A One Time Thing

Ever have an event happen only once in your life that you think about fondly for years -- maybe decades even? I had it happen to me once; and only once. However, the endorphins that flood my brain every time that I think about it allow me to revisit it regularly, each time almost half as good as the real thing. It also changed my attitude about life and what I wanted out of it. I changed from discontent to passionate.

I was basically a normal guy, living a normal life in a normal part of the country (a suburb of a big city), with a normal lackluster job and with a normal libido. My wife of six years, Cindy was also basically normal, although most people would probably think that she is better looking than I am. She had a job that she liked much more than I liked mine, and about the same normal libido as me. Cindy travelled a little bit in her job but I didn't really travel for work. When we went on vacation it was normally to someplace warm in the wintertime.

My two sisters and I had been brought up with a "give-back-to-the-community" credo, deeply instilled in us by our parents, who both volunteered regularly for good causes. I did some once-in-a-while volunteer work for environmental groups and women's shelters, and once a year went door-to-door in our neighborhood to raise money for The March of Dimes. However, my regular volunteer work was most Saturdays at the local food bank, stocking shelves, helping clients get their groceries to their cars or the bus, receiving and sorting donations, and anything else necessary to help. My co-workers at the food bank are all truly nice and charitable people, mostly women but a few other guys.

The marriage of Blake (me) and Cindy was so-so; we didn't fight much although if I had a stronger personality we probably would have when Cindy complained that I wasn't ambitious enough, and pooh-poohed my volunteer work. I tried to get her to help in some of my charitable endeavors with little success. The sex was acceptable in frequency and intensity -- not earth-shattering, but not bad. However, whenever I allowed myself to think about it except for my volunteer work my life had no substance to it, and I was discontent.

*************

A woman by the name of Jean is co-chair of the food bank. She is one of the most pleasant people that I have ever met in my life, and I can't help but feel good when I'm around her. I speculated that she is about ten years older than my twenty eight (at the critical point of my story). She has a beautiful face that doesn't need makeup to look great, and in fact I have never seen her with makeup on at the food bank. Form the first day I met her I thought that her body looked very nice, even if marginally heavy, although not completely discernable in the unflattering work clothes that she normally wears.

*************

When I was canvassing for the March of Dimes one warm pre-spring day, I finished the area that I had been assigned about an hour early, ending up across the street from the nicest neighborhood in our suburb. I made a call to the local headquarters and found out that that neighborhood had no volunteer working it, so I decided to spend my "free" hour drumming up donations there.

I was politely received at the first four houses, although only two gave me donations, and at a level that was way below what the value of the houses would indicate. The fifth house, more magnificent than the first four (a mansion even), was different.

The door was answered by a woman who looked to be in her sixties and who introduced herself as Mabel Braxton in response to my greeting "Hi; I'm Blake Bentsen, a neighbor who's a volunteer for The March of Dimes." She invited me in.

Once we were seated in her ornate yet very tasteful living room Mabel offered me a cup of tea, which a maid shortly delivered. She asked about the mission of The March of Dimes. I told her "We have two main focuses. The first is a comprehensive initiative to preclude preventable preterm birth, with a focus on reducing elective deliveries before 39 weeks gestation. The second is funding lifesaving research and lobbying for legislation that improves care for moms and babies." She started gently crying.

I offered her my handkerchief and sat next to her. "What's wrong, Mabel?"

"Last year I lost a premature granddaughter. I still grieve about that. I've had a hard time not blaming myself for not pushing my daughter to get better pre-natal care," she replied between whimpers.

I offered a sympathetic ear to Mabel, and held her hand, for the next hour. By the time that I was getting ready to leave her mood had improved significantly. With a big smile she gave me a check for $5,000 made out to the March of Dimes, and then hit me with "Blake, I think that volunteers like you really make a difference and don't get enough recognition. I'm on the Board of Trustees of the Metropolitan Museum, and we're having our fifty year gala celebration about three and a half weeks from today. The event is going to be a blast, and the tickets are $1000 per couple, but I'm like to comp you and your wife." With that she reached into a desk drawer and pulled out two free passes to the event. "Please come -- that would make me happy."

