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Subject: {ASSM} {John A} "Reunion" (M/F Rom humor)
Date: Fri, 30 Jun 2000 16:10:26 -0400
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<1st attachment, "REUNION.TXT" begin>
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real
persons is unintentional and strictly coincidental. If you are below
the age of 18, or 21 depending on your locality, stop reading right
now. If your government prohibits erotic literature, stop reading
now and delete this. If you choose to continue, that is your decision
-- and your responsibility -- not mine.
This is intended solely for adults, and any other rebroadcast,
retransmission, and account of this game is strictly prohibited by the
National Hockey League. Wait --The NHL doesn't care --I care. Any
unauthorized redistribution of this is in violation of copyright. I
authorize the reader to make one copy for reeading purposes only. I
expressly prohibit posting of this work on anyone's website, including
but not limited to pay-sites, sites with advertising, and any type of
site where a fee is charged. Any distribution without the author's
permission is strictly prohibited.
DO NOT REPOST
"REUNION" Copyright (C) 2000 by John3365A@aol.com (John A).
All rights reserved.
---------------------------
Author's Note: This one is a little different for me. It struck me
that the vast majority of stories are written in narrative form,
with varying amounts of dialogue added depending on the author. I
wanted to try to write a story that was mostly driven by dialogue,
with narrative added sparingly, and only when necessary. It's not
overtly sexual, although there is some sex in it and an air of sexual
tension runs throughout. There's some humor (hopefully) and witty
repartee in what is probably best described as a subtle tale of romance.
If it were a movie, it would best be described as a romantic comedy.
(Of course, if it were a movie, I wouldn't be posting it, would I?)
I know that this isn't my best story but it was something different
that I wanted to try as I endeavor to expand my horizons as a writer.
I'd really appreciate your feedback on this one, because I'm really not
sure if it works.
Thanks,
JA (June 26, 2000)
Author's Note II: I took the opportunity to become ever so slightly self-
indulgent at one point in the story. There's a scene where a reference is
made to another story of mine. The reference is subtle and will probably
be missed by most people. But I'm issuing a challenge. The first person
who can correctly identify the reference to the story will be included in a
cameo role in my next story. Good luck.
REUNION
by John A
"Hey, dufus. Watch where you're going," a pretty woman
dressed in a business suit snapped at a man who absently
bumped into her. The man apologized hastily and the woman
continued on her path imperiously. It struck me that her
voice was somewhat familiar, but what little I managed to
see of her face didn't ring a bell.
I was walking from my office on State Street in Boston's
financial district to Faneuil Hall for my lunch. It was a
daily ritual I enjoyed that got me out of my glass and steel
encased tower with its purified, filtered air and sterile
surroundings. I always thought that I should have been a
park ranger or fisherman or something like that, I love the
outdoors so much, but the lure of the financial markets --
combined with the pressure from my father -- was just too
great for me and I ended up a self-interned prisoner of the
corporate jungle.
Browsing the windows of the shops on Congress St. as I did
every day, I followed the petite woman with the shoulder-length
reddish hair and sharp tongue as she walked about ten
feet in front of me. I stopped in my tracks, causing a bit
of confusion with the queue behind me, incurring a dirty
look or two from the zombies walking mindlessly along the
busy sidewalk. I knew the woman from somewhere -- perhaps
from long ago -- but something just wasn't registering. I
pretended to look at Walden's window display so I could get
a better view of her. There was something so painfully
familiar about this woman, but I just couldn't scare up the
memories.
She brushed her hair out of her face and turned to walk down
the street. Then I realized my confusion. The hair. I was
trying to remember someone with reddish hair. A flood of
memories hit me, bringing back a smile from years ago.
"Beth? Beth Middleton?" I sped my pace to catch up with her
before she got lost in the crowd. I only hoped at this point
that I was correct and didn't make a complete fool of
myself.
"Yes...yes," she said hesitatingly, squinting as she turned
toward the sun, trying to scratch the recesses of her
memory. "Brian? Holy shit. Brian how are you?"
"Great. I almost didn't recognize you. It's been a long
time. I like the hair."
She blushed, but only slightly. Beth had never been one for
too much personal embarrassment. "It's new. Bottle number
34, I think. I needed a change. I was a blonde for the last
four years. No one took me seriously....Now they just think
I'm a scary bitch," she grinned.
"Only now?"
She stuck her tongue out playfully at me.
"Seriously, I like it. It fits your personality," I said.
"Thanks. So what are you doing here. Do you work in town?"
"Yeah. I'm vice president of mergers and acquisitions at
Bartlesman and Howe."
"Ooh, I'm impressed. So if the president dies, you succeed
him in the corner office?" the years hadn't dulled her wit.
And how many years had it been since we'd seen each other,
anyway? Twelve years since the doomed-from-the-start David
Bernier - Jessica Leary wedding, Beth a bridesmaid, and me
an usher -- groomsman, I guess the term is now. A dance, a
drink, a surreptitiously shared joint on the large patio
overlooking the golf course, and then the evening was over.
I left with my girlfriend, and she with her boyfriend du
jour. Before that, the last time we saw each other was one
summer during college three years prior -- and I don't think
she said two words to me that day.
I really couldn't believe that it had been all of eighteen
years since we dated. At age 35, she looked as if she hadn't
changed at all, still as beautiful as ever. Maybe even more
so, the subtle red hair more alluring than her natural brown
and the added line or two around the eyes giving her a
worldliness that she lacked when she was younger. In fact,
she seemed sexier than I remembered her, the years adding
fuller breasts and more womanly curves than she had as a
teenager.
"Yeah," I snapped myself back to reality. "Me and the 34
other VPs fight it out for supremacy."
