Romance From The Personals

Many readers expect my stories to be strictly descriptions of fun sex, and usually that is what I write. This story, however, is about a relationship between a man and a woman. Sex is part of it, near the end, but it is only a part, not the entire story. If you want pure sex, I advise you to read the tale by Damppanties or some of my other stories.

*

"Tall," Aaron finally decided was the right thing to call himself. He wanted to mention his height and, at five feet, ten inches, he was, after all, taller than average. "Athletic," he added. He was a pretty good bowler and played softball, although poorly, at the office picnics and worked out at the gym a couple of times a week. Although a few pounds overweight, it didn't seem to be too much of an exaggeration to use in describing himself. He could see no benefit to be derived from actually lying, but he wanted to make himself out to be as desirable as he reasonably could.

The first phrase had been easy: "Single white male", was simple and straightforward and necessary. He felt he was not really in a position to establish many requirements, and didn't care about the hypothetical woman's race or ethnicity anyhow, but many women, he knew, were quite concerned about such things. After describing himself as tall and athletic, he listed his correct age, 42, his brown hair and blue eyes, and added the information that he worked as an accountant and had a Bachelor's degree. Hopefully, any woman reading his profile in the newspaper would assume that he was reasonably well off financially, which he was. Even though it didn't seem very romantic, he thought it would be a good idea to portray himself as being solvent and financially stable, but he didn't want to come right out and say it.

Aaron once again read the directions and recommendations at the top of the personals section. They said flatly they would not accept the profiles submitted by someone just looking for sex, but that was not a problem to him. Although he was hoping for sex, of course, he wanted it to be part of a long-term relationship, possibly leading to marriage. "Looking for a woman, any race, 35 to 45 yo, for a serious relationship," completed his first sentence. He decided that "serious relationship" would convey the potential for marriage, but would not make it seem to be a requirement. He didn't fear making a commitment, and was actually hoping for the opportunity to do so, if the right woman responded, but he didn't want to be committed to making a commitment. He smiled as the combination of words passed through his mind.

"Now, what do I like?" he asked himself. "Dining out? Absolutely." He had quickly gotten tired of his own cooking and he could afford it and really liked good food, so he ate out more often than not. "Long walks on the beach? Nah, especially not in the winter." In his opinion, most people didn't really like walking on the beach but they thought it sounded romantic. Cuddling in front of a fireplace sounded like fun so he added it. The almost non-existent amount of cuddling he had done had been extremely enjoyable and doing it in front of a fireplace sounded even better.

He wasn't much for dancing and he wasn't a big fan of spectator sports so he didn't mention those. Aaron did like movies and he attended a lot of them, so he added that as one of his likes. Lacking anybody to go with him, he went by himself but he thought it better that he not mention that, or that many of the movies were pornographic. After including his fondness for cats, Aaron enclosed his application in the envelope he had prepared earlier. Maybe it wouldn't do any good, and maybe it would, but it was certainly worth a try. He was sick and tired of being alone.

Insofar as feminine companionship goes, Aaron McHale had been alone all his life. In high school, he had been so shy around girls as to almost constitute a phobia. He still had painful memories of the times he had actually worked up enough courage to ask a girl for a date, and how his suggestion had been met with her cruel laughter over his discomfiture. After the third time, he never tried it again.

Not only had Aaron been unable to approach a girl, he had none of the qualities that might have induced one of his more liberated female acquaintances to approach him. Although no Quasimodo, he was also not even close to handsome. He had never been good at team sports and was too stiff and clumsy to dance, even if his extreme shyness would have permitted it. His family was poor and he hadn't owned a car or been well-dressed. In other words, he had been too shy to be the pursuer of girls and not desirable enough to be the pursued. His adolescence was spent in his own company and in the company of other untouchables.