"WOW," I exclaimed, truly bowled over. I had recently read an article in the Metro section of the newspaper about what a blow-out event it would be. Upon looking at the tickets more carefully I gulped and replied "I would love to go, Mabel, but it's black tie and I don't have a tuxedo, and don't expect to have need for one in the future."

"I've got that handled too," she laughed as she pulled out a free tuxedo rental chit from another part of her drawer. "I'm sorry that I don't have a gown rental coupon for your wife, but I'm sure she can find something suitable to wear. The dress for women is a lot more forgiving than for men."

"Thank you soooo much, Mabel," I gushed as I gave her a big hug.

She chuckled "Don't crush me in expressing your gratitude -- and it's the least I can do to reward you for your charitable work and for cheering me up."

Because of the time that I spent with Mabel I got home a significantly later than I had planned. We were supposed to meet some of Cindy's friends for dinner, and she was not in a good mood. I quickly showered and changed, and we left in time to be only ten minutes late. I tried to cheer Cindy up by telling her about the large donation that I got from Mabel -- which Cindy made it clear she didn't give a shit about -- and the Gala tickets -- which she had only mild interest in.

The evening did not go as badly as I had feared, although I was nonplussed by one of her male co-workers, Tad, being a little too flirty with Cindy even though his wife and I were right there. Once we got home it actually went well; we made love that night. Actually, we were both aggressive enough -- especially Cindy -- that I guess that it wasn't really making love, but it was two of the best fucks I had had in some time, and if Cindy's reactions were real, for her too.

I'm glad that we had that night, because from then until the Gala the sex was infrequent and uninspiring.

The next ten days I did my best to try and get Cindy to commit to going to the Metropolitan Museum's 50th Anniversary Gala. I had zero success. I couldn't believe that she wasn't interested in it, although she did feign some curiosity. The 11th day of my attempt to get a commitment she hit me with "Blake -- the event is on Wednesday the 17th, right?"

"Yes -- starting about 6:30 p. m.," I replied.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go out of town the morning of the 17th until the night of Friday the 19th. You can go yourself or find someone else to go with you, can't you?" Cindy said/asked.

I was very disappointed, but for sure I was going to go. "I'm really sorry, Cindy, but I'll see if my Mom, one of my sisters, or Bernadette can go with me," I replied. Bernadette is a widow who is a friend of Cindy's and very pleasant, even if not very attractive.

"I'm sure that you'll have a wonderful time, Blake," she fake gushed.

That was the last that we talked about the Gala.

Finding someone to go with me wasn't as easy as I thought that it would be. When my Mom, both my sisters, and Bernadette all had previous engagements, no interest, or the inability to get away, I started thinking of other options. A light bulb came on in my head -- Jean.

The next Saturday at the food bank, I made sure to stay late to help Jean close the place up. As we were about to leave I said "Say, Jean -- there's something I want to talk to you about."

"Shoot, Blake," she smiled.

"I have two free tickets to the Metropolitan Museum's 50th Anniversary Gala on Wednesday the 17th. It's a black tie event that's supposed to be a blowout," I said, making only fleeting eye contact because I was a little nervous.

"I've heard about it -- I hear that it's going to be a great event," she chortled.

That steeled my resolve.

"Well my wife is out of town and my sisters and Mom can't make it, and I don't want to go without female companionship. Is it possible that your husband would relinquish you for that night and allow you to accompany me?"

"My husband isn't the jealous type, although I'm sure he that he'd raise an eyebrow or two if I told him that a handsome young man had asked me out," she chuckled.

"Does she really think that I'm handsome?" flashed through my brain, giving me an inward smile.

"I'll check with him but unless he has something definite already planned I'd be happy to go with you -- and he would have nothing to say about it," she chuckled again.

"Uh...great...uh...that's, uh, wonderful," I stammered. "One thing, though -- it's black tie so I'm wearing a tux, and you'll have to wear a party dress."

"No problem," she chuckled in reply -- she was doing a lot of chuckling. "I have a fancy dress I've worn only once because I haven't had much opportunity to wear it, that I'd love to make use of again. I'll call you by Tuesday at the latest to let you know if I can make it. What's your cellphone number?"

