Meeting

Ever since I was a little kid, my dad would take me to one of the harbors in Chicago to live on his old cabin cruiser for a week. Together, we'd spend the days cruising the shoreline of Lake Michigan, tooling up and down the Chicago River, and fishing the deep waters offshore. Those were some of my best childhood memories.

When my dad passed a few years back, I traded his boat in for a newer model and kept the tradition going in his honor. When my own son is old enough someday, he can join me for my yearly week on the lake and share some of the same excitement that I always feel when I'm out on the big water.

This past year's trip was, by far, the most memorable, thanks to the wonderful and unexpected things that happened that week.

I always put in on a Wednesday and take the boat out the following Wednesday, giving me a weekend in between. Each day brought a different group to the dock where I was berthed. Friends, work buddies, and groups of relatives shuffled on and off my boat daily. Depending on their interests I would take them fishing, cruising up the river between the Chicago skyscrapers, or just going to the 'playpen', a sheltered area near Navy Pier where we could swim in the clean, clear water.

I like doing my trip each year at the end of August or early September, when the waters of Lake Michigan are at their warmest, and before the autumn chill sets in. The water temperature usually reaches the mid 70's by then and is pure joy to swim in.

It was Friday of my week on the water. I had already hosted several groups of visitors and was looking forward to a night of peace and solitude. I saw my last group off for the evening and settled in for the night. The boat was comfy, but as the sun set over the skyline, I felt restless and decided a little city night life might be nice.

I googled up "live music near me" and got a couple of decent choices within walking distance of the harbor. I secured the boat and strode ashore into the nearby neighborhoods.

The nearer of the two choices was a bar a few blocks from my dock that featured a band named Tame Shrew that night. The bar's web site described the band as driving hard rock. That sounded interesting and something I might enjoy, for a little while at least, before I checked out the jazz place that was next on the list.

I walked into McGafferty's and paid the cover. As I squeezed into the packed place, my ears were assaulted by the sheer volume of the band. Did they think that louder made them sound better? I decided to give them a chance to see if they had any dynamics, or if every song was played at 11.

I inched along the back wall of the place and peered over a small sea of gyrating dancers to glimpse the band. They had a female lead guitarist/singer and your classic set up -- a rhythm guitar, bass, and drummer. The drummer stuck out in particular as one of the more talented members of the group. He and the bass player laid down a good rhythm section that had the crowd boogying to their beat. The guitarists showed some promise, too, when they launched into some blistering double leads. I grew to like even them more when they switched things up and moved into some quieter tunes that featured rich 4-part vocal harmonies.

I was getting into it, trying to ignore the packed bodies vying for space all around me when I noticed a girl ahead of me getting jostled quite mercilessly by the pressing crowd. Her yellow dress and blondish hair was a stark contrast to the mostly black clad crowd around her. Her shapely form stood out amidst the other girls in the place, most of whom chose to cover themselves in black leather, chains and heavy eye makeup.

From behind, I would have thought she was twenty something like the rest of the crowd, but as she swayed to the music, I caught glimpses of her profile. Her features were more defined, her neck more graceful. She had a more mature look to her that intrigued me in this packed bar full of kids.

Like me, the little blonde in the yellow dress seemed to be trying to enjoy the band, but she was continuously bumped and elbowed further from the stage. I was as far back against the rear wall as I could be and the band launched into another loud hard rocker. The crowd roared and began dancing frenetically. This must have been one of their hits because their fans erupted with raucous energy.

My attention was drawn to the petite blonde. Her wavy dishwater blonde hair swung side to side as her body swayed. Her dress below the waist had layers of gauzy fabric that overlapped one another. Each layer would be see-thru on its own, but several overlapping layers obscured what I could tell was a nice butt underneath. She had smallish breasts and a thin waist that flared out from her hips to a perfect inverted heart-shaped ass.

Very cute, I thought to myself. I noticed how out of place she looked, just like I felt. By no choice of her own, the crowd was pushing her backward into me. One lumbering oaf in particular, I noticed, kept trying to grind into her and caused her to retreat further to avoid the brute's harassment.

Directly in front of me, she established her own place where she could turn her attention back to the band and try to dance in place amidst the crowd. She glanced back once to see me stoically surveying the room and quickly whipped her head around to return her gaze to the stage. Poor thing couldn't see a thing and the jerk in front of her kept dancing into her space. Was that his sloppy, boorish attempt at attracting her? What an idiot.