"Isn't that what VPs do now, anyway? That is, when their
lips aren't sutured to the president's butt," she smiled and
I realized, if anything, her wit had gotten sharper, more
acerbic. I couldn't help but laugh.
"So, Beth, what are you doing in Boston? Do you live in
town?"
"No. I live on the Cape. I just had an interview for a radio
show at WHDH."
"Really? Cool. I assume you work in radio now?"
"Yeah, you didn't know? Well, how would you, I guess?" she
shrugged and her face lost some of its luster. I wasn't
sure, but I think what upset her wasn't that I didn't know
that she was in radio, but rather that I didn't know what
*she* had been doing. Although that may have been a case of
self delusional ego-feeding on my part.
"I've hosted my own radio show on the Cape for about five
years now."
"Talk radio? Fellowship of the miserable, and all that?" I
asked.
She laughed. "Yep, that's me. Mommies, shut-ins, and bored
seniors."
"So what kind of talk do you do?"
"Women's issues, family stuff."
"Ahhh."
"Ahhh, what?"
"Nothing. That was just an ahhh."
"I see. So is it just talk radio you're opposed to, or is it
women's issues?"
"Neither, I enjoy sports talk radio," I smirked. "And women
certainly *do* have issues."
She raised her eyebrows and laughed.
"So where are you going now, Bri?"
"I was just heading down to The Market for some lunch,
would, uh...would you care to join me. I mean, if you don't
have any other plans."
"Ooh, I haven't been asked to lunch by a well dressed man in
a long time. I'd be crazy to say no," she smiled.
We walked the short distance to Faneuil hall and went inside
the Revolutionary age meeting hall -- now converted to an
upscale food court of sorts -- to order a couple of
sandwiches and drinks before heading back outside to eat our
lunches on a bench.
"Tell me," Beth asked after finishing a bite of her turkey
on rye. "Whatever happened to your baseball career. You
played college ball right?"
"Yep. I was an honorable mention All-America at third base
in my senior year at UCLA."
"Wow, that's impressive. So what happened after college?"
"Well," I conjured memories from over a dozen years earlier.
"During my senior year I was drafted in the 16th round by
the Tigers. I was also accepted for business school at Penn.
So I decided to play 'A' ball that summer for $600 a month
plus $12.50 a day meal money and see if I had any chance. I
figured I could always go to B-school a year or two later if
my career fizzled out. I owed it to myself to see if I had
what it took to get to the major leagues."
"So what happened?"
"Well, Detroit assigned me to Lakeland, their 'A' ball team
in the Florida State League and I ended up hitting .145," I
chuckled at myself. "I was totally overmatched. I started
out ok, but once the other teams learned I had troubles
hitting a breaking ball, I was finished. So I quit after the
season ended in early September and took the $15,000 signing
bonus I got and paid for my first year of Business school.
The rest is history. Nine years in Manhattan on Wall Street
and the last two here. There it is, the story of my life:
Reader's Digest version."
Beth smiled, "Well, you gave it a chance anyway."
"That's what I figure. I would have been looking for
something to do that summer anyway. At least this way there
are no 'what ifs' to look back on. Although, here I was an
All-America coming in and hitting .145. It was humbling, to
say the least."
"Sounds like it was a fun experience, anyway," Beth
commented.
"Oh yeah. I wouldn't trade those few months for anything.
Everyone talks about the long bus rides and monotony of the
minor leagues, but it was a great experience," I took
another bite of my roast beef sandwich then changed the
subject. "So Beth, are you a Mrs. or a Miss?"
"Neither. I'm a Ms.," she chuckled, exaggerating the 'zz'
sound at the end of Ms. "I *was* a Mrs. at one point,
though."
"What happened?" I leaned closer.
"Tried it on, but it didn't fit, I guess. It's a long
story," she sighed and the corners of her eyes crinkled.
"Actually it's not really that long. I met this guy while
working on the Cape. He was a lawyer who did some work for
the station. Great guy. Funny, cute, a little stiff, but not
a big deal. Hey, I can loosen anyone up, right?" Beth
smiled, looking right at me, remembering how formal and
uptight I had been in high school, before dating her.
"So what happened?"
"Well, the first year was great. We were just so in love.
Couldn't bear to be apart from each other. Then he started
doing coke. A little at first, but more as time went on. I
mean, I'm no saint, but I never did any of the hard
stuff...well, I was never hooked on any of it. I tried
stuff, but you know I didn't really get into anything
heavier than pot. I haven't touched anything stronger than a
glass of wine in, God, ten years maybe. Anyway, Tom started
really getting into coke. I tried to get him to stop, but it
kept getting worse. Then he started missing work. You know,
the usual, calling in sick, making up excuses....
"He changed so much. I tried to convince myself that things
would get better, but they just got worse. He would stay out
all night and then come home like it was no big deal then
call in sick to work and sleep the day away. The final straw
was when I came home from work one night after my show and
he was in bed with some hooker, the both of them doing lines
naked in my bed. *My* bed!"
"That must have been tough," I sympathized.
"That was it. I packed up some of my stuff right in front of
them...with them just laughing their asses off, like it was
some big fucking joke or something..." Beth shook her head
and took a deep breath to calm herself down. "He was trading
drugs for sex with hookers, I found out later. Well, it
wasn't much, but when they were laughing at me, I grabbed a
big bag of the stuff off the dresser and flushed it down the
toilet. It turned out it was like $3,000 worth. Served the
bastard right. I filed for divorce the next day. I stayed
with a friend of mine for a few weeks until I got a place of
my own. It was just amazing how much he'd changed."
"Wow. That's some story. Doesn't sound fun at all."
"It wasn't a picnic, that's for sure. The even more amazing
thing was how I ignored all of the changes, refusing to see
him like he was until the end."
