Sylvia was my high school sweetheart. She was tall, gorgeous, intelligent, sweet, and loving. Everything I had been taught to look for in a girl. We dated throughout high school and, as everyone expected, we married shortly after graduation. We had embarked on what we expected to be our own fairytale life.
To many of our peer's dismay and chiding, we managed to both still be virgins on the night of our wedding. In great anticipation on both our parts, we finally had sex for the first time, somewhat clumsily, but enjoyable nonetheless, on our first night of the rest of our lives. And a second time and a third time and several more times the next day. Sex was perfect, life was perfect, everything was perfect.
Off we went a few weeks later to college, and the first of our many arguments. We of course made up in bed, several times. But one argument led to another to another. We always made up but we also always seemed to find another argument. We told ourselves that after the stress of college was gone things would get so much better, so for six years we both struggled through it, putting up with the arguing and making up until we could finally move on to a much more stable and comfortable life.
It should have been no surprise, but it was to us, that things didn't get better after college. I was a slob, which she hated. She couldn't cook, which I hated. She was perpetually late, which when we were younger didn't bother me, but now did. I was always wanting to be early which only frustrated us both more. There was no doubt we loved each other. At night in bed, things were fantastic. Sex was fantastic. We explored and learned, but inevitably morning came and the friction of the night before changed to a different kind of friction.
The opportunity for a big promotion came for her, but with a stipulation. She was going to have to move to New York. It was a move that I had no interest in making. I had grown up a small town boy and living out in the country was all I knew. Even now, as an engineer for a huge corporation we were able to live in a wonderful country setting. The discussion was surprisingly short. I did love her, and I wanted her to be successful, but it looked like success was going to take her down a path I wasn't willing to follow.
I suppose that if things had been better, if our daily life had been better, that a different decision would have come, but in the end, it was my choice. I encouraged her to take the job. She did, and a month after moving out we agreed to file for divorce. The judge that signed the final papers probably wondered what was wrong with us, because instead of angry faces at the last, our final moment of being married was a very passionate kiss.
So how do you move on from something like this? We both knew that our love wasn't enough. There was a lot more to a successful life with a partner than just love and sex. I decided to take a big swing, so to speak, and changed jobs as well. I packed up and moved from the big corporation in the middle of nowhere to a relatively small company on the edge of a moderately sized Midwestern town.
The whole environment was different in the company. Although they had a couple hundred employees, they still wanted it to have a family feel. And it did. Before long I had a whole new bunch of friends, mostly from work, but a few that I met through associations from work. I found a small house in the country and settled in to my new life. The one thing that I found lacking was having the affections of a woman.
My wife and I were still friendly and talked on the phone frequently, both of us finding it hard to start dating again in our thirties. But we talked and encouraged each other. At first, dates were with women that I met in bars. Not that I was a particularly big drinker, but at least there were women my age that were single. The most common came from what I call honky-tonk bars. Cowboy hats, line dancing, cowboy boots and mini-skirts were the dress of the day. Quite a few of these led to one night stands and on occasion several night stands. But the bar scene wasn't me. I loved the outdoors and photography. Didn't much matter what, but if it was outdoors, I loved it. Camping, fishing, hunting, hiking, you name it, I was up to try it. Denise, a sexy young thing I picked up in a bar hit it off well with me. She seemed to like the outdoors as much as I did.
We spent several weekends camping and breaking in my new boat. I kind of thought it had some potential, but alas, at twenty-seven she wasn't quite done sowing her wild oats, and when I stopped by her apartment one day unannounced, I found her riding bareback on some cowboy that didn't even have the decency to take his hat off for a girl.
Back to the drawing board.
It was a Saturday afternoon. Shopping day. I had my list and was at my favorite grocery store. Yes, I did have a favorite store. While Sylvia couldn't burn a paper bag, I on the other hand was a VERY good cook. I loved to cook. I just didn't love cleaning up after myself. Anyway, there I was, standing in the pasta aisle looking at the different jars of marinara sauce, trying to decide if I should actually buy a premade sauce or make my own. I barely noticed her. She was rather petite and unassuming in the baggy gray sweat suit. In fact, I barely even noticed that she was standing next to me as I reached for a jar, the exact same jar she happened to be reaching for. I grabbed at the bottom while she wrapped her fingers around the lid.
Both of us, suddenly realizing we were holding someone else's jar, let go. I saw the jar start to fall from the shelf, and reached for it again to save it from smashing on the floor. She did the same, both of us missing the jar but instead bumping heads in the attempt. We stood back up, rubbing our bruised noggins and laughing. It was the first time I'd had a good laugh in weeks. We exchanged a few words of apology and went on with our respective shopping.
After figuratively bumping into her in several more aisles, we somehow ended up in the same checkout line next to each other. Taking this as a boot in the pants from fate, I suggested that maybe we could share a bite of lunch. Twenty minutes later we were sitting across from each other at a Subway, having finally exchanged names, discussing the usual life kinds of things, like are you single, and are you seeing anybody? Fortunately for me , Crystal answered no to all those important questions, so I suggested a dinner to get even more acquainted.
