Serendipity: Blondie

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Most of my stories are largely based on real events that occurred in my misspent youth. Some of course are just fantasies, but even these usually have a seed of truth behind them, that sparked the fantasy. And of course I'm not a good enough writer to create people like these. Most are based on real people, or occasionally combinations of people. Of course the names have been change to protect the guilty.

The Serendipity series is different. These are my non-fiction stories, as accurate as possible, with just the slightest artistic license thrown in to make the stories flow. I've played with the idea for years, and over the last half-dozen years had a few worthy experiences, which I may go back and document.

Today however, I had a truly mind blowing time, and I sat down to record it, and share it with you, my readers. This was my day. I think you'll agree it was worth putting down on paper.

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I attended day two of the Learning Annex wealth expo today. Truth is most of it is just a pitch by VERY good presenters, who describe this incredible system for wealth, that only they know, and for a price, which they'll reveal at the end of each "workshop," they'll be willing to share it.

I really enjoy it because if you listen and pay attention, you can learn a lot. Then if you go out and do a little research on your own, you can do the same things they try to sell you, for a minimal cost on your own. I learned some good stuff about legal structure for asset protection in real-estate. I have several rental properties, and even though I KNOW what I SHOULD be doing, I still haven't set up everything in the legal form I should. One workshop alone gave me the whole blueprint for what I should be doing. They offered to sell me the forms to make it easy, for only $5995, but I'm pretty sure just a little research can get me the same things, if not for free, then for just a couple of hundred bucks. Good stuff.

I was also looking forward to the Keynote speakers - Tony Robbins on Day 1 and Donald Trump on Day 2. Tony Robbins was pre-recorded, but it was pretty good anyway. Now it was time for "The Donald". He'd been announced as getting there 1/2 an hour late, so there should be no hurry to get a seat.

I was a little delayed getting to the Hall where he was going to speak, but my red VIP badge got me past the "velvet rope" down to the front 10 rows, which were looking pretty full. The hall was split up into a bunch of sections during the day, with large cloth panels used to separate the VIP purchase area from the hoi-poloi, and to make virtual rooms to one side and the other, as well as to create a backstage area.

One of the ushers waved me over, pointing to one of the few open seats left. I "excuse-me"d down to the spot, and wedged myself in between two attractive women, a blonde on my left and a brunette on my right. Because we were sitting in the rightmost section of the seats, the main podium was over to my left as well. As such you tended to sit turned in your seat a bit, for a more natural view, which placed the brunette "behind" me and the blonde in "front" of me.

Now I'm not a little guy. Not huge, but my shoulders are a good bit wider than most. And at 220 lbs, I'm mostly muscle, though a good way from having 'abs of steel'. The biggest problem is I'm wide. W-I-D-E. Really wide in the shoulders with a 48 inch chest. My Hawaiian heritage. It makes for uncomfortable seating in coach-class on airplanes, and in places like this, where the chairs are locked together, and they're all made for 118# weaklings, and little things, like the size 2 women on either side of me.

A speaker was just finishing up, and when he went into pitch mode, I asked the blonde "How was he?"

"I don't know, I just got here a minute ago too. I'm here for Trump."

Let me get this out up front. I'm a horn-dog, with an addiction to women. I love blondes. And Brunettes. Redheads too. Girls with black hair, purple hair, pink hair all work for me. I'd probably even enjoy a bald girl. If I do I'll let you know.

I'm a married man (I know, shame on me). Happily married to a woman devoted to me, who spoils me terribly. And I have an incredible daughter who is the light of my life. But there is that addiction, and I could feel the symptoms coming on.

"What are you here for? At the Expo, I mean," I asked her, surreptitiously taking in her pretty face, turned up nose, cute eyeglasses, and pinned up blonde hair. Her hands were free of any rings.

"Mostly just hanging out," she told me.

It seemed kind of odd. It cost a couple of hundred bucks to 'hang-out' in the VIP section, less if you signed up early and were on the right mailing list. Maybe a $100. But still pricey for "hanging out."

Even stranger was the way she was sitting. There was another pretty big black guy sitting on the other side of her, and he had all his materials from the day on the floor between his legs, forcing him to sit with his legs open. As soon as I sat down, she moved away from him, leaving a couple of inches gap, and scooted up right next to me, her side pressed against mine. Then she turned away and watched the stage.

