Cat in the Rain

I love writing exercises. Yesterday I posted an anti-loving wives story. Today's is a normal LW tale. I am interested in your reaction to the two. The title is another Hemingway short story. It hints at the outcome - enjoy – DT

*****

The Rising Storm

There are lots of ways a guy can find out that his wife is cheating.

There's the ever popular, "unexpected arrival home". Then there's the tried and true, "a friend clued me in." And of course there's the time tested, "overheard a conversation."

Me? I was tipped-off by The Washington Post.

That might seem a bit bizarre. But most guys aren't married to a woman who is fucking a U.S. Senator.

Personally - I work in the private intelligence business. We do the same kind of thing that the alphabet agencies do. But it pays ten times better.

I started out as a 35-lima with the 704th Military Intelligence Brigade at Fort Meade. Military Intelligence might sound like an oxymoron. But my unit was headquartered at the same Fort as the NSA. So I took part in some serious technological shit.

I was just a 23 year old kid - fresh out of Carnegie-Mellon and the 97-bravo course at Fort Huachuca.

Needless to say I was totally full of myself. I had a badge to go with the title "Special Agent." But I was really just a Rot-C nerd from the little city of Madison, Wisconsin.

Madison might be the State Capitol and it might have a big university in the middle. But you don't have to drive very far out of town to be hip deep in cow shit.

So the Beltway culture was both a target-rich environment and kind of overwhelming for a Wisconsin farm boy.

I hung around with another shavetail. He was named Art. Both of us liked to drink and party and there was always a lot of that going on in the student ghettos around the University of Maryland.

Nonetheless we favored the Fells Point section of Baltimore. First of all, it was a lot easier to get back to our off-base quarters, which were in Glen Burnie. And there was nothing to match the perpetual party atmosphere of the Broadway Square area.

One night I was sitting with Art in "The Horse You Came In On Saloon". How can you NOT patronize a place that advertises that it has been "serving drinks since the 18th Century?"

We both had a little buzz on. But it was nothing like we were planning for later that night.

We were scoping out a table full of girls. There is nothing like a covey of visibly blasted chicks to attract the predators. And the wolves were beginning to gather.

As I watched a few of the women were dragged off to dance. It was clear that everybody was in a happy-place. That is until one of the more obviously wasted dudes decided to cut-out a woman who was not interested in dancing.

There was some pulling and a little yelling followed by a shriek and a loud slap.

As the fracas started I nodded an "I got this" to Art and wandered over toward the table. The slapee was about to do something really stupid when I grabbed his upraised arm.

I said in the calmest voice I could muster, "You need to leave, Sir."

He was pissed and clearly not in the mood. So he spun violently to confront me. I just continued his momentum, do-si-doing him around until his arm was twisted up between his shoulder blades.

I showed him the badge, which I was holding in my left hand. I wanted to encourage him to reason with me.

He gazed at it blearily and muttered, "But she hit me Officer."

I said, continuing the cop tone of voice, "No harm - no foul, Sir. You've ALL had a little too much to drink. Why don't you and your friends just find some other place to do it?"

He looked at the rest of his crew. They shrugged and started toward the door. I released his arm and he staggered after them.

Fortunately none of them had gotten around to noticing that the badge was issued to an Army Counter-Intelligence Special Agent, not a Baltimore cop. I had the jurisdiction to arrest him if he was involved in High Treason. But at "The Horse" it was just a piece of tin.

The woman still looked shaken. Physical confrontation does that to people. I sat down in the empty chair next to her and said, "Are you okay? Can I get you something?"

That was the first time I actually looked at her. I could see why the college dude had been so insistent.

Women like to think that men pay attention to qualities that they can control - like dress, hair, or makeup. That's true if there is nothing more intrinsically appealing.

But let me assure you ladies. A massive pair of perfectly shaped titties is the ace of trumps when it comes to getting noticed by a guy.

And this woman had a pair that even under a modest white silk blouse might set-off civil insurrection in some countries.

I had to stifle the urge to put my face in between them and go "Brrrrrrrrrrr."

She was sitting. So I couldn't see anything south of her chest. But once I tore my eyes off her bouncers I saw that she had a really lovely face.

She looked Italian or Greek by extraction. She had dark auburn hair dusky complexion and beautifully proportioned features with huge, luminous dark eyes.

