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Home page 9 + Charlotte’s
As you’ll see from the date this is one day late – I had computer problems in that, although I’ve used the same methods to get all of these stories onto this website all along, for the last two days it refused to co-operate.
Who shall I turn to?
CHARLOTTE’S COCKTAIL. 10-18-11
Roy Garde.
My being the only one who knows her secret is both tantalizing and frustrating
because it is calling out to be shared but I don’t dare and, anyway, I took an oath.
The secret belongs to a woman who was named Charlotte Tetler when I knew her
and she’s now Charlotte Mason.
Her family all called her ‘Lotty’ and her friends called her ‘Charley’ and I was able to
get close to her in high school because from watching her so much – I was truly
smitten – I got to realize, from seeing her tightening her lips along with keeping her
eyelids closed for a second or two longer than normal whenever she was called by
any of those two names, that she didn’t like either of them and so, by always using
her full name, I gained points.
However, she was way out of my league back then and so I made no moves on her
because I knew what would have happened but she was always nice to me in that
she’d often come and sit by me in the cafeteria and would smile nicely when we
passed each other in a corridor and she often plonked herself down next to me on
the school bus. I was grateful for any and all of the crumbs that she threw my way.
We were both sophomores when I first became aware that I was – uh – enamored
and it was because of that, directly, that I started working out with weights and
doing some jogging and sending away for muscle building foods, and like that, and
all to get to leave the state of being called nerdish on sight which had never
bothered me up until then. I worked hard at it until I’d lifted myself up into neutral
ground, which was all that I’d wanted – that is, to be on a level playground from
which I’d have a much better chance with her although it didn’t work out that way
because she was so attractive that she had her pick of the jocks and she was always
dating one or another of them.
We graduated at the same time and I went on to Duke and she went to our local
community college.
I saw her briefly to say hello to over the years and when we’d finished college we
both got jobs in different companies that were in our town’s Industrial Park.
She got into Management Training in a large pharmaceutical company and I joined
the Design Engineering department of a consulting company.
I’d sometimes see her waiting in a bus station, or walking towards one, and I’d
always stop and offer her a ride although that was mostly in the morning on our way
to work because I rarely left my office until way after regular finishing time.
About a year after we started working in the same area I had quit work early one
night, because I had a promising date, and I saw her on the side walk so I stopped
and offered her a ride home. Her parent’s house wasn’t far from mine.
After the usual small talk she amazed me by asking what was I doing that Saturday.
Before I could get over my surprise she said, “It’s our high school’s six year reunion,
didn’t you know?”
I was about to scoff but, just in time, it came to me that there was a chance, a remote
chance sure but . . . well worth taking so I told her, “I’ve got nothing on for that
night. Are you going?”
“Well, I want to but I can’t go alone so . . . I guess that I’ll have to skip it this year.”
“Alone? Really? I’m astonished. You’re between boyfriends, hey?”
“Right, and it’s been that way for a while, to tell you the truth.”
“Now I’m even more astonished. Your only problem in all the time that I knew you
was which hunk was going to be your lucky escort that particular night.”
“Yes, but that was then. I still get plenty of – uh – overtures nowadays but I’m bored
with my old boyfriends and I’ve given up on dating new guys because I can’t stand
the way that they no longer want to make out a little after a few dates and hope for
more but they now expect to do that on the first one and they demand a whole lot
more on the second one.
“Uh, now don’t get me wrong – I’m no prude and I like getting close to a guy who I
like as much as anyone else but casually going all the way with one of them who I
hardly know? No way! Never going to happen.”
I said, “Maybe they all watch too many movies and too much HBO. They see it
happening nearly automatically just about every time a few hours after meeting up
and they expect to get the same thing for themselves.”
It was a wonder that my nose didn’t grow enough to hit the windscreen because that
statement came out of the mouth of a guy who was hurrying home to get changed
and then go out to dinner with a woman from out of town, who I’d met that morning
in a conference, who was staying in a local hotel and who had told me at lunch
in our cafeteria that she thought it to be a terrible waste to have a room with two big
beds in it all to herself and did I have any ideas?
“Very true,” said Charlotte, “uh, d’you know what, Bryn? I was just remembering
that you were the only acceptable guy, all through high school, who didn’t hit on
me.”
That was very true but I knew, and she couldn’t have forgotten, that it would have
been hopeless. She would have laughed in my face as soon as she’d made herself
understand what I’d had the temerity to propose. So, I wondered, what was
happening here? Was she deliberately putting a rosy glow on the past just to make
our ride to her home more pleasant or was she up to something?
I said, “Yes, that’s true and it was because I thought then, and still do, that all girls –
and now women – and especially the beautiful and popular ones like you, are
bothered far too much as it is without my adding to it. I always believe that we guys
should hold back until we get a definite invitation to – uh – approach and start a
conversation and then show a little constraint.”
I made myself keep looking straight ahead as I trotted that one out.
“Of course,” she said, “you’re exactly right about that. It gets to be tiresome.”
“Yes, I saw that early on and, also, it’s what I was brought up to believe too.”
“Yes. Good. Exactly right and I’m glad to hear you say so. I was beginning to think
that I’m the only one who holds to standards.”
I didn’t answer her because I didn’t dare ask her if we could team up for the
reunion – just being near her made me revert to being fifteen again and a non-
contender – and so I wanted to give her the space and time to do the asking because
we’d be arriving at her home in a few more minutes.
. . . . “Well, uh, Bryn. Seeing that you’re not doing anything shall we go to the reunion
together?”
Wow! I thought to myself. She’d always been the prettiest girl in the school and
she’d grown into being a dazzlingly attractive woman with a wonderful body and
being seen with her by my ex-classmates would be a huge boost for my
reputation to say nothing of what it would do for my ego. I had to blink several times
to be able to see the road clearly.
“Well, sure. I’d love to go with you, Charlotte. What time shall I pick you up?”
I asked around about what the correct rig was and I hired a tux and I felt like an
idiot in it and an even bigger one seeing that I was carrying a corsage when I went around
to collect her but she came to the door in a really nice, very formal dress that went
down to the floor and she accepted the flower – and let me pin it on her – gracefully.
So, in about two seconds I got to be happy about wearing the tux.
It came to me that this was a hell of a lot different from when I’d shown up at my
college commencement in shorts and a t-shirt with my gown left open and the
message that was written across my chest read, “ABC-DEF-UCK,” and written across
my girl friend’s t-shirt was, “SH*T H*PP*NS!” Very different indeed and besides
that there was the fact that the woman in question this time was the very one who
had helped me get through college because it was her image – face and body – that
I’d always conjured up when I’d needed an impetus to – uh – obtain relief.
The fruit punch, it was in large bowls on a table inside the gymnasium, was
undrinkable but some of the guys who hung around our table – drawn to it because
they all wanted to get close to Charlotte – had brought hip flasks of vodka and they’d
also stashed beer somewhere that was easily accessible and they were generous
with both for the same reason and so the evening was saved from total boredom.