College was more of the same, except for the unattainable females usually being older and of a generally better class. Since he had to work nights as well as being a full time student in the daytime, he didn't have many chances anyhow. After he had graduated and begun to ply his profession, things improved, but very little. At least he was able to lose his virginity to a drunken, middle-aged data entry clerk at an office Christmas party. Even then, he had been inept and ignorant of what she wanted him to do, and she had avoided him ever since. The clerk seemed to have no interest in any further relationship, and he was still too shy to ever approach her again. There was one major improvement, however; he was making good money and was able to afford an occasional visit to a call girl when he became bored with masturbating.

So, at 42 years of age, Aaron was in the process of advertising for a girl friend. Any time he had ever heard anybody mention someone doing such a thing, it had been to deride that person as being strictly a loser, but Aaron didn't care. He thought of himself as being the Charlie Brown of losers, at least as far as romance was concerned. Even his female equivalent, if there could be a woman who was as big a loser as he, would be better than no one. After mailing the application to the personals section of the local newspaper, Aaron went to bed to pleasant dreams of cuddling in front of the fireplace with a Jennifer Lopez look-alike.

A few days later, he received a response from the newspaper. They had accepted his application and his profile would appear one week from the date of the letter. The response included a password to a mailbox, so he could call a 900 number and record a message that might include information that was not in his advertisement. He would also be able to listen to answers, if there were any. His ad in the personals section was free but the newspaper was not being altruistic. Anybody responding would pay by the minute to do so and he would also pay to listen to their responses. Recently, he had thought of some more things he wanted to say about himself and he called to record a greeting to any callers, including the additional details. That night, the Jennifer Lopez clone was replaced by a woman who was the exact image of Angelina Jolie. His dreams lately had been vastly better than his real life had ever been.

Finally, the day arrived when his advertisement appeared in the morning newspaper. Although sitting alone, as always, at his kitchen table while he drank his coffee, Aaron felt self-conscious as he read about himself. Impetuously, he called the 900 number and punched in his mailbox and password, hoping he already had multiple answers. He was disappointed when he was informed there were none, but consoled himself with the knowledge that it was still early, and that there might be many responses waiting for him when he returned that evening. As he drove to work, the woman cavorting with him in his imagination could have been the twin sister of Beyonce Knowles.

"Single White male, tall, athletic, 42 yo, brown hair, blue eyes, accountant, Bachelor's degree, looking for a woman, any race, 35 to 45 yo for a serious relationship," read the first sentence in the personal advertisement that caught Terri Parker's eye. She smiled because the man being described sounded like just the guy she was hoping to find, and had wanted to find for her entire life. She believed she had always wanted a man like him, even though she hadn't realized it until now.

He liked dining out, and that was good because she didn't like to cook. He liked cuddling in front of the fireplace? Well, who wouldn't? She was glad he liked movies and especially glad he liked cats. Terri liked cats too although she wasn't allowed to have one in her apartment. "This guy sounds pretty good," she told herself. "I hope he doesn't turn out to be an axe murderer or something like that." She didn't need to leave for her job as a computer programmer for a while and she decided she was going to call the 900 number that was listed for a woman to call if she was responding to a profile placed by a man.

Before doing that, Terri made a list of the things she wanted to say about herself. Although quite intelligent, she thought better on paper than when there was pressure being placed on her, such as talking into a recording device. Since the man who had placed the advertisement was tall, she decided to stretch her own height to five feet, six inches. She was a little shorter but that was close enough. Some people, when they were being nice, called her "pleasantly plump" but she knew better. Still, she didn't want to describe herself as being fat, so "cuddly" was the term she chose. He had said he liked cuddling so she decided that was a good word to use, and honest enough to get by. Giving her true age, forty, was no problem because it was right in the middle of his preferred range.