"What happened to him?" I wondered aloud.
"His firm suspended him until he got help. He should have
been fired the way he screwed up some contracts, but he
worked for a Hyannis firm that's pretty averse to public
scrutiny and didn't want any kind of negative publicity. I
think that, combined with the divorce, convinced him to get
help. So he checked into Edgehill, in Newport, for about 90
days and got himself straightened out. You know what he did
next? He came back to me thinking everything was ok."
I chuckled. "What did you tell him?"
"Hmmm," she feigned a pensive look. "I think it was
something like 'Fuck off and die, asshole.' I haven't seen
him since and I couldn't be happier."
"So are you seeing anyone special now?"
"Now? No.... Special, not special, or anywhere in between.
I've kind of sworn off men now. I'm happy with my life, I
don't need to be a babysitter for an overgrown adolescent."
"So no men, huh? Does that mean you've... you've become
a....?" As much as I tried, I couldn't bring to voice what I
was thinking.
"A what?" Beth's eyes sparkled playfully. "A Protestant? Or
maybe a Republican? Hmmm. Maybe you mean a musician?" She
stretched out the syllables of each word in a little-girl
voice.
"Or do you mean a," she gasped overtly and then said in a
mock whisper, "lesbian?"
"Ok. Very funny. I get the point. It's just that I haven't
seen you in years and I'm not comfortable asking personal
questions like that."
"Brian, you have to lighten up and relax. And for the
record, I'm not a lesbian," she smiled. "Actually, I'm not
much of anything now. I really haven't been with anyone for
a long time. I've dated once in a while, but nothing
serious. But enough of me and *my* pathetic little life,
what's your story? Surely there must be a Mrs. Brian Mahoney
and 2.4 perfectly well-adjusted little Mahoneys running
around a spacious four bedroom 2 1/2 bath colonial in the
suburbs?"
I laughed. "Boy, you're good, I can see why you're in radio.
You're dead wrong, but you're entertaining anyway."
"So? A wife, no kids? Kids and no wife?"
"D. None of the above."
"Does that mean you've become a...a," Beth lowered her voice
to a whisper, mocking my previous question, "homosexual?"
"Ok, funny. I get the point. Sorry. No, I'm not gay. I'm
just single, in my mid-30s, and tidy. Hey wait a minute,
maybe I am," I chuckled. "Back to the original question,
I've never been married."
"Really? I would have thought you would be one of those
happily married guys living some sort of Stepford existence
in suburbia driving a Volvo with a wife who has a cell phone
constantly strapped to her head, driving a minivan or one of
those unwieldy SUVs just so she can travel the five minutes
from home to the supermarket over perfectly paved roads in
four wheel drive luxury," Beth's voice just dripped with
sarcasm in a none too subtle indictment of life in the
suburbs.
I chuckled at her cynicism. She was still as much an
iconoclast as ever. "Would it tarnish me in your mind to
learn that I once asked a girl to marry me and she turned me
down flat?"
"Ouch! That must have been painful."
"You know, it really wasn't as bad as you might think. I was
upset and hurt for a couple of days, but I got over it very
quickly. Well, much quicker than I would have thought
possible. It's funny, because Lauren and I had been dating
for over two years. It just seemed so right. I still don't
understand it all. Of course, I haven't even come close to
asking anyone since."
"Why did she turn you down?"
"I don't know," I shook my head. "Some nonsense about
needing to know herself first. I mean, that's all well and
good for 20-year-old college kids, but she was a 30-year-old
accountant, for Christsakes. I'm sorry, if you don't know
who you are at 30, you're never going to. It was probably
best for me that we didn't get married....But I really loved
her."
"See, now you're going to make me all weepy," Beth joked.
"You, sentimental? That's not the Beth Middleton that I
knew."
"And loved?"
"Huh," I asked dumbfoundedly.
"That you knew and loved?" she grinned.
"Perhaps.... Long, long ago, in a land far, far away," I
chuckled.
"So are you seeing anyone now?" Beth smoothly changed the
subject.
"Well, kind of. I guess."
"Wow, that sounds like a *real* commitment. How can you be
*kind of* seeing someone?"
"It's complicated. Before I took the job with Bartlesman a
couple of years a ago, I worked in Manhattan on The
Street..."
She interrupted me. "The street? Really? You were indigent
and you worked your way up the corporate ladder to be a VP.
Wow," she said, her voice laced with mock seriousness.
"America is *some* country, huh?"
"Wall Street, smartass. Do you want to hear the story or
not?"
"Yes, I'm sorry. Go on," she giggled.
"Anyway, I was working at Goldman and she was there as a
telecom analyst. We worked closely on a couple of deals and
found we had a lot in common. We started seeing each
other...quite a bit. In fact, I met her about a month after
my proposal to Lauren. We have a lot of fun together. But
then this position was available and it was a huge move up
for me, not to mention being here in Boston. The lure of the
extra money, or prestige or whatever it was combined with
coming back home was just too tempting."
"What about the girl...what's her name?"
"Kathy. Kathy Wollman. Well the short story is that things
weren't overly serious between us so I left and she stayed.
We still get together every month or so, either here or in
New York, but I really don't see it going anywhere. But it's
something comfortable, I guess. If there's a function one of
us has to go to, we're only a 45 minute shuttle away. It's
convenient, I suppose," I shrugged.
"Sounds like you're afraid of commitment," she said.
"Is that drive-time psychotherapy? And you don't seem to be
in a very commitment-friendly place either, so I wouldn't
talk," I smiled warmly, hoping that I didn't just cross some
sort of line.
"Fair enough," she laughed. "Let's change the subject. I
can't believe it's been 18 years since we dated."
"I feel very old now, thanks," I grinned.