We were quiet for a bit, and I tried to start a conversation again. A glutton for punishment, I do this a lot. I like people. I like to talk to people. I guess I'm a bit of an extrovert sometimes. And in a setting like this, anybody could be a great networking contact.

"What do you do?" I asked.

She spoke softly, and I had to bend down to hear her. Damn, she smelled good too. "I own my own business, how about you?" she answered.

"Some real-estate investment, some writing, a real-life job I wouldn't mind ditching. I'm thinking of getting into a gig like this - professional speaking." I told her.

She patted me on the leg, a pretty friendly thing to do, I thought, then said, "Will you save my seat for me while I go take a smoke break?"

"Absolutely. I wouldn't dream of letting anyone else sit next to me." I told her with my most charming boyish smile, which seldom works, but you can't fault a guy for trying.

She patted me on the arm again, giving it a little squeeze, and then eased her way past me and out the row, with a green pack of Salems in her hand. She left her tote bag with all her materials, so I didn't think she was just blowing me off nicely.

As she walked by, I took the time to check more of her out. Definitely a looker, with a light zip-up sweatshirt (unzipped) over a scoop-neck white tee, and a blue jean skirt that hugged her very pleasant looking hips. She had long slender legs, that ended in ankle-high white socks and a pair of black canvas sneakers. Looked like Converse. I estimated her age in the early 20's. Yeah, I know, I'm a dirty old man, getting worked up over a girl 1/2 my age.

I turned to see what the brunette was up to, only to see that she was in a heated conversation with the guy next to her who had his arm around her. Pretty, but taken. No progress there.

I looked around a bit, and realized the guy in front of me, actually in front of the empty seat next to me, had been in another workshop with me and we'd had a nice chat. I tapped him on the shoulder, renewed our acquaintance, and asked him about the legal workshop we'd both attended, mostly to see if he'd bought the program. He was leaning towards it, and if he had, I was considering offering to split the price with him, to get to work with it. Not worth going into, because he hadn't bought it. A little more conversation, with his buddy chiming in, and before I knew it, my blonde neighbor was returning. I sat back in my chair to let her by, and she sat back down, once again sidling right up next to me. I mean close contact.

I have to tell you this was definitely new territory for me. I've known friendly women, and aggressive women, but this woman just seemed to like pressing against me. My mind was spinning trying to figure this out, it wasn't something in my known realm of experiences, and not to brag, but I have had my share.

[I had second thoughts about using this experience to start my "Serendipity" series. I'm really trying to keep the stories as real as possible, and this behavior was certainly unreal to me. So I'll just leave it to you, the reader. You can believe it, or just enjoy it for it's pure titillation. But I digress...]

I continued talking to Martin, and his friend whose name I never caught. After a bit the pretty blonde joined in the conversation, and we just rambled while waiting for Donald Trump's segment to begin. I had a choice of sitting with my arms crossed, and shoulders pulled in, or taking up half the seats on either side of me. But I could also turn a bit in the seat, and put my arm behind the seat to my side, which I did, especially easy since we were in the last VIP row, and there was an open space behind us with the barrier between us and the green-badgers.

"Blondie" must have considered this some kind of invitation. She turned even more into me, and turned her head, resting it on my shoulder. She took several opportunities to pat me on the leg and arm again. I've read a few books on body behavior, and everything I know tells me this was a sign that I could be more forward, but I was still very hesitant. It seemed a spectacularly weird place to be hitting on a strange woman. But my little head was starting to wake up and do part of the thinking for me.

The lights started to go down, implying the start of the next program, and Martin and his friend turned back around, facing forward. Blondie, whose name I still hadn't gotten, leaned forward to take off her sweat-jacket, revealing bare shoulders, and a nice pair of breasts, if on the smallish side. She patted me on the leg again, her hand lingering, and she gave a squeeze.

"This should be good to hear," she admitted. She was turned a bit in her seat, facing the podium and leaning into me, fully half her weight pressed against me. I could smell the baby-powder she'd used early in the day, and the slight hint of where the long day of sitting in cramped quarters was finally winning the battle against her deodorant. The smell of her was getting me even hotter, it was going to be hard to pay attention to Trump. He'd better be good.