Those eyes were currently clouded with a mix of anger and fright. She was struggling to calm herself.

I put my hand sympathetically on her forearm and said, "It's okay. I understand that must have been scary but you're among friends. Nothing is going to happen now."

The fact that she didn't yank her arm away was a sign that she was getting back to normal. I said, still trying to calm her, 'What's your name? My name is Paul."

She looked up and actually focused on me for the first time. And I was lost. The crackling blue spark that jumped from her eyes to mine must have lit up the whole interior of the bar.

She said shakily, "Janet." I wasn't sure whether the shakiness was caused by her recent ugly experience - or what had just passed between us.

I said, "Can I get you a drink?" Nothing like a little alcohol to calm the nerves. "What are you drinking?"

She said rather off-handedly, "gin and tonic" and continued to stare into my eyes. Her concentration was unnerving. It was like she was scanning my soul.

I said, "I'll be right back" and rushed a little too hastily up to the bar. I wanted to get away from her for just to screw my head back on.

I returned with her G&T and an English IPA for myself. She downed hers in one gulp - Impressive...

She looked at me and said, "Thank you for stepping in Officer. He scared me. But I don't let anybody maul me like that." And she looked down at her incredible girls.

I said, "First of all I'm not a cop. I have no more jurisdiction than you. The badge is for a federal agent. I am with the Army at Fort Meade."

I really would have thought she could tell who I worked for by the high and tight.

I said, "I just flashed the thing to get him to do what he should have done for himself. Authority tends to get your brain working again - even drunks."

She said, "So you just rode to my rescue on your own. What can I do to thank you?"

That was an open invitation if I ever saw one.

I said, "You can have dinner with me tomorrow. Unless you're already taken. In which case a sincere handshake and a kiss on the cheek will do."

She kissed me on the cheek and said, "I'll see you at 6:00 tomorrow. I have to get back to the hen party but here's my address." And she wrote something on the back of a card.

I turned it over and it said, "Janet A. Wilson JD." I thought, "Shit! A lawyer!!"

Nevertheless, I was pressing her buzzer at exactly 18:00 the following evening.

She lived in a classic single girl condo in Bethesda. All I heard was a lot of yapping and the sound of somebody kicking a dog away from the door.

Then she opened it and every hesitancy about her profession vanished like the morning dew.

Last night had been confused with all of the drinking and general chaos and I hadn't really gotten a look at the whole picture. Truth be told I couldn't take my eyes off her massive rack last night.

Now, the goddess Venus herself was standing in the doorway in a pair of skin tight jeans and a loose sweater. She had incredible curves, long legs, wide hips, tiny waist and of course those double D's.

She was still wrestling with something that resembled a hairless rat. But which I assumed was a Chihuahua. Finally she bent down and picked it up, displaying a perfect apple shaped ass as she did it.

She was distracted enough by her animal that she didn't see the look of consternation that crossed my face. There is a constant re-balancing process going on in the single set. Whereby everybody seeks their proper level in the social scheme. And I wasn't so sure that I was playing in the right league.

But she gave me a look that was so hot that I was certain that my socks were going to burst into flame and said, "Sorry about this - Chiquita thinks she has to protect me from everybody." The rat showed me its teeth and gave a low warning growl.

I said, "No problem. I love dogs." I didn't add that my dog was a 100 pound Shar-Pei, Pit-Bull, Labrador mix named Buster. She underhanded her varmint back into the room and closed the door.

Then she stepped into the hall and took my arm in that universal gesture that women use to indicate possession.

She said, "Where are we going?"

I said, "I thought we'd try the Blue Duck. I want to get to know you better and their outdoor terrace is a nice quiet place to do that." It was a beautiful clear fall evening in DC.

She looked delighted. She said, "I've heard about that place and I've really wanted to try it. Rumor has it that it's very romantic. You don't have anything planned do you?" That said with a coquettish grin.

I said jokingly, "Only if you do." And she hugged my arm to that colossal bosom of hers.

I drive a silver Mercedes SLK. Like all good German lads I love superior engineering and nobody does it better than my people. Okay – maybe my people settled in Wisconsin in the late 1800s. But as far as the family was concerned once a German always a German.

She was surprised – pleasantly I hoped. She said, "I thought all you big macho studs drove muscle cars?"