"*You* feel old? Hey, I'm the same age as you. And men age
gracefully. At least *you* have. Women just spend more money
at the drug store. I mean, look at the girl over there."
"Who, her with the white shirt and black pants?"
"Uh...That's a fey waiter with long hair. Damn, Brian, you
need to get out more," Beth laughed. "No, I'm talking about
the blonde over there near the jewelry store holding hands
with the guy old enough to be her father."
"Oh, yeah. She's a babe," I said, more for a reaction from
Beth than anything else, although the girl in question *was*
stunning.
She shook her head in mock derision. "God, you men....
Anyway, look at her, all perfect and perky. Me, I'm using
the bottle to highlight my hair and hide the grey ones, I
have lotion for dry skin, lotion for oily skin. You *know*
she woke up this morning and looked just like that. I can't
believe how long ago it was that I looked like that."
"You never looked like *that*," I said, trying to look as
serious as possible.
"Oh, I mean...well," Beth stammered badly and looked
embarrassed. This was one of the few times that I'd ever
seen Beth Middleton lose control of a situation. "She *is*
beautiful. Maybe I was getting a little full of myself, I
mean..."
I cut her off. "You never looked like that, Beth. You looked
better. Still do, too," I smiled and Beth beamed.
"Well, I don't know about looking better now, but thank you,
anyway."
"Plus, you have a much better rack than she does," I twisted
my face, trying hard not to burst out laughing, waiting for
Beth's reaction.
"Rack? *RACK*? How enlightened of you, Brian. Perhaps you'll
regale us with other choice words from your vocabulary of
the politically correct like knobs, hooters, yams, knockers,
ta-tas or yes, the always tasteful fun bags," she laughed
heartily and then stuck her chest out proudly. "I *do* have
a better rack than her, don't I?"
"Absolutely," we both laughed.
"You know, a lot of women would have gotten upset with your
choice of words."
"I knew you wouldn't. You're not 'a lot' of women. There
aren't many things I can say that you'd take umbrage with,"
I replied.
"Hey, I took umbrage once, but they made me give it back."
We finished our sandwiches and walked around, looking at the
different shops in the Quincy Market. Things were so relaxed
with Beth, even after all the years. Maybe you *can* go home
again.
"So Bri, what time do you have to be back at the office?"
"Trying to get rid of me?"
"No, not at all," she stammered slightly. "It's just that
we've just been here for well over an hour, I was just
wondering."
"I don't have to report to anyone. And I don't have a
meeting until 1:30. If the President or CEO is looking for
me I can always tell them that I was at a lunch meeting."
"A meeting? Hmmm, what am I, a merger or acquisition?" she
grinned.
"Well...uh," I spluttered awkwardly then recovered. "Well, I
guess I once thought you were an acquisition, but we never
got around to that merger part."
She grinned as we walked along, window browsing as we
finished our sodas.
"Hey Beth," I heard myself say. "Do you have to be anywhere
tonight? I'm having such a great time, would you like to
join me for dinner?"
"Yeah, me too. That sounds great."
"How does L'Espalier sound?"
"Great, but there's like a three week wait for
reservations," she informed.
"Not for me there isn't," I suppose I bragged. "I take
clients there a lot. I keep the maitre'd very well
rewarded."
"Ooh, I'm all tingly now," she teased. "Seriously, it sounds
great. I've always wanted to eat there. Do you want to meet
there? And what time?"
"Well, I have a late afternoon meeting today. How about if
we meet at my office at about 5:30? I'm on the twenty-third
floor. My secretary will bring you right in. Then we'll
drive over, ok?"
"Great, I'll see you then. That gives me plenty of time to
go shopping and spend money that I don't have. Bye."
I walked back to my office, occasionally turning my head to
glance back at Beth, wondering where all of this was going
to lead. Beth, even as a seventeen-year-old, was the most
beautiful woman I'd ever been with. And even after all this
time, she was still gorgeous and I had to admit to myself
that I was more than a little turned on by her today. She
was also one of the funniest people I had ever known and I
had forgotten how fun -- simply fun -- that it was to spend
time with her.
I sat through my meetings, pushing any thoughts of this
evening's date -- good Lord, it *was* a date -- with Beth to
the back of my mind. Shortly after 5:30, my secretary buzzed
my intercom and showed Beth into my office.
"Hey, Bri. Nice office. What a view," she remarked.
"Thanks, it helps me relax to look out on the skyline while
plotting the overthrow of the president of the company," I
grinned.
She laughed. "So, are we all set?"
"Yeah. We have reservations for 6:45, so I have some time to
show you the office, if you're interested."
"So *that's* why you wanted me up here. So you could show me
off to your friends," Beth winked overtly. "Or is it so you
could show yourself off to me?"
"Actually, I think it's a little of both."
I took Beth on a little tour of the office, introducing her
to a few of my friends before we left for the restaurant. We
got seated promptly at 6:45, as I slipped Henri a fifty for
the short notice.
"Well, I must say, Brian, I'm impressed. Getting a seat on a
couple of hours notice in this place is almost unheard of.
And while I'm being impressed, I have to say that I love
your car. A convertible BMW...how very sporty of you. What
kind is it?"
"Z8 Roadster. Zero to 60 in 5.4 seconds. Top speed of 155
miles per hour. It's the new James Bond car," I boasted.
"Boys and toys," she snickered. "But it is very nice."
"Well, thank you. I like it. Every once in a while I'll take
it on the pike and really open it up," I said as Beth shook
her head. "So tell me Beth, how does an Art History and
French major end up working in talk radio. I always thought
you'd be a curator of a museum somewhere...probably in
Europe."
"You'd think, wouldn't you. Actually, I do believe they have
museums over there, strangely enough. I applied for the job
of curator of the Louvre, but apparently that position was
already filled."