Brown hair and brown eyes were added to the list. Terri decided against mentioning her Italian-French-German ancestry. The guy seemed to not care about ethnicity anyhow. Her Bachelor's degree and her job were equal to his and she had no problem including them. Terri was glad he hadn't mentioned long walks on the beach because it had always seemed to her that was a silly waste of time. She decided that, except for liking cats and movies, she wouldn't mention any hobbies or personal preferences. For one thing, she didn't really have any others and, for another, she would discuss them with the man as the relationship progressed, if it did, indeed, progress.

Terri called the 900 number and punched in the mailbox when told to do so. His name was Aaron, she learned, along with the fact that he liked bowling and playing softball and worked out regularly. She really liked his voice, determined but just a bit nervous, much as hers would be, she knew, when she talked about herself. When the recorder came on, she read the details off the list, adding her telephone number. There was a small risk in that; there was always the chance he might be some kind of telephone stalker, but it was a risk she had decided to take.

"I have crossed a bridge," she told herself. "But I haven't burned it behind me." If Aaron turned out to be some kind of creep, she could change her telephone number and report him to the newspaper, which had a vested interest in cracking down on weirdoes who tried to abuse the system. She had a good feeling about him, though. As Terri drove to work, she imagined herself cuddling in front of a fireplace with a tall, broad-shouldered athlete, each of them scratching the ears of a purring cat.

Her greetings to her coworkers were perfunctory and Terri went directly to her own cubicle to work on the assignment she had started the previous day. Nobody sought her out for a friendly chat and she didn't go to join anybody. She wasn't actually unfriendly, just not sociable, and the others, after having made half-hearted attempts to draw her into their cliques or cabals, accepted this and left her to herself. She had no problem with that, and actually preferred it.

Terri had been that way ever since she was a little girl. An only child, she also had no close relatives and her parents had been undemonstrative, with little use for chit-chat. There were other girls and boys in her neighborhood and in the elementary school she attended but Terri had no interest in getting to know them and they had no interest in her. In high school and later in college, she continued to keep her own company. Although she did nothing overt to discourage anybody who might have wanted to date her or even become close friends, she also did nothing to encourage such intimacy. This was not entirely her choice; it was more a matter of not knowing how to make friends.

Early in her life, Terri discovered there was a special place between her legs that, when rubbed, would produce a very warm, pleasant feeling. She spent a fair amount of time in her bed, rubbing herself there before falling asleep. In college, she saw her roommate's dildo and asked what it was and what it was for. The other woman could hardly believe such naiveté but patiently explained those particular facts of life to her. Terri quickly understood the advantages of the toy, compared to just using her fingers and bought her own as soon as possible. The first time she used it, she was surprised by the sudden sharp pain, which quickly subsided, and a trickle of blood. After the brief pain, the pleasure was incredible, especially when combined with her fingers stroking her special place, which she soon learned to call her clit. For the rest of her time in college, including the summers that she spent with her parents, the dildo had a reserved place under her mattress and was used frequently.

After college, she lived alone, ate alone and went to movies alone. One of her favorite things about her job was that she worked primarily by herself. Sometimes coworkers would ask her advice, or she would ask theirs, but immediately after the technical discussion ended, the conversation would die. Terri didn't see anything wrong with any of this or even anything unusual.

She was aware of her biological clock ticking but never had any impulse to do anything about it until one day she read a story in a newspaper. It was a rather maudlin article about an old woman, childless and never married, who had died, surrounded by her cats, but otherwise alone in her bungalow. Terri realized that she would be that woman in a few years. Although not allowed to have pets in her apartment, she had been saving money, intending to soon buy a small house, which she would share with a few friendly kitties.

Until then, Terri had been satisfied with the sex life her dildo had provided, and with the social life she had at work and vicariously with actors in the movies and television, limited as those outlets were. Abruptly, neither was enough, and the suddenly-realized lack had led her to look around for companionship, especially male. The men at work were all married or otherwise taken, and she didn't know anybody else. This led her to the personals section in the local newspaper and the profile that had been placed there by Aaron. She didn't know where else it would lead but she wanted to find out and was willing to take what she considered to be the minor risks involved.

