This story is a homage to James Thurber's classic, "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty", which daydreams are interleaved with real-life scenes, but all tied together.
*
...It had come at last. The night of nights. Mitt's princess stood before him, her long blonde tresses curling down her back, her green eyes alert, yet respectful. The white wedding dress brought out her beauty all the more, a cone of lace crowned with the smooth softness of her bare arms and shoulders. He had called her a "vision of loveliness" in his toast, and indeed she was. His wife's face - yes! she was his wife now! - was so perfect he could not take his eyes off it.
She reached behind her back and pulled something, and slowly the dress descended. Underneath, she was clad in another layer of white, a corset that hugged the outline of her body. Garters, white-ringed garters, rose up her shapely legs, making her body look like a gift, wrapped just for him.
There was no practical value for underclothes of this sort. She had worn them, hidden, all day, just so that she could arouse him now. Mitt stared at her incredible figure, this feast of delights. He could spend a lifetime staring at that body, staring at those legs, those impossibly lovely legs, touching them, exploring them, savoring their joys. He would, indeed, spend that lifetime.
She could see him staring, and her face broke into a sweet smile. "I dreamed of the day I would get married," she said. "I dreamed of the day I could totally give this body to the man I loved, and do everything I could to make him happy, everything he ever dreamed of. I have kept myself pure for this day. And now, my husband," she went on, "it is time."
Her voice was like a birdsong; Mitt listened to it mesmerized. He took a step towards her, his heart pounding, his breath coming faster. She came towards him, spreading her arms wide. And then his lips were on hers, her soft warmth melting into his. He remembered what the Song of Solomon said of this -
honey and milk are under your tongue.
He felt his body responding, he knew she could feel it too...
"STOP staring at my legs like that!"
"What?"
"You know damn well what. I am not a mannequin for your enjoyment!"
Stacy's face was red with anger.
Slowly, Mitt's eyes refocused. The daydream faded. This was not a wedding night. He wasn't in a hotel room. He was in a conference room with his co-worker, Stacy, practicing the presentation they were to give in a few days.
Mitt hadn't wanted to work on the presentation, on a topic that bored him silly. What really was the point? Upper brass kept insisting on status updates and check-ins, which accomplished nothing useful he could see, except interrupt actual work on real projects.
Stacy was a very pretty young woman, with long curly blonde hair, piercing green eyes, and an air of determined professionalism. She was dressed in a plain white blouse, sleeves rolled up. Her gray pencil skirt stopped just above her knees. She had been rehearsing her speech, but Mitt had found it so dismally unexciting that he had just let his mind wander off.
"I wasn't...I wasn't actually staring at your legs-"
"Oh, I suppose you just happened to be looking at the electrical outlet!"
Mitt hadn't been looking at anything in particular, at least not anything actually in the room. He did not know how to explain this to his colleague, and even if he could, it did not seem likely to help.
"I guess I kind of drifted-"
"I see, you just drifted off when the female of the species opens her mouth to, you know, actually say something?" Stacy snarled.
"No..." Mitt struggled for words. "I think you're very capable. You just need to improve your presentation skills-"
"Oh, my
presentation
skills? Is that what you call it now? Being eye candy for the men in this office? That's why you wanted me in this room with you. So you could come on to me!"
"No, that's not what I meant-"
"I don't give a shit what you meant. I'm a person, not a fucking pair of legs. I'm going to do this presentation by myself!"
"What? I'm part of this project too. Mid-year review is coming up, and if I'm not seen there-"
"If you try to stop me, I'm going straight to HR!" With that, Stacy flounced out of the room.
Mitt's manager had told him about the organization's
Mentor Her
initiative, encouraging senior employees, who were mostly male, to mentor junior women, who often struggled to find mentors without facing sexual harassment. Mitt had mentored employees before, but they were mostly male, and he saw women's careers suffering due to the lack of early guidance. Impressed with Stacy's work on a previous project, he had selected her for this one.
Mitt could only imagine what would happen, now, if Stacy gave that weak presentation and he wasn't up there with her. Everyone would think the poor performance would be because he had refused to do his share of the work. They might even think he hadn't wanted to work with a woman.
What a way to end the work day. He grabbed his coat and headed out.
It was pouring, drenching rain outside. Mitt could barely see through his glasses. He huffed and puffed, desperate to make the bus stop on time, his shoes making splashes in the puddles. Water was soaking his socks, drowning his feet. His stomach growled impatiently, and he saw several restaurants taunting him, way out of both his price range and his available time.
..."You are so amazing, Mitt! You always seem to know just the right thing to say!"
Mitt smiled. He was in his best suit, immaculately groomed, feeling on top of the world. And how could he not? Opposite him was a cheery, friendly, stunningly beautiful blonde. Her long straight hair was like a fountain; her clear blue eyes like sapphires.