"So, Michael, where would you suggest?" Crystal asked, a little glint of mischief in her eye, the corners of her mouth turned up in a pleasant little grin.
"Well, actually, I was going to suggest my place," I answered.
"Oh really?" she asked, an eyebrow going up but the smile not leaving her face.
"I didn't mean it that way!" I replied quickly, blushing for some reason. "I just meant that, well I enjoy cooking and I thought maybe I'd cook. No point in paying fifty bucks for a meal that I can make myself."
"Mmmmm he cooks?" she said to no one. "Tell you what. I always go dutch the first date, but since this is an unusual date, how about a deal. You cook this one and I'll cook the next?"
"You know that pretty much locks us into two dates," I said with a chuckle.
"Yeah, it kinda does, doesn't it? Well, we'll just have to hope that the first one goes well, won't we?"
"It would seem so," I agreed.
"So, I usually don't ask this, it's asked of me, but...can I get your address?"
"Huh? Oh God yes," I said, rolling my eyes at my own stupidity. I used a napkin and wrote my address and a small line map of how to get to my house and slid it over to her. "How about six thirty tomorrow?"
"Sounds like a date," she said with a smile.
We finished eating and each went our separate ways.
The next evening found me working away in the kitchen, my spaghetti sauce bubbling gently, having been simmering for several hours. Dinner was parmesan eggplant, grilled Italian sausage and linguini, with of course my homemade sauce. She just struck me as more of a low meat sort rather than steak and potatoes. I'd barely finished changing into a pair of Dockers and a button down sport shirt when the doorbell rang. I dropped down the stairs of my two story, taking them two at a time and ending up at the front door after only the second ring of the bell.
To say I was shocked wouldn't even begin to cover my reaction. Standing at the door was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. She was slender, about five and a half feet tall, her hips and ass curving gently to a thin waist which flowed up gracefully to her full round breasts. The red dress she had on clung to her like a second skin from the middle of her thighs to just below her breasts. The belt around her middle separated the skintight lower portion from the two red silk triangles covering the front of her full round chest. The triangles were held in place over each breast by a variety of strips of red ribbon and small round string ties over her shoulders and to a red collar around her neck. The straps and ties apparently extended around her sides and across her back as well. The effect was to leave everything down the center, between her full, round creamy tits from the red satin collar to the belt completely open to my view. She had on red stockings, and four inch red heels. Her long blonde hair was parted on her right side, a portion hanging down on that side of her, with the bulk of her hair trailing down over her left shoulder in a loose braid that ended in several trailing wisps just below her left breast.
I stood there staring, wondering for a moment if this were the same woman that I ate lunch with only the day before.
"So are you going to invite me in?" she asked softly, her lips turned up in a smile.
"Um, yeah, as soon as I scrape my jaw up off the ground," I answered, stepping back and letting her walk in past me.
The red strings did indeed hold the dress together, her back bare except for the strings from the red collar down to just above the curve of her backside. "I'd take your coat, but fortunately for me Spring has sprung and it's warm enough to not need one."
"Fortunately for you?"
"Uh huh. I'd hate to have this view destroyed by a coat," I answered as I closed the door behind her.
"Well now, that is an interesting compliment. You don't mind if I return one, do you?"
"I wasn't fishing for one, but I won't turn one down."
"Good. Because I have to say, you fill those slacks out quite nicely," said with a little smirk.
I looked down and could see that the view had certainly made an impression and my quickly hardening cock was bulging out my Dockers significantly. "Uh, yeah. Sorry about that," I mumbled.
"Don't be sorry. It's a compliment that can't be faked," she said as she stood in the hallway, waiting.
"Well, come on back," I said, offering my hand to her, which she took. I led her down the hall to the large kitchen at the back of the house and then into the dining room. The bay window looked out over the valley behind my house, the setting sun casting shadows on the now greening trees as it sunk lower in the sky.
"My, this is some view," she said, looking out the bay window, across the patio and beyond. "Is all that yours?"
"Oh heavens no. It's mostly government land. Other than the occasional deer and turkey hunter, it's practically mine. For some reason it seems to get very little use."
"It's still a spectacular view." She said looking at the three mile long valley I considered to be my back yard.
"So the land on either side of you?"
"Farms. I only have this little forty acre plot."
"Little?"
"Compared to the sixteen thousand acres of state forest land behind me? Yeah, little."
"If you say so. Nice patio!"
"Thanks. I didn't build the house, but the patio, that was my creation. Couldn't stand that poured concrete. I think the flagstone looks a lot more rustic."
"Hmmm good with your hands, can cook, and has a nice cock. This date is already looking up!" she said with a smile, looking down at my pants.
I rolled my eyes and blushed before having to head back to the kitchen. Saved by the beeper! I put the linguini in to cook and poured two glasses of wine, carrying them out to where she still stood by the window.
