#1: Eric
If you are part of my generation, you'll remember the despicable newspaper advice columnist Ann Landers. Occasionally, she would publish a letter from a reader, relating an interesting story of how he met his wife.
Over the years, I've been collecting stories of how men met their wives, or how wives met their husbands. These are stories that Ann never would have published. Here's the story of how Eric met Nicole. Of course, the names and details have been fictionalized for privacy.
If you have an interesting story, please contact me using the feedback form. Remember to provide your email address so I can get back to you.
Soon after I graduated from college, I inherited a sum of money from my grandmother. I had never been short of money, but this was far more that I'd ever had before. It wasn't enough to support me for the rest of my life, but it was enough that I certainly needed professional help managing it. The executor of my grandmother's estate gave me the name of a financial advisor and I made an appointment.
The advisor's office was in a nondescript building in an office park. The reception area was furnished with a few modest chairs and some magazines, and there was a receptionist at a metal desk. As I approached her, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a picture on the side wall and I stopped and turned, startled to find such an item in so mundane a situation.
It was a photograph of a nude young woman, shown full-length. It was a large photo, nearly life size. The model was standing, one hand on her hip, her head thrown back, beautiful auburn hair cascading down her neck. She was laughing, a great big belly-laugh, as if she'd just heard the funniest joke ever.
This was no simple photograph taken with a camera from Wal-Mart, nor a snapshot taken by a boyfriend or a pornographer. I'm hardly a trained connoisseur, but I realized this was a work of art of the highest quality, produced by a master photographer.
The model's skin was very pale, and she was photographed against a white background. The lighting was carefully arranged for the subtlest of shadows, creating the effect of nearly pure unbroken whiteness. Aside from her hair, the only hints of color were a small, carefully trimmed patch of pubic hair, slightly redder than auburn, and large rose-colored nipples.
The technique was impeccable, with detail unimaginable in a photo so large. Each wisp of hair was distinct, and her skin was so luminous you wanted to touch its softness, the texture showing just the slightest hint of glisten. Even the frame was museum-quality, made of an exotic wood of just the right color to compliment the auburn and rose colors.
But what made the picture so striking was the model's pose, completely relaxed and open. You could see little of her face, because it was tilted back, but the little you could see, combined with the body language of her arms and the slight tilt of her legs, conveyed an unmistakable sense of joy and happiness. There was no mistaking that she was in the company of close friends that she loved dearly.
Even if I'd encountered this photograph in a top art museum, I would have been struck by its quality, but finding it in the suburban office of my financial advisor was nothing short of disorienting. Eventually, I remembered why I was there and I went to the receptionist's desk and introduced myself, and it occurred to me that, regardless of quality, a photo of a nude woman was an unusual item for an office.
"It's a beautiful photo," I said. She nodded. "It's an unusual subject for a financial advisor." The receptionist, a rather squat thirty-year-old, probably mother of two small children, just gave me a knowing smile and didn't comment. I didn't understand what the smile meant.
After a few minutes, the advisor came to greet me. I complimented him on the photo and he thanked me and escorted me to a small conference room, furnished with an inexpensive table, a few chairs, and a full bookshelf.
On one wall was yet another beautiful picture, also a large photo of a nude woman. I was pretty sure it was the same model, because I recognized the auburn hair and rose-colored nipples. This picture was taken from above, looking down on her as she lay on her back on a white bed, knees pulled up a little, with her arm draped over her eyes, displaying a perfectly hairless soft underarm. Her hair splayed out onto a snow-white pillow. Like the photo in the reception area, this was nearly all white, except near the center of the composition was a brown mass of hair between the model's legs. It was the back of another woman's head, curls of hair draping over the thighs of the primary model. You could see the head and neck and shoulders of the brown-haired girl, but most of her body was outside the photo.
The primary model's eyes were covered by her arm, but her mouth left no doubt what was happening. Her lips were slightly parted and she was caught in the midst of a slight gasp. Like the first photograph, this one was perfect composed and perfectly executed with the finest craftsmanship, conveying exactly the emotion of a woman enjoying oral sex from a lover she knew well.