I was separated from Charlotte for most of the night because not only had she been
popular with all the guys in school – and all of them wanted to dance with her – but
also with most of the girls too and it seemed that they all had a lot of catching up to
-
She was easily the best looking woman there and, as an added bonus – although
it was unknown by her because, it turned out, that was the first time she’d ever
worn it – her dress bulged forwards somewhat when she was standing up and
allowed for some choice viewing from up close and above and her partner could
gaze down and see her perfect breasts all the way down to the top of their light
brown aureoles.
She came back to sit besides me from time to time, for a drink and a rest, and
every time that she did so I felt my stock going up and because of that even my old
headmaster came over and sat next to me and asked how college had gone for
-
He called me by my first name and that was a surprise because before that I’d
thought that he didn’t know that I had one.
When I took her home, around midnight, she thanked me and gave me a sweet little
kiss and I put my arm around her to get another one – not as sweet and much more
urgent – and as I did so my hand somehow managed to brush one of her breasts
and the feeling that I got from the two things combined was far more exciting than if
I’d been allowed to take my time about feeling up any of the other women who had
been at the reunion.
When I was leaving she told me that her number was in the book and that I wasn’t to be
a stranger.
All this took place, as you’ve no doubt guessed by now, before Facebook and the
other electronic communication methods and gadgets came into general use.
I didn’t call her, of course, because rejection still hurts, but a few weeks later I
saw her standing in a bus stop shelter one morning and gave her lift in to work and
she told me that she was disappointed with me because I hadn’t called her after,
“Our splendid reunion.”
I said, “Really? Well how about a movie tonight?”
When I escorted her down the aisle I found that the same rules from years earlier
still applied in that the rearmost two rows in the balcony were for teenagers to make
out in and the last row downstairs was for adults to – uh – get better acquainted. In
both cases there were no spotlights above the seats and the ushers knew better than
to shine their flashlights on any of them.
After our second date Charlotte let me kiss her several times when we were
standing outside her front door and she reciprocated nicely too and, to top all, she
murmured that she’d like to sit in the back row the next time that we went to see a
movie together.
I was apprehensive as to whether I could speak properly so I just went, “Hmmmm.”
into her mouth.
Without either of us having to suggest it, when I went around to her house to pick
her up, I showed up a good fifteen minutes early and I found that she was already
wearing her coat and was ready to go!
We were the first two people to buy tickets and she preceded me into the theater
and she led me into the back row and we got the two choice seats that were on the
far side.
We held hands until the lights went down and then she squeezed mine and let go of
it and then she sat back in her seat. I put one arm behind her and moved in and she
turned her head nicely so that our lips met squarely. We did that through the first
trailer and then she gave me a little tongue and I followed suit. After the second
trailer she disengaged and she reached back and undid the clasp on her bra and then
she pulled her blouse free in the front and then reached over with her other hand
and found mine and she placed it on her bare midriff and then let go of it.
I reached up and I barely managed to suppress a loud groan because being allowed
to do that had been my goal for years by then and they felt every bit as good as I’d
imagined many times. They not only had a wonderfully smooth feel but they were
also firm enough to hold their shape and the nipples were prominent enough
to do their part very well and the heft of them was – well, as you’d guess, divine.
She gave me free reign to explore until the last of the trailers had finished and then
she said, “There, enough,” and she pushed my hand away and then she re-clasped
her bra and rearranged her clothing and then sat back and composed herself and we
watched the movie although it took several minutes before my sight and hearing
returned enough to let me do so effectively.
When we were standing at her front door I kissed her goodnight and she thanked
me for taking her out and I said, “No way. It’s for me to thank you and especially for
– uh, you know – for undoing your bra for me.”
“Oh well, please don’t read too much into it. I did it because I like you and because
you’ve been so nice. And, do you want to know something? I always let men who I
like do that because I never fail to be amazed at how much pleasure I can give them
with so little effort on my part. Knowing how ridiculously fixated you all are with
breasts I think it would be churlish of me to not let you touch mine for a little while.”
I felt somewhat deflated on the drive home because she’d made her part seem to be
totally platonic and cold – I’m going to let the nice man pat me on the head – and
therefore, if that was her way of thinking, I could well be permanently restricted to
a few minutes of innocuous touching instead of getting some real action.
We started going go out more often and I got to meet her parents and was regularly
invited around for dinner and when we found ourselves alone for a while in the
her sitting room and we started horsing around, or if I made her weak from
laughing which made her fall all over me, she never objected if I grabbed her
hips or her bottom but, although I was always on the alert, none of ever it ever so
much as approached that lustrous moment when it comes to you both that the next
move should entail the loosening of each other’s clothing and the end of
conversation as you embark on voyages of discovery.
I don’t know what would have happened over the long haul if things had gone on
the same way. I do know that we wouldn’t have stayed together for all that long a
time – in her case because she well knew that she was super attractive and fully
expected to ‘marry well’ and so didn’t want to get to be overly entangled with a B-
list boyfriend and I thought that marriage was for guys who were over the hill and
were thirty-five or some such.
Obviously, from seeing so much of her, I got to hear her work history.
She had succeeded so well in her company’s Management Training course that, for
her, they’d cut months off every phase of their plan which was based on the idea
that by exposing all of their bright trainees to all six departments, in turn and for
one year in each, their monthly status reports would be invaluable tools for the
Human Resources department to evaluate them and place them where they were
best suited at the end of their six years.
Charlotte’s reports had been checked off in the ‘Excellent’ boxes by every one of the
managers that she’d worked for up until then and great things were expected from
her because that had never happened before so they all thought that she had a great
future ahead of her.
The trainees were never told how well they were doing but, for the average ones,
being moved to another department at the end of every year was evidence enough
that they were doing well and the automatic raise that they got confirmed it.
Charlotte knew that she was better than average because she was being moved
on in only nine or ten months, not the customary twelve, and her raises were more
than the others were given and she knew that because a certain clerk was a friend of a friend.
When Charlotte was told to report to the Accounting Dept. after ten months in the
Purchasing Dept.’s new, ‘Just In Time Control System.’ she was relieved but not surprised
because she knew that her manager had been very pleased with her work and with
her diligence and had told her so often.
After a few months in her new job in Accounting she was working late one night – it
was just before their fiscal year-end and her boss had asked her to stay behind and
deal with a discrepancy of $37.83 that had shown up in the paycheck ledgers and
although, normally, such a piddling sum would have been written off or buried
somewhere it was too late to do that by then because that avenue had been legally
closed to them because of the closeness of the fiscal year-end – and she’d already
gone through the staff ledger and had found nothing and had opened up the file of
field workers’ pay records and by checking, as it were, the amount in the ledger
against the amount on the paychecks that had been cashed and voided and returned
by the bank she unearthed an ingenious scheme that was defrauding the company.