I was on Cloud Nine the rest of the day. I tried to analyze why I was so happy. I determined that it was because Jean was as enthusiastic as I was about going, she called me "handsome," and -- well there was something else that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

Jean called on Monday about noon. After a few pleasantries she said "My husband has nothing planned for the 17th. He's jealous that I get to go to the Gala, but he was happy for me. So tell me a little more; will there be dancing, dinner, a program, what?"

My heart buoyed. "Let me send you a copy of the program -- what's your email address." We talked some more about how excited we both were, and then hung up. Charged up I went to get fitted for my rental tux that afternoon,

As the time wore on, I was anticipating the Gala almost as much as any other event in my life. Jean and I talked about it a little more at the food bank the last Saturday before the event, and even chatted on the phone a few times. When I asked her what the color of her dress was so that I could get her a corsage she sounded like a High School junior being asked to the Senior Prom.

*************

Cindy gave me an obligatory kiss good-bye the morning of the 17th as she left for her business trip. She had earlier mentioned that her female boss Katie, an elderly male co-worker, and Tad -- that didn't make me excited -- were going with her. I told her to have a successful trip, and then went to work myself. I took the afternoon off, however, to get the car detailed, to buy the corsage, to pick up my rented tux, to work out, and to take a nap for an hour.

When I picked up Jean I found out two things: 1) Her husband decided to take the opportunity to go visit their twin girls in college (I didn't think that she was old enough to have college age children); and 2) She really cleaned up well; I mean REALLY to the power of 100 well.

Apparently I had a shocked look on my face and my tongue was almost dragging on the ground because Jean laughed and asked "Why are your eyeballs leaving your sockets, Blake?"

"Uh...well...uh...you see...uh," I stammered before I was able to get out "You look fantastic."

Jean just smiled and chuckled. Since I apparently remained in a stupor she continued, pointing to the box in my hand, "Is that for me?"

I looked down at the box that I was cradling, apparently not having been cognizant that it was still there, before my brain finally started to function and I said, as I handed the box to her, "Oh...yeah...I forgot. It's a corsage."

She opened it up. It was a royal blue wrist corsage which matched her royal blue dress almost perfectly. "How beautiful," she remarked, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. "Not brave enough to get one that needed to be pinned on, huh Blake," she laughed.

"Uh -- well -- uh -- I didn't know what the top of your dress looked like so the woman at the florist thought that I should play it safe," I gurgled, still staring at the perfect vision before me.

As Jean slipped the corsage onto her wrist I fully took in her ensemble -- I had been too gobsmacked to do that before then. Her royal blue dress had a single strap going around her neck, and an opening just below the neck that exposed the insides of what were truly remarkable, ample, boobs. The dress was backless, full length, with a slit on the right side that appeared -- when she moved her right leg -- to go all the way up to her waist, leading me to wonder if she even had any panties on.

She had a pearl choker on her neck, light makeup on with electric blue eye shadow that gave her almond-shaped eyes a remarkably sexy ethereal quality. Her lustrous brunette hair was expertly done half up, half down. Although I couldn't really see them well until she took a step with her right foot, she had four inch matching heels on.

I offered her my arm, which she readily took with a smile, and I led her to the car and opened the passenger side door for her. Her sculptured right leg was on full display as she gracefully entered my vehicle, seemingly confirming that she had no, or skimpy, panties on. When I got in the car I saw that the left side of her dress had a slit identical to the right side one, which left her leg almost completely exposed and caused beads of sweat to immediately form on my forehead.

I unsuccessfully tried my best not to stare at her shapely left leg as I drove the half hour trip to the Gala. I opened my window slightly to allow the airflow to move the sweat off of my forehead, but there was little that I could do about the tent forming in my pants. Thankfully Jean either didn't notice it or pretended not to as we chatted on the way.

I rushed to open her door and help Jean out of the car when we got to the valet. It seemed to me that all eyes were on us as we -- her gracefully and me hesitantly -- walked up the stairs of the Museum. Well, all eyes were on her anyway.

