Choral groups; the stage; local productions of any and all sizes; those were his passions away from work. Freedom from market restraints was the apple. Interaction with an entirely new group of people every couple months or so didnât hurt. Every once in a while a new person piqued his interest. This time it was a strawberry blonde in the alto section. Joe knew he had found a rose amongst the thorns.
She was young and modestly attractive. She was told it was her perky attitude that brought her so much attention. Personally the figured it was that or the hair coloring sheâd used just before joining this choral group. This latest color from Clairol was as hot as sheâd ever picked. It brightened an already effusive demeanor and showed off her dimples just right. Deb liked being noticed.
She knew he was studying her from the third practice on. She slowly began to let him know that she was interested. Sometimes it was a coy glance between numbers, or across the room after practice. Once she brushed against him as she slid into her row after break. His lean, muscled buttocks didnât disappoint her mind, and enticed a further glance when he wasnât looking.
Joe finally decided to break the thawing ice a week before the performance. He strolled to where she was talking with Alice, the lead Alto, and picked up a few details. âCats, dogs & other petsâ seemed to be the topic of conversation. When Alice walked out to visit the water fountain, he said (nearly to himself), âIâve got an old, broken-down cat. Loveable though.â He was almost surprised, yet pleased when Deb turned toward him.
âAn old cat, huh? What kind of pet is that for a tenor?â The mischievous smile tugged at the corners of her eyes. âSurely you have a dog, or a woverine or something more manly?â
Joeâs lips curled into a smile, âNope, never saw the need. My cat and I keep the apartment nice and quiet enough without the racket a dog makes. How about you, Deb? What pets do you prefer?â
Deb smiled wider, glad to finally have a legitimate conversation with this man. âI prefer a dog. Or would if I could. Our Building Super is hell on pets! I saw him press charges against my down-stairs neighbor over a goldfish.â
Joe shook his head. The thought of a lawsuit over a goldfish was ludicrous. He briefly wondered if she was making it up. âYouâre in an apartment, eh? How long you been there?â
The conversation might have gone like that for another hour, but Joe noticed that break was nearly over and finally asked her out for coffee after practice. âSure,â she said. Right away Joe knew they had similar interests.
That evening at Starbucks they let their hair down. Joe admired her figure as they walked to the coffee bar. He decided she must be at least a âCâ cup, and her hips were well-proportioned. The hair was just the icing on the cake.
Deb admired Joeâs manners. At least he didnât drool while he was trying to decide if everything was ânaturalâ. His pecs twitched beguilingly as she hung on to his arm, letting him walk her to their table. That arm, strong and stable, spoke of workouts galore.
When their latteâs arrived, she asked him about it, too. He said, âThanks,â and sure, he worked out twice a week at the gym. But the real toning was done at his home. He jumped on his weights there any time he had 10 minutes to kill, and that kept him in good shape. She cocked an eyebrow, and hoped he had a balanced workout.
Just as they were rising there was a commotion at the register. Some bastard in a mask had a gun out, and was threatening the teller. Deb gasped, backpedaling to their table. Joe saw the bandit and something overcame him. He became â dangerous.
The crook had his back to the rest of the restaurant, and even though there was a mirror above the register, he didnât see Joe coming. Joeâs tackle threw the gun out of the manâs hand and into the glassware across from the entry, knocking over cups and glasses. They both hit the ground, and the mask flounced up, obscuring the banditâs vision. Joe rolled up and around behind the man, holding onto an arm, and quickly had him pinned face-down in a wrestlerâs hold. By then another patron and the gal at the register had finally reacted to the chain of events and jumped to Joeâs assistance. Everyone cheered, and once the felon was securely tied onto a chair, Deb ran gushing to Joeâs side.
âOh, Joe, you were marvelous!â Debâs sincerity came through, as though the crook had been holding her up. âI canât believe you just ran up and tackled the guy!â
Joe, sweaty and hyperventilating, began to blush at the praise. âOh, it wasnât that much. I just felt I had to do something. Besides, it wasnât a real gun anyway!â
Several people heard that comment, and a resounding, âHuh?â was muttered.
âThatâs right,â Joe said, starting to grin, âthat guy only had a plastic gun for this job. He probably would have used tonightâs drawer to buy himself a real one. Didnât you see it? The end of the barrel had a big chip in the plastic!â
The crowd, and Deb, didnât seem to care. Deb rewarded him with a sincere, full-body kiss, pressing her chest and hips into him. Joe, pleasantly surprised, accepted it, and wondered how he could arrange this on their next date.
By then the police had arrived and had to take everyoneâs statement. By the time they were allowed to leave, it was after 10:00. Reluctantly Deb and Joe said goodbye and got into their respective cabs. But not before they agreed to meet and celebrate the night of the performance.
The musical performance wasnât appreciated nearly as much as Joeâs performance at Starbucks. Yet the pitches rang true in most spots and the audience didnât seem to mind the ones that were slightly off. After all, they were only out a fiver even if they deplored it. Deb and Joe traded glances throughout, and Joe was pleased to see the deep collar on Debâs dress. Every time she took a deep breath for a sustained passage, the collar expanded to capacity. At the end of every passage, the effort used to expel the air left a wonderful little shadow between her breasts. Joe actually lost his place on pages 7 and 15 while he was otherwise distracted.
Deb liked what she saw. Joe was dressed up in black slacks and a white dress shirt, topped off with a bow tie and a black dress jacket. His pecs were hidden, but his abs worked to push air into and out of his lungs on a regular basis. His high, sweet voice seemed to pulsate in her mind, and she lost her place once, missing an entrance because of a casual glance in his direction.
After the performance the choir all met behind the stage for the obligatory âpartyâ. Really nothing more than a cookie or two and a drink for parched throats, the group toasted each section leader, the pianist, and the director for all the glorious contributions. All the while, the glances between Deb and Joe began to build, reaching a dull, smoldering red heat as the last congratulations were uttered.
Deb felt a blush in her cheeks as they neared each other. When Joe offered her his arm for the walk out, Deb was afraid he would feel the shudder of delight as they touched. The blush began to spread.
Joe could see Debâs expression intensify towards the end of the celebration. When he offered her is arm, he was pleased to feel the tremble of her hand on his arm as they walked out. He asked confidently, bluntly, âYour place, or mine Deb?â
Deb leaned into him at the curb, and whispered into his ear, âYours, Joe.â