love.
There's always tomorrow. And, for once, I was looking forward to it... and the days after.
Our eyes seemed to glow and I wondered how many tomorrows I could have...
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Author: Jack C Lipton Title: There's Always Tomorrow... Part: Universe: Crossings Summary: Life and Life Keywords: FM FF MFF angst cheat oral preg? Revision: $Revision: 1.6 $ Archive: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/CupaSoup/www/ Mailing List: FAQ: RCS: $Id: tomorrow.x,v 1.6 2005/11/12 17:15:04 jcl Exp $