The women at the reception table greeted us warmly as I handed them my invitations. One of them complimented Jean on her beautiful dress and corsage, which filled me with inner joy. The receptionist who took my tickets looked up the numbers printed on the tickets. "Mr. Bentsen it looks like you and your lovely wife are at the head table; here are your seat cards," she said handing me two small yellow cards. Neither Jean nor I corrected the "wife" comment, me because I was proud that someone would think that a normal guy like me could have a stone cold fox like Jean as a wife, and -- well I don't know why she didn't correct it.

As Jean took my arm and we sauntered into the Gala proper she snickered "Am I supposed to pretend that I'm your wife tonight? All the women here will think that I robbed the cradle."

"You actually look younger than I do, Jean -- but I better introduce you properly in case someone later meets my wife," I smiled.

I got Jean a glass of white wine, and myself a club soda -- I don't really drink much. They don't serve red wine or hard drinks at events like this, although you can scrounge up a beer if you want to look plebian.

We toured the part of the Museum that was open, marveling at the displays, most of which neither of us had seen before. When the dinner bell rang -- after I got Jean two more white wines -- we headed for Table #1. There was my benefactor Mabel Braxton and her husband, both all smiles.

"Blake, I'm so glad that you could come. This is my husband Winston," Mabel chirped putting her hand on the arm of the distinguished looking gentleman to her left.

"So pleased to meet you," Winston and I almost said in unison as we shook hands.

"This must be your lovely wife," Mabel continued, nodding at Jean.

"Actually, Mabel, this is Jean McCarthy. My wife is out of town and so is her husband -- hopefully not together," I said, getting laughs all around. "Jean is the co-chair of our local food bank and one of the most charitable people that I've ever met, her beneficence matched only by her beauty," I continued. Jean blushed, Mabel and Winston grinned, Jean and Mable hugged, Winston kissed Jean's hand.

We were then introduced to the others at the head table -- the Mayor and her husband, the Director of the Museum and his wife, the Senator from our state who lived in the Metropolitan area and his wife, and a movie starlet who recently won a Golden Globe and her boyfriend. Jean and I were bowled over. As I moved Jean's chair out for her to sit she whispered to me "How did you arrange this, Blake? I'm star struck!"

"I have no idea," I whispered back, "Just pretend like we belong."

Because the table was the smallest round table that would fit twelve people, there was no music blaring during dinner, and the head table was set off from the others, everyone at the table could realistically talk to everyone else at one time or another. I was seated next to the starlet, and Jean the Senator.

I have absolutely no idea why I was so "on" that night -- maybe to impress Jean -- but I was the best at conversation that I ever at been in my life. I got at least half a dozen genuine laughs from the starlet, and many more from others at the table. Mabel made sure that everyone was familiar with the volunteer work that Jean and I did. I tried to steer any conversation directed at me away from what I did for a living, although I did answer in response to a direct question from Winston that "I am not having any satisfaction from my work like I get from volunteering, and am looking for a more socially responsible job, likely in the environmental field."

During dinner Jean would occasionally subtly touch my hand or knee under the table. I reciprocated by surreptitiously putting my hand on her bare thigh for several minutes until I felt my Johnson trying to burst my rented pants. The speeches by the Director, Mabel (she wasn't just on the Board of Trustees -- she was the Head Trustee), and a keynote speech by a famous author-environmentalist -- were short, sweet, and to the point.

After as truly a delightful a meal as I can ever remember having music started playing in an adjacent room. Jean and I continued to mingle with other guests in between dances; it seemed like most of the times that we danced it was to slow songs, and after she consumed each additional ounce of wine she moved closer and closer to me. Some of the guests -- not at the head table -- assumed that we were married, including one woman who stage whispered to Jean "I wish that my husband would treat me as gently yet intimately as your husband treats you." We both smiled and chose not to correct them.

Jean and I had such a great time that we were about the last guests to leave. Winston approached us as we were exiting, expressed pleasure in meeting us, and gave me his card. "If you really are looking for a socially productive job, Blake, give me a call on my cell phone. My number is on the back of my card."