After finding one with an anomaly – it wasn’t anything to do with the $37.83
discrepancy – she kept looking and when she’d accumulated a dozen of them that
had the same ‘error’ she knew that her initial assigned task was decidedly small
potatoes compared to what she’d found so she replaced all the files that she’d taken
out and then she called her boss, the head accountant, at his home and she told him
that she’d found something serious that needed his direct attention and she asked
him if he could come to the office a half hour earlier than the rest of the staff in the morning
and to ask his assistant to be there too.
When she’d shown them what she’d found they were appalled and the assistant,
who was a computer whiz, quickly found that an unauthorized function had been
added to the main computer that, when triggered by a three number/three letter
code, would add back on all of the deductions – like Fed; State and City taxes and the
-
Security payment and even the amount that was voluntarily paid into the
employee’s retirement account that was matched by the company – taken out of the
paycheck and add that amount onto the original amount. For instance – if a field
worker was paid, say, a thousand dollars a week and the deductions were, say, two
hundred and seventy six dollars then the final amount to be paid to him would be
seven hundred and twenty four dollars and the various accounts of the recipients of
the deductions would be credited by the appropriate amounts and everybody would
be happy about it. But, when the code was entered for an individual who was in on
the scheme, the amount of deductions would be added to the original sum and so
the worker would get a check for one thousand, two hundred and seventy six dollars
and the discrepancy would be made invisible by a clever ‘check and balance’
algorithm that confused and blocked the internal analyzing and security circuitry.
When the Head Timekeeper came in she found that two Security men were
waiting for her and she was given ten minutes to clear her desk of personal items
and was then escorted away to be prosecuted.
When the subsequent enquiry was finished it was found that the scheme had
involved twenty six field workers and had been going on for over three years and
a grand total of close to a half million dollars had been stolen from the company.
The twenty six workers were fired too and were told that if they returned their
half of the illegal money’s that they’d shared with the Timekeeper they’d be merely
be put on probation, which was very generous gesture and also very practical.
The Timekeeper herself, who was an attractive, well dressed woman who had been
liked by everyone, was found guilty and was fined twenty thousand dollars and was
given a two year prison sentence.
Charlotte got many congratulations from top management for finding out about the
nefarious scheme and for stopping the bleeding.
However, what she didn’t know, nor anyone else, was that the Personnel
Manager, who had given the Timekeeper her job, had been meeting up with her in a
motel, regularly after work, for most of the three years that she’d been working
there and they’d had an agreement about getting married after he’d gotten a
divorce.
Obviously, he had to give up on his plans to marry her – he was already in plenty of
trouble for hiring her in the first place – which left him resenting Charlotte beyond
all reason, and although it was completely unjustified, he hated her for having
played the key role in his lover’s dismissal and prosecution and internment.
Consequently, he meanly and deviously saw to it that Charlotte’s meteoric rise in the
company came to an abrupt halt and because the company had so many employees
he was able to get away with it and, directly because of his efforts, when the end of
her year in Accounting was nearing she was horrified to find, when she reported to
Personnel for her new assignment, that she was going to be shuffled off to a dead-
end, career-ending job as Supervisor of the Production Shed.
The distance that her new job opened up between her and Management can be
gauged by the fact that she’d have to start filling in a timesheet every week and that
she became eligible for overtime pay for every hour over forty that she worked.
She told me that her company actually makes very few of the ingredients that go
into their products and so, for quality control and other reasons, they get them trucked
in from various factories and when they’ve been assessed in the Receiving Buildings
they’re sent on to the Production Shed for measuring and mixing and for insertion
into capsules and then, as with the pills, bottled or packaged.
She, as the Supervisor of the Production Shed, sits in an office that’s located in the center of six sealed off areas and is raised so that she and her assistants can see into all of them through strategically placed windows.
The biggest of the sealed off areas is where aspirin is dealt with, in all its different forms, and the other areas produce compounds with multi-syllable names that look like hieroglyphics, dotted with lots of hyphens, and the whole is totally baffling and incomprehensible for laymen but, of course, each end product is marketed under short, eye catching and appealing brand names that try to exude confidence to its consumers.
Her office is hermetically sealed and has negative air pressure to protect her and her staff from inhaling the multi-forms of chemicals all day long and if Charlotte hadn’t been so conscientious – in spite of the fact that she’d been badly wronged – she would have avoided the consequences that messed up her life even further but, being ‘Charlotte The Perfectionist’ instead of staying in her office and watching the dials that monitor the various machines in all of the six areas – and getting on the phone whenever she, or her staff, spotted an anomaly – she makes a tour of all of the areas every two hours throughout her shift and so she, the only one in the whole plant, gets to breathe in all of the fumes of each area regularly and repeatedly.
I don’t know if the cocktail of chemical fumes would affect different people in different ways but I do know that its affect on Charlotte was startling.
There was no change in her behavior in the back row when we went to the movies on the Wednesday of the week in which she started her new job – except that she encouraged me to do some prolonged French kissing instead of allowing only a second or two of tentative probing which was usual for her – and she pushed my hand away and re-clasped her bra as always just before the main event started and so I didn’t pay much heed to it except for really liking it and hoping that it heralded better things in our future. It was a start, anyway.
However, when we went to our usual restaurant for dinner on the Friday night of the same week it was as chalk is to cheese.
The place was unusually crowded and so we had to wait at the bar and although she usually stopped after drinking one appetizer, a vodka martini, when the Maitre D’ spotted her – not a bit surprising really because she was so attractive that when she’d dressed up for an occasion, as she’d done that night, she seemed to have a personal spotlight shining on her – he came over, for that reason and because we were becoming regular customers, and after greeting us he told the bartender to give us both a drink on the house.
She’d had to accept it, of course, but when she’d drunk most of it I saw her eyes open wide and then kind of glaze over and she started to swivel her hips and then she moved her bottom forward so that she could press her center down onto the edge of the hard leather seat. She looked to be suffering and I saw her struggle internally as she fought what was happening to her but then I saw her give in to it and she said, quietly but urgently, “Get your coat, man. We’re going over to your place, right now.”
It wasn’t even my birthday but I didn’t protest overmuch and all thoughts of wanting to eat evaporated immediately.
Being able to touch her magnificent breasts for a few minutes in the movies was wonderful for me but having her in bed, stark naked, for a few hours was as close to being in heaven as I’m ever likely to get – or, come to think about it, want to get because getting just a tiny bit more ecstasy would surely entail the loss of the physical, down and dirty part and force entry into the totally cerebral part which, I suppose, is the goal of the inhabitants of Monasteries and Convents, although you can’t be certain of anything lately.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that she was well versed in the art of combat between the sheets but I was really surprised to find out that she was also well versed in the use of some choice four letter words which she employed effectively when our first – uh – bout ended in about two minutes.