I was able to look over her shoulder, and had a pretty good view into her shirt. I'm not a giant at 6'1", but I have a long torso, and when seated I tend to be a head above those around me. It gave for a great vantage point to look her over. Not a lot of cleavage, but I could clearly see her red bra, which had a big red flower, better than an inch across, right where the cup met the strap.

The show helpers were walking down the aisle, passing out signs for us. These read "Trump for President", the ones that we got, at least. There were other ones being passed around, one said "You're FIRED", and there was at least one other one.

My pretty blonde neighbor took out a marker and started writing on her sign. She wrote "Divorced" over TRUMP, and "Is So" between the words TRUMP and For. Then she wrote "Cool" between For and President. I wasn't sure what that message was.

"He is divorced, right?" She asked me, again patting my leg. My leg was beginning to really like that, as my little head reminded me.

"Twice. Ivana, and Marla Maples. He's married again since then." I told her.

"I don't watch much TV." She said, putting down her pen, holding her sign in her lap, and resting her near hand on my knee.

I was really confused. Was she just friendly? Was she coming on to me? What was going on? "She wants you," the little head told me, encouraging my addiction. "Don't be such a pussy!"

She reached up to loosen her hair, and took the bun out. She started to twist it back up, and my little head spoke aloud for the first time, putting words in my mouth. "Leave your hair down," I told her softly. It's something that's worked for me before in the pursuit of females. I've found that if they're interested, they often like a bit of harmless dominance. Tell them to do something innocuous. Let your hair down. Take off that coat. Finish your drink. Write this down. Some silly little comment that you expect them to obey. If they do, you're often on your way to success.

She hesitated, with both hands over her head, her hair half twisted, and an elastic in her other hand. She slowly let her hair back down, and dropped the elastic into her tote bag, then shook her hair out.

At this point the president of the Learning Annex came on stage to announce that The Donald was in the building, and we started a chant of Trump, Trump, Trump, lead by the show workers on stage. A bevy of about a dozen typical Dallas beauties, and a couple of guys.

Donald came on stage to lights and explosions, and thousands of gold foil rectangles burst out over the audience, and trickled down while Donald took his place at the podium. While the clapping continued the gold streamers fell among us, and one landed in her hair. I reached over and plucked it out, handing it to her, and then stroked her hair back into place. It didn't need the stroking, but I did.

Unlike Tony Robbins who wanted you to stand through his whole bit, Trump told us all to sit. Then he started talking about how the show people knew how to "Feed his addiction", and he asked the guys to leave the stage, leaving all the pretty girls behind him. I immediately knew that The Donald and I were kindred souls, sharing that common addiction.

Blondie was sitting leaning against me once more, her right arm casually laid across my left leg, her hand dangling between my legs, near my knees. My partner in crime between my legs was fully awake now, uncomfortably so, looking to stretch out.

Donald was talking about the beautiful women of Dallas, getting lots of cheers from the audience, including from the girls beside me. He went on to say he hated makeup, but when the makeup girl here asked if he needed any, how could he say no? He then called her out on stage, and a gorgeous latino girl with the classic Plano, store bought breasts walked out on stage and he called her over, looking for a hug. Damn, I was jealous. The man had game. I'm sure a few Billion in the bank didn't hurt.

Then he pointed out another pretty woman in the front row holding up his book. She stood up and he invited her on stage. I'd sat behind this girl the day before, a six foot tall Amazon, just graduated from college. She had long very blonde hair, and was a stunner. He kept her on stage, while she asked some silly self-serving question, and he commented again how beautiful our women were, and complained that he was being setup, everyone here know of his "addiction." Again he got laughs and cheers from the crowd. He kept her up there for a couple of minutes, hugged her and whispered to her (a hotel room number, maybe?), then she went off stage, but not back to her seat.

"It's a good thing he can't see you." I told my blonde friend softly. "You'd never get off stage."

She giggled and turned her face a bit to me. "You think so?"