She moved back closer to me to avoid contact with the sneering troll. When she brushed against me she glanced backward and looked up at me with exasperation.

"Sorry," she said and inched a step forward.

The jerk who was harassing her took that to mean that she welcomed his crude advances and he began to gyrate and thrust his hips toward her, driving her back into me again.

"I'm really sorry," she offered again and pressed against me to avoid the punk's lewd behavior.

Ignoring me completely, the big jerk focused his lascivious glare on her and pressed closer into her space. I didn't mind her squeezing against me for protection, but this guy was obnoxious and needed to relax.

In an instant, my arm shot up between him and the girl and I nudged his shoulder rather forcefully. His eyes shot towards mine and were met by my steely-eyed glare.

When I had is attention, I said in a low voice, "Back off pal!"

"Who the hell are you?" he spat toward me, then glanced at her and back to me. "Is this your wife?"

Not even sure if this pathetic asshole deserved a response, I met his defiant glare with my best Clint Eastwood squint. The tension in the air was palpable as we both tensed for a fight.

I tightened my left fist, ready to deliver a stinging blow if need be, when I felt the girl grab hold of my left arm and pull herself against me. Using me as a shield against her aggressor, she shouted at her assailant defiantly, "Yes I am! Bug off!"

My opponent and I both looked at her in surprise. Her defiant stare seemed to release the tension and, seeing my determined no-nonsense stare, the brute seemed to deflate before our eyes. His shoulders slumped and he edged away from us into the crowd, but not before shooting daggers at us with his eyes.

She continued clinging to my arm as he receded into the crowd. Then she released her grip and moved around to face me. With her back toward the stage, she looked up at me and asked, "Are you security?"

I took in her sculpted face, framed by her wavy, blonde highlighted locks. Her expression was still slightly fearful in the wake of the tense situation that had just transpired. Her blue eyes shone.

"Not officially. Just as needed," I responded. "I thought you said I'm your husband!"

Flashing her perfectly white teeth, she laughed nervously and said, "Oh yeah, that's right. You were doing what any self-respecting husband would do in that situation."

"Of course," I agreed. Looking around in disgust, I added, "Bunch of animals in this place."

Glancing behind her to make sure the asshole was gone, she pressed against me and said, "Yes, thank you for protecting my honor, gallant husband. I definitely feel a lot safer next to you."

"My honor, sweet wife."

Continuing with the game, she stepped back and took both of my hands in hers. Looking me up and down and even peeking around behind me. As if examining livestock, she remarked, "Hey, it looks like I did pretty well for myself."

Raising her hands up, I slowly turned her in a circle admiring her shapely curves, and replied, "Are you kidding me? I'd say I hit the jackpot!"

She laughed again. God, what a pretty smile, I thought. What expressive, twinkling eyes. She saw the depth of my stare and grew shy, pulling away.

I reassured her, "You don't have anything to fear from me. I just couldn't stand here and watch that guy harass you like that."

"I'm glad you intervened," she said. "I couldn't even pay attention to my nephew with that guy all over me." She paused thoughtfully, touching a perfectly manicured nail to her lips, and added, "I'm just a little embarrassed that I threw you into the situation by saying I'm your wife."

"Well, it did the trick," I said. "Glad I was here."

She seemed relieved and appeared to relax a little.

I wanted to keep the conversation with her going and asked, "So, your nephew, huh?"

"Yeah," she lit up and said excitedly. "He's the drummer. His band is really taking off and I promised him I would come tonight!"

"Does he even know you're here?"

The din of the crowd and loud music brought her face nearer to mine. She practically shouted to be heard, "Probably not, but that's a good thing!"

"Why is that?" I asked, puzzled.

She continued, drawing nearer, "Because they've drawn a big crowd tonight. This is the biggest gig they've had yet, outside of the Twin Cities. That's where we're from." I felt the brush of her sweet breath as she spoke closely.

"As in Minneapolis-St. Paul?" I asked, and she nodded vigorously. I noticed her eyes dart to my lips momentarily as I spoke and hoped my breath was as pleasant to her. "That's a long way from here."