When she’d stopped cussing me out she made herself calm down enough to say/hiss, “Well, I suppose that I’ll have to let it go seeing that this the first time for us but I’ll tell you this man, you’d better recover and get it up again PDQ and then keep going at it for a hell of a lot longer and much, much better or – well – I’ll be very disappointed with you ‘cos I’ve never wanted to get fucked this badly, this urgently, in my entire life.
“Now get off me and turn towards me . . . yes, like that. Now give me your right hand . . . there. Yes . . . ah . . . good, you sure do know how it goes. Yes, keep doing that until . . . Uh, a little faster please . . . ah yes . . . Keep doing that and come and kiss me like you mean it and don’t stop doing either thing until you’re ready to go again. You hear me, ma . . . Mmmmmm.”
The second time around was, as ordered, much better for her because I concentrated on pleasing her – hardly a chore! – and I was rewarded handsomely because the ride became exceptional but, towards the end she got carried away and she couldn’t control herself and so her hips started heaving so violently that she kept bucking me off and when that had happened three times I gave up and waited her out and when she’d quieted I re-mounted and we both finished in tandem and with a good deal of satisfaction.
The second time was also the last time that night because she’d become satiated and every time that she became lucid again that condition evidently kept hovering nearby because my slightest touch would make her body squirm and heave again and in a matter of seconds she’d go off somewhere, entirely on her own.
She left me behind to just look at her marvelous body and hug myself with glee – and wonder why it had all come about this time and how I could make it happen again, often.
She was still living with her parents and so she had to get home before midnight – Don’t ask. I certainly didn’t – and when we were in the foyer by her front door she wouldn’t let me kiss her because she was still strongly affected and was worried about losing control again.
She said, “That was truly marvelous, Bryn. Thank you, I feel – uh – uplifted, truly uplifted. You’re a wonderful lover and I need more of it so we must look for a way to spend a whole night together.”
I concurred.
With her evaluation and with her suggestion.
I called her at lunchtime the next day, it was a Saturday, and although I gave her several openings to comment on our time in bed together – for instance, I told her that when I’d gotten home I’d felt ravenously hungry and so I’d cooked up an elaborate meal for myself but I’d found it difficult to chew and to swallow because my mouth was locked in a permanent grin of self-satisfaction – but she didn’t take the opportunity to respond likewise. When I asked her if I should come around, as had become our routine on weekends, she put me off and sounded distinctly cool. The conversation stayed oddly one sided and she rang off without saying anything much about anything.
The same sort of thing happened again when I called her on Sunday and that time she told me that a ‘family thing’ had come up and that I shouldn’t come around. She mumbled a, “Sorry, Bryn.” but it didn’t sound very convincing at all and I was left feeling confused and disappointed.
Because of that I decided it would be best if I left her alone for a while, hoping that time would bring her back to her senses – she’d told me that it had been, “truly marvelous,” and that I was “wonderful” and that she’d been “uplifted” for chrisake – so I didn’t know what to think of it all nor where it was all going.
But then, luckily, a good way of achieving rapprochement showed up. A film that we both loved came to our a local theater and so I called her the day before and told her about it and asked her if she’d like to come to see it with me. She said that she would like to see it and that she’d meet me there.
Far from showing up fifteen minutes early to get our good seats in the back row she got there just two minutes before the start and when we were inside she led me down the aisle for about a third of the way from the front.
I was disappointed, of course, but I had enough sense to not try to as much as touch her hand all the way through the film. Clearly, the first move had to come from her.
Afterwards, she didn’t want to get something to eat nor to drink and when we were on the way home in my car she responded to anything that I said with a, “Yes,” or a, “No.”
When I’d parked in front of her home she told me that she was still confused and, “I have been all the time since – uh – since then.” and that she had no idea what had come over her.
When she’d told me that she knew that, “ – it was my fault entirely and I want to apologize sincerely for compromising you,” I felt relieved but I cowered down a little in the seat because I sensed that I knew what was coming next.
It came.
“Uh, listen, Bryn. I need some time alone to think this through so let’s not go out together again for a while. Yes?”
“Sure. You’ve got two full days before Friday comes around.”
“I’ll need a lot longer than two days, I’m afraid. A whole lot longer.”
Ominous.
I thought frantically to find a way to salvage our relationship.
What I came up with was, “I tell you what, Charlotte. Let’s agree to not see each other until, say, a week from next Friday. That’ll give you plenty of time to think and I promise that if, by the time that we leave the restaurant, you are still uncertain about us seeing each other then so be it and I promise that I won’t bother you again, ever. How does that strike you? Fair?”
“Sounds all right, I guess. OK. A week from Friday it is. Thank you for being so considerate, Bryn. I do like you, really I do, but – well, you know – I’m completely confused by what happened. It really, really shouldn’t have gone anywhere near that far. That’s not me at all.”
There wasn’t the barest chance of a goodnight kiss, even on the cheek, because as she was uttering that last bit she was already getting out of the car and when was walking up the path to her house she remembered her manners and so she turned and shouted back at me, “Thank you Bryn. Great movie. Bye.”
The next ten days took what seemed like months to pass but when it got to be the fateful Friday I picked her up and on the trip to the restaurant I tried to keep the conversation on an up beat but her contribution was, mostly, “Uh, huh.”
After we’d parked we were walking along to the entrance when she stopped me and made me turn to face her and said, “Bryn, can we agree right now to not talk about what happened the last time that we came here? I mean never. Not to each other and certainly not to anyone else? Please? What happened will never be repeated and I’d hate for it to get around. OK? D’you agree?”
She looked into my eyes and I nodded, miserably, but that wasn’t enough for her and she held my arm until I said, “Yes, I agree,”
We went to the bar first, for an appetizer, and she took little time over drinking her Martini and although I sincerely hoped that it would get her to ease up a little it didn’t and I had to do all of the talking. It was hard to hold her attention, no matter about getting her to smile at my jokes, or to make any comment besides, “Uh, huh.” again.
When her glass was empty she asked me if we could go and eat right then and that got me to think that I was in for a short, difficult evening.
I ordered two more drinks, without asking her if she wanted another one, and then I went and checked on our table.
The receptionist came for us a few minutes after I’d come back to her so we carried our drinks with us as we followed her.
I ordered steak, as usual, and she asked for the scallops in cream sauce – if it had appeared on the menu as, “Coquilles de St. Jacques,” no one would have asked for it because everything French was decidedly out of favor at that time, again.
We both finished our salads in near silence – I guess that the other people there must have taken us for a long married couple who had nothing new to say to each other – and after pushing her empty plate away she used the same motion to reach for her drink and she took a series of sips from it.
Because I was sitting across from her I saw, a few minutes later, that ‘that’ look had come into her eyes again and that she was trying to fight what was happening inside her, and to subdue it, but it was evidently remorseless because it soon won out. She gave in and forced herself to accept it and with a face that was well on the way to being suffused with lust she said, “Bryn, we’re going to your place again and right now, please.”