I looked down at her open neck, and saw one of the gold streamers had fallen against her skin. Not quite in her cleavage, but under her neck. I reached forward, brazenly, and slowly lifted it free, letting the heal of my hand rest on her breast for just a moment. I held out the piece of gold foil for her, which she took in her left hand, her other still lying comfortable across my leg. She dropped it in her tote bag.

"Absolutely," I told her.

The lights were down, and Donald was starting to tell his stories. They were pretty interesting, giving us a little of his history. My new found fantasy was still leaning into me, comfortably with her head on my shoulder. Her hand on my leg was idly drawing little circles on my inside thigh, just above my knee, and I was uncomfortably hard. I was turned, my arm behind the seats, just hanging down. I brought it up to rest on the back of her chair, my hand softly touching her bare shoulder. She didn't flinch or turn away.

Donald was talking politics a bit and mentioned getting in trouble for using Condi Rice and "bitch" in the same sentence. He went on to talk about how he wasn't calling her a bitch, just the opposite. He wanted a hard-boiled negotiator, someone who looked polished and professional but could be a bitch when needed. He didn't think that Condi had it in her. When he talked about professional appearance, he pointed out the suits that many were wearing, and the professional looking women down in front.

My little head took completely over again. I reached across and my fingers, with almost a life of their own, slipped into the edge of her shirt, giving a little tug on her bright red bra, underneath her demure white shirt. I held the red rose in my fingers, and teased her. "Professional dress?"

"Bitch in the boardroom, devil in the bedroom," she answered, giving my leg a squeeze.

I tucked the bra-strap away, letting my thumb graze her cleavage, expecting to get shot down any moment. Instead her hand slid half-way up my leg, only a couple of inches away from the jackpot.

Donald started into his diatribe against that "awful ugly creature, the ugliest thing on TV, physically and mentally," none other then Rosie. "She could never have come from Dallas." In the meantime my blood was boiling. I opened my legs a hair, pressing against hers, and I let my arm far arm cross hers in my lap, applying light pressure to get her to slide up further on my leg. I was holding the sign we'd been given, effectively hiding my lap, and her hand slowly gave under the slight pressure, easing up my leg, until her hand was resting against my balls, and my hard-on pressing against her wrist.

"You're enjoying the show," she said softly, without turning her head. Then she gave her hand a little twist and cupped my balls, giving a gentle squeeze.

I slid my hand on the back of the seat under her hair, cupping her neck, and massaging gently. I couldn't resist this amazing vixen.

I leaned in, right to her ear. "I've got to have you. It's killing me."

She turned to look at me. "I really wanted to hear Donald," she said, but her hand stroked my hardness.

I reached down and took her hand off my crotch, (blasphemy!), and stood, her hand in mine. I pulled her to her feet. "You'll hear him." Then I walked out of that row, glad that I was wearing an untucked Hawaiian shirt, which partially hid my state. She followed along, her hand moist in mine.

My mind was running a mile a minute. I thought I had a great chance to do something with this girl, but where? How? I looked over the area we were in, debated trying to get behind the large curtains that separated the stage and the area behind it from the rest of the room. The main entrance was filled almost to capacity with people standing and watching. However the opposite end of the hall from the main entrance was in complete dark. It had been used as part of the registration from some of the classes, and was now shut down, with a rope preventing the back, general admission area from passing through. However on the VIP side of the ropes, there was a space to enter that area. And I decided to give it a shot. All this ran through my mind during the few seconds it took to scoot past the half-dozen people in our row.

I walked confidently past the workers, all eyes on Trump, and out of the immediate Keynote area, past the cloth temporary walls, into a large dark space, somewhat broken up by tables and barriers. Turning to my right was a hall made of these portable walls, maybe four feet across, where people were funneled into a side area during the normal workshops. As we passed the end, I gave the beautiful target of my lust a little tug past me, then turned, moved a folding chair further into the area, and pulled the far wall sideways at an angle, closing off that end. I looked the space over, and thought I could make it even more private. I released her hand, walked the twenty feet to the other end, which ended by a pair of closed doors, and pulled that section closed. Now we were in a closed section, almost a long narrow room. On one side, away from Donald was a large dark open space, empty now. On the other side, maybe 5 feet from the material was the end of the chairs in the back of the Keynote hall. Thousands of people listening to Trump, hundreds of them cheering and clapping just a couple of yards away from us.