"Ok, ok. Tell me, is everything a joke to you?"
"Pretty much...sorry. I'll try to be good. Actually, I did
work in a museum. Not the Louvre, but the Musee Picasso. It
was great. I had such a great time there."
"What did you do?"
"I mopped the floors," she chuckled. "Sorry, I have to try
to be serious. I was a tour guide. English language tours
usually, but every now and then I did tours for the French
too."
"How long were you there?"
"Almost four years. It was terrific. The museum was about a
ten minute walk from my apartment. I lived in The Marais, a
little neighborhood in the third arrondissement on the Rive
Droite that's been untouched since the late 1800s. It's the
type of place that you think of when you think of Paris and
get past the image of the Eiffel Tower. My landlady, Mme.
Joubert, was always making these elaborate pastries for me.
I think I gained 10 pounds in the first month I was there."
"Ok, pretend for a minute that I don't understand any
French," I smiled.
"Didn't you ever learn another language?"
"Si, hablo Espa ol...well, un poquito. Actually, all I
really know is how to ask where the bathroom is and how to
say 'he's buying.'"
She laughed. "Ok, Paris is divided into arrondissements and
arrondissement is just another name for district and Rive
Droite is the Right Bank...of the Seine," she started to
speak very slowly, as if she were talking to a young child.
"That's a big river that runs right through the heart of
Paris."
"I'm not *that* much of a moron. I am familiar with the
Seine."
"Just want to make sure you fully comprehend."
"Thanks," I dead panned. "So why did you leave?"
"I don't know. I guess I got homesick. I mean, France was
great but there's only so much culture and sophistication
you can take. Plus it's a nation of smokers. I'd rather be
trapped in an elevator with a dozen men with smelly bare
feet than with one person smoking those disgusting Galoise
cigarettes. But other than that, it was great. I got to see
a lot of the country. And the food was amazing."
"I'll bet. Did you eat a lot of French Fries and French
Toast?" I offered my lame attempt at humor.
"Yeah, but over there they just call them fries and toast,"
she replied cutely and I laughed. There was never a joke you
could slip by Beth without her doing it one better.
"It was great though. Museums and vineyards and wonderful
food and Roman ruins. It was all very beautiful. But I guess
I just got tired of it after awhile. After all, how many
white flag factories can you visit? That's a national
industry, you know. If you've seen one, you've seen them
all," she snickered and I couldn't help but laugh.
"So, how did you get into radio?"
"When I got back from France, I was having lunch with a
friend from college, Diane, who was the general manager of a
station on the Cape. She needed someone to fill the eight to
midnight slot. She was looking for someone who had an
offbeat look on life..."
"She needed a smartass," I said flatly.
"Yeah," Beth giggled. "Pretty much. So now five years later
I'm going to be working on a huge radio station in Boston."
"You got the job?" I asked, a bit surprised.
"Yeah! They called my cell phone this afternoon. I'm going
to be partnering with someone on the ten to two time slot."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I don't know, I suppose I have a sense of the dramatic. I'm
so excited though."
"Well, congratulations."
She beamed. "I start in four weeks. Now I have to look for a
place in town. I'm not going to commute from Yarmouth. Plus,
I love living in cities."
The waiter brought our meals, and over the next few minutes
I ate my Steak au Poivre and Beth had her roast duck in
silence. Finally she looked up.
"Do you ever, I don't know, think about me, I mean, about
us?" she peeked over her glass of Merlot.
"I don't know. I used to -- a lot. Not so much recently, I
guess. What about you?" I asked.
"I don't know. Maybe. I guess from time to time I think of
the past."
"So why did we ever break up, anyway?"
"Excuse me? Are you serious?" her eyes were wide in
disbelief, and I realized immediately why. My question was
meant more as a throwaway line, something to keep the
conversation flowing. The instant I said it, I realized I
should have been a bit more perspicacious when it came to
that subject, and perhaps shouldn't have voiced the question
at all.
"You can't tell me you don't remember why we broke up?" Beth
asked incredulously.
"Well, I guess things are kind of fuzzy," I lied.
"Let me refresh your memory," she said mater-of-factly. "You
were have sex with Susie Trombley -- the slut -- while you
were supposedly my steady boyfriend."
I smiled sheepishly. "Oh...yeah. Are you still upset?"
"No," she chuckled. "But I was mad as hell at you for quite
a while."
"I tried to explain myself. You didn't want to hear it," I
defended myself.
"Oh, and what would you have said? 'Gee Beth, all while I
was screwing her, I was thinking of you.'"
"Well, you know, I was a kid. And I *was* sorry," I said
contritely.
"Can I ask you why you did it? Did you really think you'd be
able to date both of us and get away with it?"
"Yeah, I think so. I know it sounds crazy, but I did. I
mean, I was on top of the world. I was a kid, for one thing,
with all of the inherent feelings of invincibility that go
with that. I was number two in our class, all-state in
baseball. I mean, I was being scouted by major league teams
and recruited by colleges. I thought I was invincible."
She laughed. "You weren't too careful, though. I mean Slutty
Susie lived two houses away from my best friend."
"She wasn't slutty," I defended her and then laughed. "I
guess I wasn't too careful, though."
"So why did you go out with her? Was it simply for sex?" she
said, eliciting an interesting expression from the waiter,
who was clearing out dishes.
"I guess so," I paused until he was out of earshot. "I mean,
you were *saving* yourself, and I was a horny teenager.
Susie and I had always been friendly. One night we were both
at a party at Billy Coughlin's folks' beach house. You had
to do something with your family, I think. I guess things
just happened from there. I just figured that I could get
away with it....How did that 'saving yourself' thing work
out, anyway?" I teased.