With that she stood up and walked towards the door.
I scrambled up and looked for the waiter and told him that we had to go at once because of a family problem and he started to protest so I made a rough estimate of what we’d eaten and added the bar bill to that and I gave him that amount plus two twenties, which got him to shut his mouth and get out of my way.
I ran out and found that Charlotte was pacing up and down in front of my car and as soon as I’d opened the door for her she fairly leaped in and when I got in next to her, and had pulled the door closed, she undid her bra and placed my left hand on her right breast and then she locked onto my mouth and indulged in some mammoth French kissing. From the moment that my hand had come in contact with her breast she’d begun to ‘keen’ rather than moan and she kept that up when my tongue was filling her mouth by somehow making it come out of her nose.
She got to be progressively more needy and when she disengaged to be able to take her panties off I took the opportunity to start the engine and I drove out and onto the road before she’d succeeded.
She realized that we were underway when she re-surfaced and she said, “Oh, no! Well, you can drive with one hand, right? Give me the other one right now.”
I couldn’t help her much and she realized it quickly and said, “For the love of God, drive faster will you? I’ve got to get fucked and I mean really soon.”
She then put both of her feet up onto the dashboard and she moved her skirt up and out of the way and opened up to give me maximum access but she got more and more frustrated because I couldn’t help her nearly enough. She wanted to help me get it done but whatever she did interfered with my rhythm and that was what she craved most right then. I soon found a way to ease her needs better and that made her start keening again and so then I worried about having another car coming alongside and the driver seeing her and hearing her and, maybe, calling the ASPCA.
When we got up to my room we tore off our clothes and went at it like crazy people and it wasn’t until I’d given her about four orgasms, in one way or another, that she calmed down enough to let me become an equal partner in the bed and not just someone who was on the other end of a tongue and a penis that she was making use of.
She became satiated again at around ten o’clock so we had plenty of time to do some near to innocuous playing, to my delight, and I had to stay away from her most sensitive areas because she’d go off on her own again mentally and leave me with her arcing and heaving and hungry-to-be-ravished body.
When we got to her house, just before the midnight curfew, she thanked me profusely and said that she really, really did love me and would do so for all time and then she said the same thing as last time about the quality being there but she needed more of it and so, “We’ve got to find a way to spend a whole weekend together.”
I didn’t call her the next day, a Saturday, because I was sure that she’d call me seeing as how our date had been spectacularly successful for both of us and how she’d told me that she couldn’t get enough of me and that I had her undying love.
She didn’t call.
I decided to leave it until just before lunchtime on Sunday, to see if I’d gotten back into her good graces enough to be invited to her house for the meal, but I’d only just poured the mixture for a western omelet, for my breakfast, into a pan when the phone rang.
It was Charlotte so I said, “Hi” and then I asked her to hold on for a minute until I’d turned the gas off.
When I said, “Hello, I’m back.” she took over.
“Bryn, don’t say anything just listen to what I have to say.”
My heart bottomed out. The words that she’d chosen were bad enough on their own – a little better than, “Shut up and listen, asshole” I guess but only just, and there’d been no greeting and no endearments at all – but her tone of voice was positively chilling.
“Understand this well, Bryn. I don’t want to see you again ever. Never. Nor do I want you to ever call me again. I have no idea what you did to me the other night or two weeks ago but what happened both times was not me. For God’s sake! I only barely like you no matter about liking you enough to want to go to bed with you!
“When I woke up in the morning after that first time I felt nauseas for a whole day and it took me more than a week to come to terms with myself again but now – well. I don’t know how I’ll ever get over it if at all.
“I find it almost impossible to accept that I actually said to you, ‘You can drive with one hand, can’t you?’ nor all of those, ‘Bring it here to Mama, baby,’ and – well – all those other things and ending up with, ‘We have to find a way to spend a whole weekend together.’ Bryn, that’s not me. None of it is.
“I thought about it all day yesterday and last night and this morning and I’m still baffled. I simply do not know what came over me and so, to save my sanity, I’ve come to the conclusion that I have to keep well away from you at all times and try to pretend that none of it actually happened.
“Believe me, if anything like that ever happens to me again I’ll jump off a cliff or under a bus because that kind of behavior is totally foreign to me.
“Whether it was something in me or something despicable that you did to me, I don’t know – I’d like to think that it was but I can’t really because I think that I know you better – so, to protect myself, I want you to promise that you’ll stay away from me, as I already said, and for ever.
“Goodbye, Bryn. Oh, but wait. I think I know you well enough to not have to ask you to never mention what happened between us to anybody else. Yes? Of course you won’t. Goodbye.”
I stood there for minutes on end with the buzzing phone in my hand. The word, “Decisive” came to my mind and I knew that I’d lost her forever but it was difficult for me to accept it.
When I’d told myself that I had to get on with my life I hung up the phone and I ignored the toaster when it told me that the toast was done and I left the coffee where it was and the omelet mixture too and I got out a bottle of bourbon that was a half full and by lunchtime I had to open another one. I needed it for its medicinal properties.
I went to work, or rather, I showed up for work the next day but my useful contribution to the job at hand was close to zero.
Luckily my boss is a nice guy who knows me and my abilities and he guessed that I had a huge personal problem so he took me off the innovative team and found a place for me with one of the assembly teams on the shop floor and I could easily handle the work seeing that it was a mechanical-no-thinking-required minimum-wage kind of job.
When I went for a beer with the guys on the Friday night he was there and after a while he took me aside and said, “Listen, Bryn. For the amount of money we’re paying you I expect a lot more from you than assembly work so you’d better snap out of this funk that you’re in or your next move will be out the door. You hear me? I’m not running a shop for the love-lorn here and I need your brain to function properly again so you’ve got one month to snap out of it enough to re-join the innovator’s team.”
That was a serious warning for me because due to the smallness of the inner circle of owners and managers who need my specialized skills losing my job by being fired for incompetence would mean that I’d have to leave the area completely to find another one as good and with equal potential not to mention losing all the accrued benefits.
I used that weekend to think up a remedy and what I came up with was: Obviously I couldn’t find another Charlotte but perhaps I could attempt to fool myself by looking for women who have one or two of her characteristics and then concentrate on them at crucial times.
Of course, many women have her smoothness and warmth – so that helped – and so when I met some one like that who also had another one of her traits I’d get to know her and take her out and what we did when we were in bed was decided by what the best position was in which I could keep that particular attribute in the forefront, as it were. Blond hair and/or blue eyes were staples and the right hairstyle also helped to get everything started and then, in the dark, well – women are women and our parts fit together well no matter what agendas one of the two happens to be following.
Unfortunately, when daylight came it revealed that the lady wasn’t Charlotte and so that was that and the search had to continue.