"I know it's only our first date, but I just feel so incredibly comfortable with you," she said. "I haven't felt so connected with someone in a long time."
Mitt had felt connected to the girl the moment he had seen her picture on Tinder. She'd sported a cute little blue skirt, barely clearing her underpants, with matching dark blue fishnet tights. Her chest bulged against the bright red, tight blouse she'd had on, her midriff invitingly exposed. He'd swiped right without hesitation. Getting a match was like a dream come true.
The outfit she had on now was more modest, but also more striking. The shade of blue in her blouse matched her eyes perfectly - and, sitting down, he had an even better view of her cleavage. When he picked her up, he'd seen how hot her legs appeared in red stockings.
Their immaculately dressed waiter stopped by. "How was your food,
mademoiselle?
"
"Oh my god, it's to die for! Mitt, I had no idea about this place! You sure know how to show a girl a good time!"
"I do my best," said Mitt modestly. Actually, he had found that the girl responded amazingly well if he simply agreed with whatever she was saying. She hadn't said anything substantive, but perhaps that made it easier.
"Voici,"
he said to the waiter, tossing his gold card nonchalantly on the bill. He'd already seen the look of admiration in her eyes when she saw the total.
"Merci, monsieur,"
the waiter replied as he headed off.
"You speak French, too?" the girl squealed. "Oh, my god!"
"Naturellement."
"I don't usually do this," she said shyly, "but would you like to come over to my place for drinks?"
That was easiest of all to agree with.
"Je serais très heureux, ma chérie,"
said Mitt in a confident, yet gentlemanly voice. "Let me just clear up my calendar tonight. There were some calls, but they are less important than spending time with such a charming woman." He saw her eyes glow at the compliment. She was already so cheerful and happy, he had the feeling that the joys of this night were just getting started.
Her apartment was small and simply furnished, but cozy. Mitt poured them both a brandy and they toasted the evening.
"I'll just go change into something more comfortable. Back in a second!" she said brightly.
Changing didn't take long. Strictly speaking, she didn't change at all. She merely removed her blouse. And her bra.
Mitt feasted his eyes on her breasts, bulging with pure femininity. "That, my dear, is truly a magnificent sight," was all he could think of.
"They're even more magnificent if you actually touch them," she replied, not missing a beat. He looked straight into her incredible blue eyes as his hands began to feel that soft, luscious chest. He could see her body start to shake as he gently fondled those rising nipples. His phone buzzed, but he ignored it...
No. His phone really was buzzing. He fumbled in his pockets, then dropped the phone on the wet floor of the bus. He stooped to pick it up.
"Hi, Mom."
"Mitt! Don't forget you have to be here at six sharp tomorrow night!"
"I know that, Mom, but the earliest train I can take won't get there by six-"
"Why don't you just take the car?"
"At that time of day the traffic is even worse."
"Well, take the limousine like Jenny does! She can keep working even in the car!"
"She gets to use her law firm's limo because she's a senior partner there."
"And why aren't you a senior partner or whatever? You're forty-five, for god's sake. Four years older than your sister and what do you have to show for it? It was the same thing when you were kids. Every teacher kept saying the same thing. Jenny's so different than Mitt. I can't believe how children in the same family are so different. I was scared to teach Jenny after Mitt, but boy was I wrong. Blah blah blah-"
"Mom, it was me that paid for Jenny to go to law school-"
"Well at least she got into law school! Why couldn't you get into something good? At least that girl makes me proud. And you? Always working, always working, never getting anywhere. You can't even show up to my birthday party on time. "
"Your birthday isn't till tomorrow, Mom."
"You know what you need? I know what you need. Guts. You don't have any guts. Jenny sees a promotion, she goes for it. No messing around. No taking no for an answer. You need to-"
Mitt didn't hear what he needed to do; he was no longer listening. He wished he had the guts to end this conversation. It would be a long bus ride, a subway trip, and a second bus ride home. Maybe he'd have a drink when he got home. He could certainly use a drink.
..."Chug a chug a chug a CHUG!" Down the hatch went the latest shot. Mitt felt the drink course through him, shredding his inhibitions. But he stood tall. He could hold his liquor as if it were water.
"I can do anything. WOO!" he screamed.
Pounding dance music roared through the night, ringing through his ears. Huddled groups of young men were clustered together, downing shots, lifting beer mugs, eyes drifting. Crowds of girls stood in separate clusters, giggling, laughing, their fingernails long and brightly colored, their hair tossing, their bodices tight, their legs bare and wiggling. He eyed them all, boldly, unashamedly, mentally wondering which one was the best.