Beth snorted. "Not too well. I lasted until my sophomore
year at Skidmore. A thoroughly unmemorable experience."
"Well, to tell you the truth, you didn't miss anything with
me. If I recall, I was like a spastic zoo monkey in those
days. I don't think my technique was much to write home
about."
"Do you often write home about your sexual technique?" she
grinned mischievously.
"Funny," I responded flatly. "You know what I mean."
"I know, I'm sorry. Still, I used to wonder what it would
have been like. I mean, we got along so great. Things were
so special.... I loved you, you know."
I smiled. "That was a fun year, wasn't it? I loved you too,
but I was just too much a mass of raging hormones to know
the difference."
"Ok, don't laugh. You have to promise not to laugh when I
tell you this."
"All right, I promise."
"I used to fill up complete pages in my notebooks practicing
writing my signature as 'Mrs. Elizabeth Mahoney'....
Remember, you promised not to laugh."
I was mildly stunned at her revelation. Beth never seemed
like the sentimental or overly emotional type. She certainly
never seemed to be the type to fantasize about marriage or
children like so many teenaged girls; she was always so
independent.
"So I guess I *really* let you down, didn't I?" I asked as
the waiter returned with the credit card receipt for me to
sign.
"Yeah, but I was being a little silly, too."
"I wouldn't have guessed. You were always so cool, so -- I
don't know -- emotionally detached, I guess."
"I always put on a good front, you know? Always try to
protect myself emotionally, use humor as a defense
mechanism," she smiled wanly as we started to exit the
restaurant. Instinctively, I placed my hand on the small of
her back. She turned her head slightly and smiled, but
didn't object, so I left it there.
"You do *that*. That's for sure," I smiled. "So do you want
to go somewhere for a drink?"
"Yeah, that sounds great," she smiled warmly. "I'm having a
nice time tonight."
I opened the door to Beth's side of the car before heading
around to mine. Just as I was about to enter, I heard my
name called out from down the street.
"Seiji," I called out as he was entering the restaurant.
"Is that who I think it is? The conductor of the BSO?" Beth
asked, her eyes opened widely and her mouth agape.
"Yep."
"How do you know him?" her face was still frozen in the same
shape.
"He's a neighbor of mine."
"A neighbor? Where do you live?"
"I have a place on Comm. Ave. Not too far from The Common,
not too far from Fenway. I like it."
"Wow, I'm even more impressed," she said.
"Would you like to see it? We can head over there for a
drink instead of going somewhere."
"Uh, sure...Yeah, I'd like to see it," Beth seemingly
convinced herself.
We drove the five minutes to my place in silence and then
circled the neighborhood for another ten to find a parking
spot. Eventually, one opened up about a block away and we
walked through the cool night air to my apartment.
"This is such a great neighborhood. I can only imagine how
much a place around here costs," Beth said.
I chuckled. "I had to break my piggy bank to pay for it," I
said as we headed up the elevator to my fifth floor
apartment.
"Wow," she gasped as we entered the living room. "This
apartment is bigger than a lot of houses."
"Like it?"
"I love it. And it's so tastefully furnished. Chippendale
chairs. Queen Anne. I'm very impressed. I didn't think you
had any decorative inclinations. I always figured your
artistic knowledge was limited to knowing the names of the
eight colors in the Crayola box."
I laughed. "Well, If I can be honest, I didn't do any of
this myself. I hired an interior decorator to do
everything."
"Well, you made a great choice. She certainly did a great
job."
"Yes she did," I smiled, pleased that someone with Beth's
impeccable taste was impressed with my apartment. "Although
I was a bit worried that I was wasting my money when she
started talking about Chippendale chairs. I didn't know if
the place was going be decorated in Early Disney, or
something out of the male strip joint in New York City."
"And hardwood floors too."
"Yeah, when I bought the place it had some ugly orange wall-to-wall
shag carpeting that looked like it was a refugee
from the '70s so I installed the hardwood floors."
"Did you chop down the oak trees yourself?" she teased.
I laughed. "Of course you realize whenever I say 'I
installed' I really mean, 'I hired someone to...'"
Beth chuckled. "All this must have cost you a fortune."
"And a half. But what else do I have to spend my money on? I
have no wife and no kids so I buy expensive German sports
cars, and old pricey furniture. And I own an overpriced
condo on Commonwealth Avenue, but what does it all matter.
In about fifty years someone will come in and shovel me into
the back of a truck and nobody will know the difference...."
I sighed, then changed the subject as I walked over to the
bar. "What would you like to drink, puddin' ...uh, I'm
sorry, that just kind of slipped out."
"Puddin'? God, I'd forgotten that nickname," she giggled
softly. "Don't be sorry. It kinda sounded nice hearing it
after all this time. Just don't make a habit of it, I think
I'm a little old to be a puddin' now."
I blushed. "So what do you want to drink? How about some
champagne to celebrate your new job or perhaps a nice glass
of wine?"
Beth's eyes sparkled. "I'll have some wine. Something red if
you have it."
"I have an eighty-eight Chateau Mouton-Rothschild Bordeaux.
I've been dying to open it."
"*Now* you're just trying to impress me," she smiled as I
joined her on the sofa.
"Well, maybe a little," I grinned slyly.
"I'm amazed at how much you've changed. I seem to remember
the most expensive wine you used to drink was Boone's Farm
Apple," she laughed and I picked up the remote control from
the end table and put on some Vivaldi.
"In the gallon jug, too," I added. "My taste in wine has
improved over the years. Being a 'M and A' guy in a raging
bull market has been very rewarding."
"I guess so. This wine is wonderful."
"Thanks. I've been waiting for a while to open it. But I've
found the best things in life are worth waiting for."