"Yeah, it was a long drive, but you know, gotta show support! I just wish Dylan could see me!"

She turned to face the band and returned to dancing in place to the heavy beat. Her swaying hair and frilly hem moved to the music and I admired her narrow waist and nicely shaped butt. She kept standing on tippy toes to gain a better view, which showed off her muscular calves, but didn't help her to see any better. I wanted to lift her and help her glimpse her nephew.

I wanted to touch her very badly and leaned forward, barely brushing her backside. Taking a chance, I said into her ear, "Want me to lift you up so you can see the band better?"

She turned to me. Again, the fingertip to mouth with a thoughtful pause before she finally agreed, "Okay, maybe for a minute. I just hope I'm not too heavy."

I turned her toward the stage and grabbed her by the waist. "1, 2, 3, up!" She hopped upward and I lifted her like a feather. I could hoist her, but only for a while before my arms began to quiver. My hands pressed hard into her sides to maintain her. She was waving hysterically over the crowd.

I lowered her slightly and called up to her, "Set your feet down on top of my thighs!"

She looked down as I lowered her more. Just before she touched my legs, she wiggled her sandals off and they fell to each side of me. She wriggled her toes until they reached my thighs then came to rest there, the burning in my shoulders and arms subsiding as my legs now held most of her weight.

She wiggled a little unsteadily there and I called up to her, "I can hold you much better if I do this!" I shifted my hands from her waist, moving quickly, one at a time, to her thighs. I latched on to her legs just above the knee and she immediately felt more stable.

I called up again, "Feel better?" and couldn't resist squeezing slightly to demonstrate how firm my grip now was. She stood as tall as she could and reached back to run her nails through the hair at my temples. I took that to mean yes.

Raised up, head and shoulders above the crowd, she began waving her arms wildly and shouting, "Dylan! Dylan! I love you, Dylan!"

The gauzy material of her skirt was right in front of me, sexy and layered, and covering her very shapely ass. I wanted to poke my head under the hem of her skirt and breathe in her womanly scent. Her faint perfume was subtle and very pleasant.

My hands were firmly wrapped around her lower thighs holding her steady. I wanted to slide them up her legs and feel her warmth but didn't want to make her feel unsteady. Such thoughts and the nearness of her backside to my face made me quickly grow very plump.

To gain better purchase, she moved her feet around on top of my quads. Her left foot brushed my thickening member and I felt her tense in my grip. Then, while she continued to wave and call to her nephew, her foot moved lightly over the lump in my left pant leg and explored its length. Her outstretched toe found the bulbous head and gently roved over it, her toe tips massaging it through my pants.

Nearly as soon as it happened, her foot retreated and she signaled to be brought down. I helped her to alight softly on the ground. Then I bent to retrieve her sandals. On one knee at her feet, I slipped her sandals onto each of her delicate feet.

With her hand resting on top of my head for balance, she said, "No need to propose all over again, Sir Galahad. We're already married, remember?"

With her shoes back on, I stood and faced her. "How could I forget?" I said playfully. She smiled back at me beautifully. I wanted to bend and kiss her then, but still wasn't sure how she'd feel about it. I asked, "Did your nephew see you?"

"Yes!" she replied excitedly. "We got a clear view of each other across the room, and he waved at me, too!"

"Really?" I remarked. "I didn't even notice him skip a beat."

"He's just that good!" she laughed. "I also caught a glimpse of that lout that was bothering me. He's thrash dancing in front of the stage. What a complete asshole."

"I promise he won't bother you anymore," I said reassuringly.

In the midst of the loud music and jostling bodies surrounding us, a moment of silence followed, and I sensed the return of trepidation on her part. I bent down and whispered, "It's really okay. Shall we move over by the bar, have a drink and maybe have a little more room to dance?"

She smiled thoughtfully, then said, "Okay. Lead on!"

I started maneuvering through the crowd and applied slow but constant pressure toward my destination. Gradually, I worked my way to the bar. I felt her hook her finger through the belt loop at the back of my shorts. Slowly towing her through the crowd, she followed closely behind in my wake.

After much jostling and the occasional 'Pardon me. Excuse me', we made it to the back corner of the bar. From where we stood near the back of the place, it stretched the length of the room, stopping just short of the dance floor and stage.

