The last time I had greeted a woman I was obviously looking at her rack. She shook her head and sighed.
"I was gazing into your heart," I said with a grin. My weak attempt at humor was greeted with an upraised middle finger. I did not have game.
The problem was I didn't just undress women with my eyes, I strip-searched them with my eyes. I vowed to myself that the next time was going to be different.
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I was at a downtown San Diego Starbucks ordering a drip coffee, no latte for me, trying to save some money now that I was living in an apartment. Wife got the house, typical.
I waited for a woman who was adding cream and stirring her coffee. She was stunning; almost as tall as me, big but fit, smartly dressed, shaped like a woman.
When she turned I said, "Hello" to her eyes.
She smiled and also said, "Hello."
I choked up and all I could manage to say was, "Gee, you're tall." No game whatsoever.
Without missing a beat she responded, "I know. My feet are going to hang off the end of your bed."
I picked my jaw off of the floor, figuratively speaking.
I was sure that the next thing I said was make or break. I told her, "I just wanted to say that you look amazing and you radiate confidence."
"I know how to take a compliment too," she replied. "Thank you."
I said 'Whew' to myself.
It surprised me when we exchanged a man's handshake, you know, where you bury that muscle between your thumb and forefinger into theirs and grip firmly. I guessed former military.
Her name was Denise. I love that song 'Denise, Denise' by Randy and the Rainbows. I resisted the urge to use that phony line 'I love that name.'
She had on white slacks, not black like women use to hide their curves or lack thereof. A fitted blouse accentuated the positive. Short, non-overprocessed natural color hair, not trying to hide a touch of grey, modest makeup and jewelry completed the picture.
It was the first time in a long time that I looked at a woman's spirit, not at her torso.
To my delight, she had a few minutes to spare. We sat down at a table, sipped and chatted. I complemented her on the clever comeback to a comment about her height, telling her my favorite reply to 'How's the weather up there?' is to rub my hair and say 'It's snowing.'
She pointed to my ring and asked, "So, does your wife know you are out complementing women like that?"
I explained my situation; separated, living in an apartment, not working on getting back together. She explained hers, divorced, not really looking, concentrating on career.
Her twenty five words or less life story was that she had worked a college softball scholarship into a Naval officer career and was in the Reserve now, working for a defense contractor. I imagined her in a tight softball uniform, then I imagined her dress whites on the floor by the bed.
I told her that tall women always turn my head. She said that tall men catch her eye her too. She confessed that she had spotted me coming in the door and had lingered, hoping I would say 'Hello.'
I scribbled a phone number and we parted with a mutual 'Later.'
I skipped back to my car. It was 74 and sunny, a beautiful first day of summer in San Diego.
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The next day I started up a text thread with her. She lived in a corporate apartment in Chula Vista. My 'bachelor' pad was way up in Escondido, so it wasn't going to be easy to see her. We exchanged more text messages and I finally got the courage up to ask her out a date. She responded by saying she wasn't looking for a relationship. Not exactly a yes or a no.
'Fair enough,' I had texted back, 'How about friends?'
'You mean friends with benefits?' she quickly replied. Before I could come up with a reasonably sane answer she added, 'Yes.'
We agreed that we would have one chance to discuss our why our marriages fell apart then we would not bring it up again.
I explained that I had seen my wife clicking a window closed on her computer when I walked into the room. I installed a keystroke logger and found a secret email account. She had been having an affair. I was pretty angry at first, but then had to look at the entire email history. She had opened up to him about trouble in our marriage, he had swooped in to rescue her. There was a note from him asking for a photo with just her in it, holding the camera over her head with her mouth open. He sent back a photo of that picture printed out with a big gob of goo on it. Their messages got more intimate as they crescendoed to their first meeting. She had told me she was 'visiting a cousin.' The next note afterwards was him apologizing for prematurely ejaculating. I had to laugh, but also found myself aroused. When I confronted her she wanted to separate so that she could 'find herself.' I confided to Denise that after the shock and shame I found myself turned on by the thought of my wife with another guy.
Her marriage was going fine until her husband asked for an 'open' relationship. She had agreed to try 'swinging.' They did that for awhile but then she found he was meeting with one of the couples on the side. He said he wanted to separate so he could 'find himself,' and then moved in with the other couple. She confided that she realized now that communication is essential for people who want an open marriage, or closed marriage for that matter.
I wanted to hear more of her swinging stories.
Our text messages got racier, with lots of double entendres and suggestive comments. She could hold her own with sexy repartee.
I got a text message, 'No dick pics.'
I deleted a picture.
The next message from her was 'No sexting or phone sex. Sorry, but I can't risk my security clearance with stuff like that around.' I'm not an emoji person but I replied with a frowny face.
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We arranged to meet again for coffee. She wore a sundress and a smile. It took my breath away, literally speaking.
Over two cups of coffee, our conversation meandered from current events to more intimate subjects. I embellished a story of a college strip poker game. Her eyebrows raised with every detail.
She told about one of her experiences, a wild weekend with some of her ROTC buddies. She spun a tale of a wild orgy, sparing no detail. Normally in the military a clusterfuck was a bad thing. I squirmed and crossed my legs trying to hide a bulge.
I told her that I could not be more horny and I wanted her to come out with me to my car. "Let's go," she said.
She said she needed to 'powder her nose' while pointing to her lap. We got up and took turns in the bathroom.
We walked holding hands at a brisk pace to my car. I had parked out in the middle of the lot, under a tree and well away from any other cars. To be honest, I had imagined coming back there with her. I motored the front seats forward and unfolded some shades in the windows.
She climbed in back and we were on each other immediately. it was a frenzy of kissing and fondling. She pulled my head in with her hand and kissed me harder as our tongues danced. Her hand brushed against the front of my pants.
We wrestled until we were horizontal on the back seat, struggling to find room as our four long legs tangled. I put my head down between her breasts, she helped by smooshing them together. I worked my way lower, running my hands up her dress to her waist. After a minute or two exploring, she gave me that all-important signal of lifting her butt up. I pulled her panties down to her knees. They were white cotton, with a big wet spot. I pushed the dress up and moved in.
I started with some teasing kisses, circling around her tummy and upper thighs. She had a neatly trimmed bush, natural color with a touch of grey. She let out a good moan when my tongue found the sweet spot. She was very vocal, letting me know exactly what was working. My tongue drummed a tattoo on her clit. She grabbed two fistfuls of my hair and pushed down. I could feel her tense up. She let go with a loud "Oh God Yes!" writhing as much as she could in the cramped space. She pushed me away when it got too sensitive. I could feel the last waves of pleasure tremble through her body.
I wiped my glistening chin and asked, "Was that as good for you as it was for me?"
With a somewhat dazed look she tugged up her panties and straightened her dress.
She came over and gave me a kiss, then purred, "Now it's my turn."
I leaned back as she fumbled with my belt, unbuttoning and unzipping. She watched the pained expression on my face as she teasingly rubbed me through my boxers. They were white cotton, with a big wet spot. With a flip of the wrist she pulled down the waistband revealing my pulsing member.
She touched her finger to the dribble of precome and brought it to her lips, adding an "Mmmmmm," for good measure.
She went down there, giving a teasing lick to the tip and swirling her tongue around the head. A few runs down the shaft with her lips had me groaning in pleasure.
She took me all the way into her mouth.