I took another sip of wine and looked at Beth closely. She
had changed over the years, but not greatly. Whatever she
had when we were younger was enhanced by the passing of
years, the subtle additions creating a character beyond the
beauty. "I can't get over how great you look."
She smiled, dangling her shoe on the end of her foot. "So,
is this where you start coming on to me?"
"I, uh...I wasn't trying..."
Beth giggled as she touched my left arm with the fingertips
of her right. "I'm not saying that I don't want you to."
"You love keeping people off balance, don't you?"
"Qui, moi? I would never do that," she grinned coyly as she
edged closer to me on the sofa.
"No, not you," I smiled and looked into her eyes. They
sparkled moistly and it was all I could do to keep from
ravishing her right there. But I was worried that the night
was progressing too quickly, so I sat back and took another
sip of my wine. "I'd like to show you something."
"I'll bet you would," she smirked.
"Come on," I pushed a couple of buttons on the remote
control and then stood and helped her up from the sofa
before grabbing the bottle of wine and my glass.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"You'll see. It's a surprise. I like to call it my
sanctuary."
"Hmmm, now I'm intrigued," Beth said as we headed through a
door in the back of my kitchen and up a flight of stairs.
"Well, what do you think?" I asked.
"Oh Brian, it's beautiful up here," she gushed when we got
to the rooftop which I used as a garden and patio.
"You like it?"
"I love it. It *is* like a sanctuary," she cooed as we
walked through the rooftop flower garden that was my haven
from the turmoil of the city.
"Advantages of owning the top floor apartment."
"I'm going to go way out on a limb here and venture a guess
that I'm not the first woman you've lured up here," Beth
smirked.
"You'd be right," I smiled sheepishly. "Although you
certainly are the prettiest."
"I'd also venture a guess that that's not entirely true
either, but I take it as the compliment that it was intended
as."
"Come here," I refilled our glasses as we headed over to the
edge of the roof.
"This is a great view. It's so beautiful up here. I don't
think I'd ever spend any time in the apartment if I had a
place like this to come to."
"Would you care to dance, Ms. Middleton?" I asked,
exaggerating the 'zz' sound at the end of Ms., as we
listened to Vivaldi's Four Seasons piped through the rooftop
speakers.
Beth smiled as she placed her glass on the table, taking my
left hand with her right, "I'd love to, Mr. Mahoney.
"I never knew you were such a good dancer, Brian."
"I've gotten better over the years," I smiled. "You're as
graceful as I remember, though."
She smiled and leaned her head on my shoulder. I inhaled her
fragrance deeply, its subtle aroma mingling with the scent
of the flowers, kindling my fires. "Let's see, what
did I say before? Oh yeah. I can't get over how great you
look," I whispered as I leaned my head closer to hers.
"So *now* is when you start coming on to me," she peeked up
at me.
"Uh-huh," we met in a kiss. Soft at first, tender, warm,
gentle. Then it became harder, more insistent, hungry. Deep.
Wet. Tongues overlapping, wrestling.
"You know," I panted, fondling her breast through her silk
blouse. "I, uh, I never gave you a tour of the rest of the
apartment."
"What a bad host," she purred, rubbing her hand against the
pressure in my pants.
"Maybe I should show you the bedroom," I said between
kisses, trying to get past her shirt's ivory buttons to the
treasures that lay beyond.
"I think I'd like that," she said throatily as we headed
down the staircase and back into the apartment.
"Watch your step," I cautioned as Beth descended the last
few steps.
"Lead the way," she said coyly as I took her by the hand
toward my bedroom.
"Come here," I instructed as I sat on the bed. Beth stood in
front of me and lowered her lips to mine.
"Mmmm," we both hissed in unison as our tongues intertwined
with each other. Finally Beth broke the kiss and leaned
forward, pushing me onto my back. She tossed my tie on the
floor and unbuttoned my shirt in record time.
"You're still in good shape," she declared as she ran her
hand across my chest.
"Hey," I teased, removing her bra and running my hands over
her breasts, "what you have is pretty nice too."
We quickly discarded the remainder of our clothes and
started fondling each other. Beth was rapidly getting wet
and her ministrations on my penis was causing it to become
excited as well.
"Holy Flagpole, Batman. I didn't expect you to be so big,"
Beth blurted out.
I chuckled. "Excuse me?"
"I'm sorry, Brian. You...your... your 'you know' is bigger
than I expected."
I beamed, although I tried to hide it. Any semblance of
rational thought escaped me, I just let her words feed my
ego like the biggest five dollar buffet on the Vegas strip.
She chuckled. "You know, if I had any idea, I think I would
have abandoned my 'saving myself' routine back when we were
dating."
I smiled. "Well, to be brutally honest, you really didn't
miss much back then."
Beth snorted. "Well, I trust you've become less spastic.
Anyway," she took a deep breath. "Anyway, it's more me that
I'm worried about."
"What do you mean, Beth?"
"Well," she stammered. "Try to bear with me, ok. You know
how I said I hadn't really gone out with anyone in the last
few years? Well, I haven't *been* with anyone over that time
span, if, uh... if you know what I mean," Beth's tone was
soft, almost apologetic. She exposed her vulnerability to
me, opening herself up in a way this supremely guarded
person rarely did. I wasn't about to risk damaging that
trust.
"You just let me know if anything gets uncomfortable for you
to do," I kissed her tenderly on the cheek, before tracing
my tongue down her jaw line to her neck. "We can stop any
time you like."
"Mmmm. I'll be alright, I just wanted you to know that it's
been awhile for me," Beth slid her fingertips down my side,
settling around my hardening penis, teasingly stroking the
shaft as it grew. "You're going to have to be gentle, ok?"
"Well, I'm not a zoo monkey anymore," I whispered as I
lowered my mouth to her right breast.
