."..But don't let me be lonely tonight," Paul Simon sang, just before I turned the engine off, pulled the key from the ignition, and got out of my car. I walked across the parking lot and up the steps to my apartment. Standing on the landing, trying to make the key fit into the lock, I heard the phone start to ring. The lock finally turned, and I opened the door and ran to the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hi sexy. What are you wearing?"
I laughed. Tim always asked me that. "Hi, Tim, how are you? I'm in work clothes. I just got home."
"Take them off."
"Now that sounds like an interesting proposition. Want to come over and watch?"
"Much as I love watching you take your clothes off, tonight I have a different idea. Let's go out. I was thinking of that pub in St. Johns. Could you use a beer?"
"That would hit the spot. What time?"
"How much time do you need to change your clothes and shift out of manager mode?
"How about twenty minutes?" I asked, after quickly calculating how long it would take to get there through office-escapee traffic.
"Sounds good. Oh, and Mary? Do me a favor. Don't wear a bra."
"I'll see what I can do." I teased back. "See ya there." I hung up the phone and smiled. I like going out with Tim after work. He laughs at the right places in my stories of the antics of my subordinates.
Tim and I are best described as very good friends who sleep together. In the alphabetical list of relationship vocabulary, we have only made it through the "C"s. "I care for you." We have a long way to go before we make it to the "L" word. We have toyed with the idea of escalating our relationship to greater heights in the commitment arena, but our timing is always off. In the five years since we met, whenever one of has been thinking there might be possibilities of a future together, the other was stuck on the things about our relationship that drove us nuts. Consequently, our friendship has never diminished, but the physical part has sometimes been derailed during the occasional periods when potential "for lifers" came in and out of each of our lives. Between our "for lifers," Tim and I always drifted back into the bedroom. We are very compatible in some ways, but rather incompatible in others. One place where timing and compatibility has never been an issue is in bed. He is a pretty satisfying lay.
Tim has the perfect body for me. He is tall and slender, with muscular shoulders, a sleek waist, and a tight ass that begs to be fondled and squeezed. His cock is thick and long, and hard as steel whenever it's been called into service. His face is handsome in a boyish way. He reminds me of Richie Cunningham from Happy Days. Despite his unquestionably above-average looks, Tim lacks confidence. He doesn't think much of how he looks, calling himself too skinny. He wears baggy sweaters and pants that he thinks make him look more bulky, but that I think look too big. Tim's lack of self-confidence is one of the factors in the relationship that has kept me from pursuing a future with him. There are some other things as well.
Although Tim is good in bed, mainly due to the way he touches me and to the size of his cock, he is a little too wholesome for me. I secretly cling to a stereotype that possibly because he was raised as a Catholic, Tim is a little stuck in some conventional, Victorian thinking that I assume came from his days as an alter boy. Tim is great in bed as long as he initiates, and as long as we are in missionary position. When I suggest things I would like to do, or positions I would like to try, Tim seems squeamish and reluctant, shutting me down with statements like, "I wouldn't be comfortable with that." I only suggested that he watch me masturbate—it isn't like I was asking him to let me dress him up in a French maid's uniform and whip him.
My stereotypical perception is that Catholicism perpetuates the myth that women are for procreation, and it that is "wrong" for men to experience and enjoy sexual feelings and thoughts about them. Whatever the truth about Catholicism, Tim fits my image of a kid who has grown up influenced by strong teaching about morals, rights, wrongs, sin, and penitence. I have always thought that Tim and I could have a very bright future if only he were a little more willing to experiment sexually, and able to move into a moral code that allowed a little more frolic and freedom. I'll probably never be able to play the slut with Tim, but for now, as long as he is willing to fuck me now and then, I accept him as he is, and I enjoy his company, no matter how limited our relationship might be.
I walked down the hall to my bedroom to change my clothes. 'The first thing to go are the shoes and nylons' I thought, as I kicked off the pumps, and peeled out of the pantyhose and left them where they lay. Next, I shrugged off my jacket and pulled a wooden hanger from the closet. I unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor. Picking it up and hooking it in the clips on the hanger under the shoulders of the jacket, I returned my office attire to the closet, and stood there in my blouse and underwear. Reaching both arms up behind my neck, I unbuttoned my silk blouse as far down as I could reach. Pulling it up over my head, I bunched it into a wad and tossed it at my dry cleaning basket in the corner, but missed.