My system worked well because it meant that overly thin women, and overly fat ones too and plain faced ones and short ones and ones who were too tall and, also, not very bright ones and ones who lacked grace or a sense of humor and ones who were over-the-hill, could all be considered for involvement in my scheme so long as they had a mannerism or an attribute that reminded me of Charlotte. I found out that by not looking for everything in one packet makes the quest a lot easier. Also, the novelty factor certainly helps.
I attempted to quench the feeling of guilt that kept welling up inside me, because of my deceitfulness and cad-ish behavior, by seeing to it that every one of Charlotte’s surrogates got to be satiated and, equally as important, loved every minute of the journey on the way to getting there.
It seemed to be working well but too slowly – although my head had cleared well inside the deadline that I’d been given my brain didn’t function well enough to let me tell ‘The Man’ that he could put me back on the top team – but then, in the last few days, something quite amazing came about.
What happened was that I met another woman to do duty as a substitute for Charlotte and she was, appropriately, another programmer who worked on the same kind of equipment that I did but for a different company. Her name was Wendy Mathews.
I’d known her for years and we’d often met up in the bars and clubs that our crowd uses. She’s model thin and she has an ordinary face and her eyes are a little too close together but she’s quite attractive. Her hair is blond and it usually hangs heavily but that night she was wearing it done up in those braids that are, I think, popular in Scandinavian countries and so, for the first time, I was able to see that when she held her head in a certain way her chin line and jaw bone were very like Charlotte’s. That was enough of a trigger for me so I latched onto her and I turned on the charm. As soon as she’d registered that I was hitting on her she detached herself from the others and gave me all of her attention. Realizing that we’d become interested in each other in something other than programming got us to go and sit in a booth – which officially took us out of contention – and I had to lean in to be able to hear what she was saying because of all the noise and I found, and this was a very effective clincher, that she was wearing the same perfume that Charlotte always uses.
I lived nearby and so when the time was ripe I asked her if she’d like to come over and listen to my Bo Diddley and Chuck Berry and David Bowie CD’s and she didn’t even blink at my crass, high-school-worthy ploy. She smiled assent and she got her coat and we left together.
On the walk home she pulled at my arm at one point and turned towards me and positively gurgled as she told me that she’d wanted to “do this with you” for years and she gave me a full-blown kiss that proved it.
When she’d loosened her hair, in my place, she got undressed and she was casual about taking her dress off – she has breasts that are a little on the small side but pert and cute and so she doesn’t need to wear a bra, as, you can bet, I’d taken notice of in the bar – and she reached up under her slip to take her panties off but when it got to be time to take off the slip she turned coy and she moved the bedclothes away on her side of the bed and then sat down on the lower sheet before raising her slip over her head, When it was free she threw it in the direction of a chair and moved down the mattress and pulled the top sheet up to her waist and then she asked me to please switch off the lights before joining her.
That whole thing intrigued me, of course, and although I worked hard to please her properly – as is my long standing policy – to my further mystification she kept her legs not just closed but actually crossed which, of course, made my task much harder. However, I wasn’t about to fail in that particular area and so I called on all of my expertise and I eventually sent her deep into never-never land at which time her legs not only uncrossed but they flew apart, widely.
I took the opportunity to check out what she’d clearly wanted to keep me from seeing and so, after I’d put the lights back on, I pulled the covers away and there before me was something that I’ve never seen the like of before or since.
Her thighs were shapely but because she’s on the thin side there was little surplus flesh around and so her inner thighs didn’t crowd in nor distort nor intrude on her center, and thus didn’t detract from its allure nor its fundamental attractiveness and beauty, which is exactly as it should have been in her case because her pubic hair was sparse and made no serious attempt to cover anything and her outer labia, plump and proud and perfectly formed, fitted together so well that none of her inner labia showed and consequently her vulva, overall, had a striking presence and a commanding aura about it that made me gasp as I got the full effect of the power that emanated from it. All around.
All of the other ones that I’ve seen – and I include photographs in illustrative and porn magazines – belonged on little girls compared to what she had and IT, in all its glory, was right there before me. Even when I closed her legs there was still so much room that when I cupped IT with my open palm I still had an inch or so clearance on either side so you can imagine it’s magnificence when I opened them fully.
IT stood alone, proud and almost independent, as it proclaimed, “I am the very essence of ‘WOMAN.’ Are you, privileged observer, worthy of so much as touching me no matter about attempting to force entrance?”
I was in awe of IT and I paid it the attention that it deserved but without intruding overmuch, because I wanted her to come back down to earth quickly so that I could indeed, ‘force entrance.’ However I did make bold enough to ascertain, carefully, whether or not her hymen was intact or not.
Wonder of wonders – it was.
After a while something very touching happened.
I glanced up at her face, to gauge the progress that she was making regarding her return to earth, and was surprised to see that she was looking down at me and was seeing me reveling in her uniqueness and she was grinning delightedly. Well, it was much more than delight, really, because her whole face was lit up in the strangest way.
That intrigued me so much that I forced myself to move away from IT – I did not, however, lose contact with it – and I moved up until my face was alongside hers on the pillow.
“Never have I seen anything of such beauty,” I told her. “You don’t deserve it. No woman could deserve it. It should be in the national museum in Washington under armed guard.”
She giggled happily and said, “You darling man. I can’t tell you how much happiness it gives me to hear you say that. Uh – will I tell you why?”
I said that on condition that she let me stay in contact with the wonder of her she could tell me anything at all and could take as long as she wanted.
“Well, back when playing doctors was the accepted mode for kids of my age I only played it once because when the boys saw what I had they howled with derision and I was so humiliated that I never played the game again. I figured that I had to be deformed.
“And then, when I was a junior in high school and my breasts had filled out some, I went on a date with a senior and, after a movie when we were parked in a quiet spot and had moved into the back seat of his father’s car, I let him feel my breasts – it was the thing to do – and he liked them well enough but when I let him put his hand inside my panties – it was the thing that I wanted to do – what he found there made him say, “What the fuck is this!” and he tore his hand away and, without another word, he moved into the driver’s seat and took me home.
“From that I knew that I was deformed.
“Well, I accepted my fate and stayed away from dating altogether until I was a junior in college and so when the guy I was writing game programs with asked me to go out for a beer I was very apprehensive. You can believe me on that. Well, we got on so well that I wanted to see a lot more of him and – well, after a few dates I went with him to his room and we wound up lying on his bed and I – uh – got to see and hold – uh – his thing, which was impossibly huge – that’s what I thought then but I see that you’re the same size so what do I know? – and then he insisted on taking my panties off himself and as soon as they were down to my knees, lo and behold, there was his – uh – proud member, gone! As I watched, in dismay, it changed from a menacing weapon into useless, hanging, slack tissue. Well, he got dressed and told me that he had to be somewhere and that was it.
“So. You will never know how reluctant I was to accept your invitation earlier on tonight but I’ve liked you ever since I can remember and so I made myself say yes and now, perhaps, you understand how elated I was to see you – uh – enjoying yourself down there.