Aaron drove straight home from work, not stopping for a beer at the neighborhood bar as he sometimes did. Snatching up the newspaper that was still open to the personals section and the letter he had received a week earlier, he went to the telephone and sat down. Eagerly, Aaron dialed the 900 number and his mailbox and password. There were four messages. The first was from a woman named Terri and she told him, in a pleasant voice, details about herself that he was very happy to know. Everything she said in her description was what he would have included if he had designed a woman for himself. There weren't very many details but the few she divulged were just what he wanted to hear. He wrote down her telephone number, anxious to call her, but first he would listen to whatever other messages had been left for him.

The second one was a male voice trumpeting "Hey loser!" followed by an equally loud raspberry. Apparently some guy had nothing better to do than to dial a 900 number and pay to deliver a Bronx cheer.

The third message was, at least, from a woman. In a rather irritating voice, she described the virtues of her beautiful, unmarried daughter and told him how he would be a fool if he didn't call her telephone number immediately and ask her out. Aaron wrote down the number she gave but didn't think he would be calling it.

The last message was also from a woman, who went into some detail about her superior sexual attributes. "I really love having a guy play with my boobs," was one of the milder things she said about her sexual preferences. Any interest she might have piqued was dashed when she asked what kind of car he drove and how much money he made. Aaron wrote down the phone number she left also, but only for the purpose of including it in the list of call girls he sometimes contacted.

Once again Aaron listened to the first message and he was even more enthralled by what she had to say. He recorded the details and verified that he had written down the correct telephone number. The other messages weren't worth listening to again, although the fourth one had been rather arousing. "I am going to call this woman," he swore to himself. "And see what happens."

As Aaron dialed the number, it occurred to him that he hardly felt shy at all about calling her. This somewhat surprised him because of the reactions he had always had when doing anything of the sort. Before he could think any more about that, he heard the phone ringing on the other end. And ringing several more times. Finally, he heard a voice, the same pleasant voice as earlier. It was a recording but that was allright, because she sounded just as nice as she had before, although a little more relaxed. He waited until a "beep" told him it was time to leave a message.

"Hi, Terri? This is Aaron from the personals. You seem really nice and I'd like to get to know you better." Having nothing to add, he suggested she might call him because he would be home all that evening, and recited his telephone number.

After hanging up, Aaron had time to think about what he had just done and what he was in the process of doing. He felt good about it, especially at how he had almost no feelings of shyness and hadn't trembled or been tongue-tied while he was on the telephone. Maybe," he thought, "it's because I'm talking on the phone and not looking at her or trying to make eye contact. Or maybe it's because I know she's really interested and she knows I know it so she won't be pretending she's not."

Aaron already knew a few good things about Terri. She was obviously not some joker calling just for kicks, and she was apparently calling for herself. She almost certainly wasn't a gold-digger. If she were, would she have admitted to being forty years old? Aaron didn't think so, and decided he would have to stay home that night, hoping she would return his call. For supper, he heated a can of chili, one of the things he kept handy for quick meals, in the microwave.

Terri had to work late that evening and when she came home, she was surprised to see her answering machine blinking. Except for people asking for money or trying to sell her stuff she didn't want or need, she received hardly any phone calls, and those few callers rarely left messages. "Maybe it's Aaron," she told herself, and punched the button to play the message even before she took off her jacket.

It was Aaron! In the same voice that she had liked that morning, he said she seemed nice and that he wanted to get to know her. He left his phone number and, impulsively, she picked up the telephone and started to dial it – his HOME number this time. However, she stopped herself; she didn't know what she wanted to say. While heating some canned stew in her microwave, she wrote down things, she wanted to ask him and things to tell him. While eating her rather underheated meal, she racked her brain to think of more and by the time she was done, there was a short list, including nothing confidential about herself but some personal questions she wanted to ask.