"Yeah," she hissed as her right nipple became engorged with
blood. "Lick right there. Mmmm."
"Do you like that?" I mumbled.
"Mmm-hmmm. Bite my nipple. Bite it," she purred.
"Yeah, just like that. That's...OUCH. Not so hard. Yeah,
nibble on it...like that."
"Sorry," I muttered, my mouth full of her breast.
"Ohhh, that feels great," she mewed as I switched from her
right breast to her left. "Oh God, Brian."
After about ten minutes of tit play, I started tracing my
tongue down Beth's soft belly, ringing her navel before
settling at her vulva.
"Oh yeah, right there. Lick my pussy. Mmmm. Yeah."
I licked and slurped at her cunt, keeping her on the brink
of orgasm for what must have seemed like hours, just teasing
her tender flesh.
"Lick my clit. Come on, lick it hard." she pleaded.
I complied and the contact drove Beth over the edge.
"Ahhhhh," she screamed out her orgasm, burying her hands in
my hair, forcing my head closer to her, if that was
possible.
"Come here," she beckoned. "Make love to me, Brian."
"Are you sure, Beth, I mean..."
"Brian," she panted. "Shut up and fuck me."
So I did.
And again, too.
"Oh, oh, oh, oh," Beth moaned as her third orgasm of the
night was imminent.
"Ugh. Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck," I pounded into her, my second
orgasm exploding into her.
Five minutes later, as Beth laid her head on my shoulder.
"Oh God, that was amazing," she gasped for breath.
"Well, that was certainly worth the wait," I said as I
absentmindedly ran my fingers through her mussed auburn
hair.
She raised her head and smiled, giving me a light kiss on
the cheek.
We lay in silence for the next ten minutes, cuddling
together under the protection of the bed's comforter, until
Beth broke the stillness. "Thank you for being so gentle
with me at first. I know we ended up going at it like
animals, but you were tender and easy with me at first when
I really needed it and let me take things at my own pace,
and I really appreciate that."
I smiled. "Shucks, ma'am. Twarn't nothin'," I said in a bad
southern accent.
Beth grinned. "You know, Brian. We really haven't seen each
other in almost twenty years and now we have one date and I
slept with you. I don't want you to get the wrong idea about
me. I normally wouldn't do something like this, everything
was just special. I really hadn't been with anyone since my
divorce...and I'm glad it was you. Tonight was special for
me.
"For me too. And not just because I still harbored
adolescent fantasies about sleeping with you. You're an
amazing person, Beth. So fun to be around. I mean, you're
easily the funniest person I know. This was the best date
I've had in years....And you don't have to worry about your
reputation. This wasn't our first date, it was something
like our hundredth -- they were just broken up by about
seventeen years -- so your reputation is safe," I smiled
warmly.
She chuckled. "So what happens now?" she stammered and
looked away from me. "I mean, I really want to see more of
you. I think we have something here."
"It's funny, I was thinking the same thing, but I wasn't
sure how you felt. I mean, being with you today brought back
all of those old feelings. I can't remember when I've had a
day like this. It's a great feeling and I don't want it to
end."
"You're cute when you get all sincere like this," she
grinned as she rolled on top of me, her pale blue eyes just
inches from my own. "I feel the same way. I know that I
cursed you for a long time because I always thought that we
were fated to be together. Now it seems that may really be
the case."
"You know," I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. "I
was thinking about you needing a place to stay -- to live --
here in the city. I know this is sudden but I lost you once
and I don't want to bear doing that twice in a lifetime.
I'll fully understand if you don't want to, but I'm making
the offer anyway. If you want, I'd love for you to move in
with me."
There was nothing else to say. Beth simply smiled as broadly
as possible and kissed me with all the warmth of a new
sunrise.
**********************
Eight months later:
"Damn, I'm getting nervous," I wiped the sweat from my palms
on the pant leg to my tuxedo and hoped that no one in the
church noticed. All eyes were on Beth, anyway, as she strode
gracefully down the aisle on the arm of her father.
"It's a piece of cake. That's why I've done it three
times.... All set for your honeymoon?" my brother Bill --
my best man -- asked softly
"Yep. Two weeks in Bali. It should be great."
"You should try to keep Beth on one of those topless
beaches. I mean, you don't put a sheet over a Van Gogh."
I chuckled and tried to hide it. "You know, if you weren't
my brother, I'd punch you."
"That's never stopped you before. Here she comes, there's
still time to run out of here," Bill whispered jokingly from
behind me.
"Shhh. Someone might hear you," I turned slightly. "Besides,
look at her. I'd be nuts to walk out on Beth...plus, I think
she'd hunt me down and kill me if I did."
"You're a lucky guy, Brian."
Beth approached the altar and I turned toward her and
smiled.
"I love you," she mouthed.
"I love you too."
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." the priest
began the ceremony.
"I ask now if anyone has any objection why these two people
should not be married...Good. Brian James, do you take
Elizabeth Katherine to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and
honor, to have and to hold, for richer and poorer, in
sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?"
"I do," I said softly, my voice quavering with each syllable
as a million thoughts collided in my mind at once.
"And do you, Elizabeth Katherine, take Brian James to be
your lawfully wedded husband, to love and honor, to have and
to hold, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health,
as long as you both shall live?"
"What? I spent $3300 on a dress to come up here and say no?"
End
------------------------------------------------------------
I'd love to know what you think. Positive or negative, I'll
try to respond to everyone (except obnoxious flames).
If you liked it, send me a note. Thanks.
Like I wrote above, this is different and
I'm curious to know if it worked.
My e-mail address is John3365a@aol.com.
-------------------------------------------
Copyright (C) 2000 John3365A@aol.com (John A).
All rights reserved.
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