“But, uh, what I’d like to know, what I’d very much like to know, is . . . well, how come? Why are you delighted with what I have when those others . . .? Well, please tell me if you can.”
“Ha, that’s easy. You are far too much Woman for them. You outfaced them. Your center’s feral power drove them away, running for their lives, because they knew that they weren’t nearly man enough to deal with the magnificence of it. OK? How’s that? What do you think?”
“What I think is that I’m in love with you already. Oh, how happy I am that I came here with you. Let me kiss y . . . . . huh? What’s happening? Where are you going?
“I’m going down to pay my respects again. When I’m in the presence of royalty I know where my first duty lies.”
“Wonderful,” she said. “Please do whatever you want to for as long as you want even though I really do need, badly, to find out what this ‘going all the way’ is like. Wow! I’ve got to tell you that the mental relief that you’ve given me combined with that nice orgasm earlier is so marvelously pervading that I think that I can wait almost contentedly.”
We were both happy about the fact that we had the whole weekend to spend together and we must have broken several records along the way – that was because we didn’t put any clothes on the whole time and so every time that I was treated to a view of the wonder of what she had between her legs I’d feel instantly deprived and I’d have to close with it immediately. She caught on quickly and she’d slyly pose provocatively, not a bit difficult for her to do, and then cough, or something to get my attention, and I’d glance over from behind the newspaper, or whatever, and everything else in the whole world fell away as being not the slightest bit important and I’d move to close with it yet again.
However, the big moment came at around noon on Sunday when I’d prepared brunch for us and she was sitting, and waiting, at the table in the alcove.
When I put the mushroom and ham omelet that we were going to share in front of her she turned her head to smile her thanks and the angle of her jaw reminded me of someone . . . .
The fact that it took me a few seconds to remember who that someone was made me realize, right there and then, that Charlotte had been displaced and replaced forever in my life.
That was strong stuff and it shocked me and I needed verification and so I took Wendy’s hand and took her back to bed and soon confirmed that in the face of WOMAN all other women, no matter how beautiful, couldn’t come even close to competing.
After our spectacular weekend together we didn’t have to consider whether or not she was going to move in with me – my apartment is much nicer than hers – and so the only question was when did she want me to help her move her stuff over.
Eventually, and inevitably, the wonder of her eased off some and then we could lead a more normal life and could meet our old friends again and go to the movies, etc. and another thing was that we could start taking up different positions of making love and I bring this up here only because by doing so it led to our first contra-temps.
The first time that we tried doing it doggy-fashion I was able to get so far into her that I felt the edge of her diaphragm and it gave me pause, as you can imagine, and I had to modify my approach and proceed gingerly.
As I was driving us into work the next morning I told her about it and she showed genuine concern and said, “Oh, Bryn dear, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t ever find anything but softness in there.”
I told her not to worry about it but the crest-fallen look on her face didn’t go away as she dwelled on it. After a minute or two I saw her worried look get replaced by a crafty one and she said, “Well, I can’t push the thing in any further so I can’t help you there but, you know, I don’t really need to put it in at all when we do it that way because I read somewhere that it’s almost impossible for the woman to conceive owing to the man’s semen running down and out. Gravity sees to that and it stands to reason, right?”
Now, as I’ve already said, Wendy is an intelligent woman and she obviously knew that what she’d “read somewhere” was complete nonsense but instead of demanding to know what she was up to I confined myself to saying, “In some countries that’s the only way that they have intercourse, ever, and their populations are exploding not declining.”
She then astonished me, and showed her true colors, by saying, “Well, all right but when we want to start having babies we’re going to do it lying down properly. You hear me?”
I couldn’t find my tongue then so I said nothing but from then on she often found a ways to repeat the phrase, “When we start to have babies,” and, also, I noticed that she began to look at babies that were in carriages that we saw on the street or in the supermarket and come out with the ‘Kitchy-kitchy-coo’ and ‘Oh, isn’t he so cute?’ nonsense. After one of those episodes I had to be stern with her and I told her that I had zero intention of starting a family and wouldn’t until I got to be about thirty years old and had become reconciled to knowing that the good times were over and gone forever.
Around two years after Wendy and I had started living together we were visiting my mother one day – she coaxed me into visiting her every month or so by casually mentioning, on the phone, that she was thinking of making a deep, sea-food pie and I knew that there’d be a large amount of crab meat in it – when she said, “You remember Charlotte Tetler don’t you, dear?”
My fork fell from my fingers and my head snapped up like a soldier coming to attention.
“Yes, I thought that that would get your attention. Such a pretty girl wasn’t she? Well, I saw in the local paper that she’s getting married to that strange boy, Joe Mason. I’m sure you remember him too, right? ‘Little Joey’ was what people called him. Well now, who’d have thought such a thing would ever happen? You never can tell, can you? Wait. I’ll get the paper for you.”
The heading, ‘Tetler / Mason to wed,’ was followed by three paragraphs that named their parents, and their occupations and their present locations, along with brief biographies and then it did the same for the happy couple – he was a ‘Landscape Contractor’ and she was still a Supervisor in the local pharmaceutical company – and they’d be ‘exchanging vows’ in – wouldn’t you know? – in the biggest church in Trenton. Also, it was going to take place that same day at eleven o’clock.
There were no photos of them.
I forced myself to calm down before I lowered the paper and then I handed it to Wendy and I said to my mother, “Yeah, he was strange all right and your ‘Who’d a thunk it,’ is exactly right. Never in my wildest dreams . . . Wow, I’ll bet her parents are livid and it’s best to not even think how she must be feeling because she once told me that she only dated ‘locals’ because she was bored and that she was waiting to ‘marry up-and-out of this awful place.’ Ha!”
My mother stayed close to the table because she was hoping that I’d go on but although I’d fallen out of love with Charlotte for years by then I thought it best to leave it at that.
Wendy, who’d been brought up in a town on the western side of the State, didn’t know either of the soon-to-be-wed pair but she did know the church in question and she said that she’d been taken there every Sunday before she’d managed to ‘escape’ to New York City and that her mother still went there every week.
I remembered that Little Joey hated that name – he wasn’t little at all – and up until about eighth grade he’d always correct anybody who called him that by saying, “Hey. That’s Joe not ‘Little Joey.’ If you don’t mind.” But the name suited him somehow and so it stuck. We went through junior and middle and high school together, usually in the same class.
We were nerds together but not together, if you get my drift, until I clawed my way out of nerd-dom in about eighth grade while he stayed mired there up until graduation when, of course, the stupid practice of labeling people is dropped because who cares anymore unless you go on to college where it starts up again but with less import because the numbers of students gets to be multiplied many times over and intelligence is the new status decider.
