They'd been emailing for more than a month, exchanging hot, sexy fantasies so well written they often didn't need a rewrite. What a pleasure it was, she thought, to "meet" an articulate, creative writer for her online role-playing. They exchanged photos. Shell had hit pay dirt.
Now a completely unexpected event was to take place – he was coming to Connecticut! A family wedding. She was so fevered by this turn of events she couldn't sleep for two nights. He'd made a veiled reference to meeting her – and her heart clutched at the same time her pussy signaled its wakefulness.
He'd shared a gift with her – a sexy, erotic book he was writing – and she began making comments on each chapter. She was a good and experienced editor, and he seemed to appreciate her professionalism as much as he appreciated how aroused her reading made her. Shell instinctively knew she'd never in a million years encounter another man who captivated her intellectually, emotionally, spiritually and sexually the way this man had. Usually it was one or two out of four. Four out of four only once before, when she'd married the second time.
As they left occasional phone messages for each other she found his voice thrilling. Such a child, she thought, to save his voicemails for play back over and over. She could imagine that voice soaring over the others in church, and wondered what it would be like to stand next to him in her choir, instead of next to Arthur McNair, whose voice was strong like his, but not sexy.
And now he was coming here. Or rather, to central Connecticut. A mere hundred miles away, rather than thousands. She tracked his progress across the skies by computer and when he briefly touched down in her city, she fleetingly thought of going to the airport, just to see him. Maybe say hello. Probably not. She hadn't told him she was going to do it, didn't know how he would respond. Besides – she wouldn't have been allowed at the gate.
Even after he casually mentioned meeting at a baseball game, she couldn't be sure he was serious. She had almost wrecked the friendship when she admitted, in her customarily forthright way, that she had fallen for him. He was furious and measured in his response, reminding her – once again – that he honored his marriage and would do nothing to endanger it. And once again, her stupidity caused her another sleepless night.
Now here they were, in the same state. She grinned all day from sheer happiness at this snatch of nothing. She drove her car with the sunroof open, music blaring, her hair blowing, exhilarated at being in "like". When he managed a few moments alone, he called, and she greeted him with a smiling "welcome to my time zone."
His first night under Connecticut stars, they'd spent three hours on the phone, acting out a scene so mind bending each would remember it for years to come. She slept that night more peacefully and serenely than she had in months, on her back with her arms splayed above her head, and awoke to find her pillow between her legs and his image before her eyes.
They made plans to meet at a baseball game. Hours later, in an email, he began to backpedal. Later still, he reneged and said he had family responsibilities. The wedding preparations and all. A full day of activities before tomorrow's ceremony. Although just a cousin-in-law, he was needed.
But she had a hunch…so she went to the game anyway. She disguised herself somewhat in a white ball cap and sunglasses, her dark red hair in a wavy ponytail. She took her small field glasses so she could rake the modest stands for his handsome face. She concentrated on the announcers' booth, thinking perhaps he might be extended professional courtesy to watch the game from there. And there he was, the only head not wearing a headset, blond and handsome, smiling and talking with the local play-by-play men. Probably about his own baseball broadcasting back home. Radio jocks.
She made her way to a seat somewhat below and to the right of the booth where she could see him clearly, so clearly in fact, she could see he was wearing a short sleeved sport shirt. "And probably khaki Dockers, like every other man not in jeans here," she mused. Thinking about how he was dressed – and how she would like to see him undressed – made her sex contract again, so she shook her head to erase the Etch-a-Sketch image in her mind and tried to concentrate on the bottom of the first.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spied movement in the booth. He and another man were standing and then he disappeared. He was wearing khaki dress shorts.