She leaned into me a shouted over the din, "This is much better, thanks! I can actually see Dylan a little bit from this angle."

"Happy to lift you up and hold onto those sweet thighs of yours again if you want."

She mock-swatted at me and laughed, "Thank you, no, Mr. Grabby Legs!"

Not only was she hot and sexy, she also had a quick wit about her. I pressed on, asking, "So what can I get my dear wife to drink?"

The finger pressed to her lips one more time as she pondered. Adorable, I thought. Then she said, "How about we have a shot of tequila."

"Sounds good!" I replied and leaned into the bar, the international sign that one needs a drink. The bartender was occupied at the opposite end and hadn't noticed me. I remained leaning against the bar and turned to see her examining me very thoughtfully. She was swaying in time with the music and now appeared more at ease next to me. I smiled and cocked my head toward the bartender.

She nodded to me and smiled back, then moved in closer. She leaned into me and looked up at me. Again I wanted to bend and kiss her and would have, but before I could, she said, "If we're married, I really should know your name, don't you think?"

"It's Jim. Jim Hart. And you are?"

"Donna. Donna Potelkin from St. Paul, Minnesota," she said with a slight smile and shook my hand.

"Nice to know you, Mrs. Hart," I said with a mischievous smile, and kissed the back of her hand.

She quickly drew her hand back, looking slightly embarrassed again, and said, "I'm not sure Mr. Potelkin would approve of this little game we're playing."

"Is he here?" I asked.

"No, he's back in St. Paul. He doesn't like loud music, or Chicago for that matter."

"Oh, that's too bad," I said, thinking of how glad I was that he was hundreds of miles away. Trying to ease her fears, I said, "So what's Mr. Potelkin like?"

"I'll show you. Tell me what you see," she said playfully and then struck a pose. She folded her arms under her pert breasts and stood as stiff as a board. She jutted out her chin and assumed a very serious expression that was nearly a scowl.

I examined her posture and expression and replied thoughtfully, "Very serious. Very conservative. All business. Doesn't go in much for fun and frivolity."

She smiled briefly and said, "What else?" Then she took up her stoic pose again, frowning more deeply and furrowing her eyebrows.

"A little domineering, possessive, even jealous. Generally disapproves of fun in any shape or form. Am I right?" I said and she nodded in agreement. Then I asked, "So how did he allow you out of his sight for a weekend in Chi-town?"

She relaxed her pose and returned to her normal self, thank goodness. "Well, like I said, he isn't into my nephew's music, hates road trips, and has no use for Chicago." Then she took on a demure, innocent pose and added, laughing, "I, on the other hand, like all those things, and I like to have fun!" Looking at me shyly, she added, "I promised him I would be a good girl on this trip, though."

"Aren't you always?" I asked teasingly.

"Of course," she replied brightly, adding with a smirk, "sometimes it's more fun to just be a little bit naughty."

Just then the bartender came up to us and asked, "So what can I get the happy couple?"

I smiled at her then turned to the bartender and said, "Two shots of tequila, chilled please, with limes." He bustled off to prepare our drinks.

Changing the subject, she said, "Now how about you tell me about Mrs. Hart."

"Okay," I replied. "Tell me what you see."

I visibly slumped where I stood and took on a sad, slightly fearful expression, staring wistfully at the wall behind her.

She took in my new look and commented, "Not very energetic. Not a very happy person, either. Fearful, always worrying. Am I right?"

"You're right on," I said, returning to my own self. "She doesn't like the city much, hates crowds, and doesn't enjoy boating in the least."

Donna looked puzzled and looked around from side to side, saying, "I don't see any boats around here!"

"Nope, no boats around here," I agreed. "Mine is down at the harbor. I'm staying on it for the week. My annual getaway."

"How exotic," she exclaimed. "A lonely seaman, stranded ashore."

"I prefer mariner, but yes," I said flatly and she giggled.

The bartender appeared with two large shots of chilled tequila and set them in front of us. He set down a small container of lime wedges and said, "Here's to the newlyweds." He smiled and left with the twenty I had laid on the bar. I passed her drink to her.

Lifting mine, I proposed a toast, "To the newlyweds," I said, watching her cautiously.

She raised hers and clinked her glass softly to mine. Winking, she said, "To the newlyweds."