He never learned how to throw a ball properly – nor could he hit one nor catch one nor kick one – so he never got picked to play on a team but he liked to hang with all of them so he’d be cheering from the seats at just about every game or match. On away games, on the bus, he liked sing-song sessions and would keep on suggesting new ones long after every else had had more than enough.
When we got to the eleventh grade, and on from there, he was always invited to parties because he volunteered to do all the clean-up chores, during and after, and he seemed to like being the gofer too.
He couldn’t deal with alcohol at all well so he solved that problem by never drinking anything that had any in it and, because of that, he was always puzzled as to why our jokes regressed into grossness and why our behavior reverted to being more and more juvenile as the empties piled up. When good friends started fighting each other over nothing; and when stupid taunts and challenges caused actual injuries that had to be treated; and the throwing-up began, he’d leave but would come back later and clean up. Most of the nonsense would have been forgotten and would have stayed that way too if he hadn’t recalled and recounted it the next day, in full detail.
When we got to the stage of inviting girls to the parties, and pairing-off with them to make out, he’d be dismayed and he wasn’t above knocking on the car windows, or wherever, to tell us that the hot dogs were ready or – like that.
And here he was, about to marry the Number One, unapproachable star of our youth and, not only that, her daddy was rich into the bargain!
I asked Wendy to come with me to the wedding and we got there just after eleven when the ceremony was already underway. We didn’t try to go inside but that wasn’t because we hadn’t been invited – duh! – but because I was loathe about possibly disconcerting the woman on her big day.
We stood across the road from the church entrance with a crowd of gawkers and waited until the family members came out and lined both sides of the steps so that they could throw rice, or whatever, when the bride and groom came out.
There was a huge limo – an extended Rolls Royce that was festooned with wide white ribbons running fore and aft – waiting at the curb and when the chauffeur got out and opened up its rear door I put a baseball cap on, and sunglasses, and then Wendy and I crossed the road as did a lot of other people.
Being tall I could see over the heads of the crowd but Wendy couldn’t so she moved away to find a choice spot.
I couldn’t see Charlotte’s face because of her veil but Little Joey was wearing a huge smile on his, as well he might, and was holding himself as erect as the Queen of England’s many escort always do.
When the onlooker’s attention was locked onto the rice, or whatever, that was raining down on them and then by the bouquet being thrown I wormed my way in until I was standing a few feet from the limo.
When the bride was escorted to the car I got a clear view of her in all her finery and I saw that her dress was amazingly – uh, what would you say? Full? – and that it was cut low in front and was showing a frightening amount of bosom.
When she had to duck her head to get into the car her mother, in attendance, told her to wait there for a moment to give her a chance to gather up the train of her dress so that she’d be able to hand it in when she was seated. Because of that Charlotte had to stay still, bent over, for maybe half a minute and I was able to check her out properly. I could see so far down her décolletage that her aureoles were visible and that they sat on breasts that were as big as melons. Large melons.
Although her dress was elaborate and – uh, well, full – as long as she was holding that position I could make out the outline of her body through it and I saw that her haunches were huge and, concomitantly, that her bottom was formidably wide and because I could also see her calves, below the – uh, hem, is it? – I knew that her legs had to be massive all the way up.
Two of the cruel taunts that school kids use came to me: ‘Thunder Thighs’ and, ‘Massive Mammaries.’
When she was allowed to get into the car and had sat down I saw that there was a mass of something where her waist should be that could only be a run-away belly but whether it was from flab or because there was a fetus in there I don’t know and I still don’t know.
And then, to confound all, when the car started to pull away from the curb she pushed her veil aside and turned her head as she waved goodbye to her family and I saw that the facial lines that had intrigued me for so long had all gone. Her chin and jaw line and neck were all as one because they’d merged into being a mass of flesh.
As we were driving home I tried to figure out what must have happened to her.
I guessed that in the weeks following the time that she’d dismissed me from her life she’d probably done a lot of self-analysis regarding her going off the rails and turning into a raving no-holds-barred nymphomaniac. Twice.
She must have assembled the facts carefully and would have realized that the only recurring factors were:
1 – I was the one who was with her on both occasions but I couldn’t have been the sole catalyst because we’d gone out together many times before with no untoward behavior on her part.
2 – She’d had two vodka martinis on both occasions but she’d often consumed two of them when she was out on dates previously and had only gotten a pleasant glow on.
3 – Both times had been on Friday nights but so what? At the end of a work week she’d always liked to celebrate a little and seeing that there was no work the next day . . . . But wait! She probably remembered that the first Friday had been in the first week of her new job in the Production Shed and so could it be that . . . ? Had to be!
So what to do? She wouldn’t, couldn’t, change her micro-managing system of personally checking every department regularly through the day – she knew that the only way that she could get back up onto the Management track was by staying ultra-efficient – so she’d have to give up on Vodka.
But what if it wasn’t just vodka but that any alcohol, including seemingly innocuous additives to her food, could, when the time it needed to enter her blood stream had gone by, trigger her libido into going berserk?
She couldn’t possibly carry out a series of experiments to pin it down because she might well find herself under some lucky guy again, begging to be given more when she was already getting plenty.
She must have come to the conclusion that she’d have to give up on drinking all together and on dating too to be ultra safe in that another episode like those other two might spell disaster for her.
That was a drastic decision to have to take and carrying it out must have driven her to look for a substitute and it was pretty obvious that that substitute had to have been – food.
And then, after a year or two of deprivation, out of sheer desperation she might have remembered, or maybe someone had reminded her, that Little Joey Mason was a life-long teetotaler and so she’d held her nose and had inveigled him to ask her out on a date and he’d have been so dazzled with his good luck – and from being given some limited groping privileges in the back seat of the movies too – that he’d have been roped in without much trouble.
When I’d parked in the garage under our building I took Wendy’s hand when she was releasing her seat belt and I said, “Wendy, when we get upstairs let’s go straight to bed and please don’t put your diaphragm in and let’s do it in the conventional way. Yes?”
She nodded acceptance in a matter-of-fact way and then she cottoned on, “Oh! You mean because doing it doggy-fashion . . . . ?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. And, come to think on it, that church of your mother’s looks quite nice, doesn’t it? How about you ask her to try to book it for us – say two or three months from now?”
Right then, in the car, I got one of the nicest kisses ever and when we got into bed she opened herself up more than ever before and, towards the end, she pulled at me so fiercely and forcefully that I had to reach up and grab onto the headboard – just in case.
I said, at the very beginning, that I’m the only one who is in on Charlotte Mason Tetler’s secret.
I toy with the idea of telling Little Joey Mason Tetler how, with very little effort on his part, he could get truly memorable action between the sheets in his own bed but I can’t because of my promise to Charlotte.
Besides which, if it had been dangerous for me to be in the same bed with her when she was FWUI – and was subject to a Cinderella curfew while weighing in at around one hundred and twenty pounds – what chance would he have if she was FWUI and didn’t have to quit to go home, ever, and weighed in at better than two hundred pounds?
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