Her name was Mona. Sure it was an old name, so its juxtaposition against such a sweet young lady was colossally striking. We flew to Kennebunk Maine on business one cool October weekend. We had a client there that needed some work on their computer network. She was to be the trainer and help to organize the workflow so that I could design the systems around their needs.
We had known each other for years before this of course, had become somewhat friendly through interacting over business. We had met each other's children on several occasions at work, though not often each other's spouses. But we had never really gotten to know each other and didn't have that much in common besides work. She was the cute little blonde, short and bubbly, very touchy feely to begin with - a trait I have always found irresistible. I suspect I was the safe little geek pet she liked to play with but would never take seriously. But my feelings never even progressed to the point of an actual attraction.
Until that night at the Blue Shield Bar and Grill in Kennebunk. A small town by most standards Kennebunk, but big in that it housed a good deal of old money and political power. Entire families of Savant President's came from the neighborhood. So this ivy covered drinking spot was more chic than many. It was also a weeknight so it was not at all crowded.
For any of you that have never worked in a bar, they can be lonely places late on a week night after the business day has ended. Even the staff gets a bit edgy yet bored and is happy for any company outside their normal circle. So when Mona and I entered the place, we were greeted by the rising of smiles from the sunken faces of the bar hosts.
Let us say that drinks flowed freely and with great camaraderie, and that we all felt like we were having a nice little get together of friends in the basement pool room. The long wooden bar had been polished to dark burnt amber from years of beer and other sundry spills. It gleamed as only the eldest Oak can after a century of loving use. We took turns behind the bar serving each other so that our new found friends - Jack and Emma - would feel a little more relaxed and less like the servants their job descriptions made them out to be. Jack, an elder woodsman, could just as easily have fit in at a biker bar as a hippy love fest. I was uncertain we were not actually in San Francisco rather than Maine. And Emma was as tattooed and pierced as they come. A true punk goddess.
But all of that slid into the background for me as the music, and the beer, began to take hold of Mona. Her head bowed, it lolled on her shoulders as they swayed to the rhythm of whatever soulful tune it was that played from the stereo. The melody seemed to shudder through her like a soft sneeze as it caressed its way down her just slightly rounded belly and descended into her graspable hips. Soon Mona was standing off of her barstool in order to be able to bring herself dipping slightly on bended knees as she vibrated toward the ground - only to rise again as the orgasmic wave receded. Her arms rose at her shoulder as a snake leaving its basket, tempted by the pipe song of her arched neck until her hands slid high above her head. I had seen this motion in the acid induced haze of the "flower dancers" at a Pink Floyd show, but never was it done with such graceful sensual precision.
Just as I thought the show could be no more enticing, she began to climb the bar stool. Now if I had chosen to climb that Everest of a bar prop, it would have been an ungainly crouch to the heights. She did it with the strength of Sir Hillary, and the beauty of a serpent. And before my eyes could adjust she had attained her full pedestal atop the bar. I was now at eye line with heaven as I could look out to her trim ankles and look up to the hem of her short skirt. I wish that I could say that I looked no farther, but I could not stop myself from staring. If my jaw was on the bar as I suspected, I would never notice. Her veil dance continued from this hallowed perch as she felt the music move through her.
For all I know, we may have been there like that for hours. Time seemed to stand still as the image of Mona dancing on the bar was etched into my permanent memory. But eventually the music must have changed, or the mood lightened for she was finally back at my side seated on her barstool. I think perhaps the mood and the beer combined to take her past the limit, but she mumbled something in my ear and left the bar for the short walk across the street to the hotel. I just looked at Jack with wonder, pressed into speechlessness by the spectacle we had all been privileged to. Few words were spoken as Jack wiped down the bar where only moments before the feet of an angel had danced. In fact, the only words I remember from Jack that entire evening came at that point as he said, "what is wrong with you, follow her!".
I left my credit card on the bar knowing Jack would take care of everything and ran through the frigid air back to the hotel. Thoughts of my wife and child were distant as I fell quickly into the headiness of taboo. I decided that I couldn't live with myself on a frontal approach so I returned to my room rather than rushing blindly to hers. I called her on the pretext of making sure things were ok. "Plausible deniability" was a term I had heard somewhere before that seemed to fit with my guilt avoidance technique. No need to ruin a perfectly good business relationship over a mistake due to overly active gonads.
I truly wish I could now tell you of the magical lovemaking that ensued that evening. But that was not what my phone call was to produce. She told me that she was indeed ok, but that the beer had gotten the best of her and she was not feeling well at all. I offered care and comfort and only stopped short of offering to come hold her hair out of her face due to some stupid chivalrous gene. Besides, sex with a barfing nympho is somehow not completely satisfying - or so I suspected. I actually tried to call again as the swelling in my groin demanded more effort. Eventually I had to settle for my be-ringed friend of so many years as I knew nothing could come of the evening but frustration.