I said, "I'm not into advertising it." And engaged the smooth as silk drivetrain.

We talked all the way down to the restaurant. And then we talked some more.

Janet was a staffer with Senate Armed Services. She had grown up rich in Chicago and had a classic Gold Coast Education at Northwestern and the University of Chicago Law. She was 24, just like me, and getting her feet under her in the Capitol Hill culture.

The more we talked the more we bonded. She was a knockout. But she was a whole lot more than simply beautiful. She was smart, direct and very funny.

I took her back that night and dropped her at the door. She stood on her tip toes and gave me the hottest kiss I had ever been given.

We were still embracing standing there. My hands were joined behind her tiny waist. She leaned back with her hands clasped behind my neck studying me with those deep intelligent brown eyes.

She said, "I have never felt this way after a first date. I'm not going to fuck you tonight because I am not that kind of girl. But if you come back for a second date I am going to rock your world."

We hit Blues Alley the following night and she wasn't kidding.

We listened to the music and had a couple of drinks. Whenever she stood up every guy in the room was checking her out. Hell!! I was checking her out and I was with her.

Men who are with big breasted women know what I'm talking about. It's a puzzlement why men are so fascinated by over-developed mammary glands. But we undeniably are. And if YOUR woman possesses a pair of those things you just have to get used to all of the males in the room leering at her.

Anyhow, we got back to her place and she said, "Why don't you come in for a nightcap?" So in I came. I wasn't THAT stupid.

We cuddled on the couch for all of five minutes and then the kissing and heavy breathing started.

She looked a little irritated. It was like she was miffed that I hadn't gotten the hint. So she took the bull by the horns, or whatever appendage might be more appropriate, and guided us into her bedroom.

She walked to the bed unbuttoning her blouse. There was some residual light inside the room and I could see her black industrial strength bra as she turned to face me.

She did that teasing thing what women do where she unhooked it and then kept the cups in place with her upper arms. Then she dropped the bra to the floor. Revealed - in all of their glory - were the most spectacular tits ever affixed to a female body.

She posed for a second, arms down, palms facing out. It was like she was giving me a benediction.

The invitation was blatant so I took it. I strode across the room and gently laid her on her back with me lying next to her. She was panting and those huge soft boobs were rising and falling like giant rolling ocean waves.

Except these waves were pure white with big brown nipples at their crest. And those nipples were sticking straight up like miniature Nuks.

She reached down and slid her skirt and panties off. I quickly cleared my own decks. I leaned over and kissed her, her mouth opened like a flower. She was red hot. And she conveyed that she was totally in the moment by opening herself to me like that.

In my experience I have found that women with Janet's type of endowments don't usually bring anything else to the party. They seem to think that the guy should just be grateful that the woman has deigned to allow them to handle the goods.

On the other hand - Janet brought total warfare.

She was a strong woman with a supple body. Her tummy was flat but not muscular. It was a perfect landscape to kiss down. When I reached that delightful place where her thighs joined I dipped my tongue in and she went nuts.

She uttered a long unearthly groan and elevated her legs off the bed. Then she spread them impossibly wide with toes pointed. That started a frantic up-and-down movement of her hips against my face. Which culminated a minute or so later in a very loud orgasm.

I was more-or-less next to her leaning over her pussy when THAT happened and at that point her legs started beating up and down on the bed. They were so out of control that they banged me in the nose.

As the ripples were still passing across her stomach she grabbed my shoulders and said, "Get in me right now!! You have to get inside me!! DO IT NOW!!"

Then she slithered herself around underneath me, inserted old Lucifer into her boiling hot slit and threw her legs straight up in the air.

My sliding up inside that tight and wildly churning place produced an unearthly shriek of undistilled passion and she humped violently up to get me further in her. She was basically bent into a bow. With me inserted to the hilt at one end and her eyes vacantly staring at me on the other.

Then we began to move. It was like an old fashioned steam train pulling out of a station. First a lot of measured deep breathing. That was followed by increasing loud panting. And then the cadenced moaning started like the rhythmic clickity-clack of a train at full speed.

The recurring wet slapping sounds and my loud grunts and gasps were counterpointed by her increasingly impassioned cries.

She had her heels locked against the back of my knees and the exciting smell of sex permeated the room. Her face was a mask of passion and those huge pendulous tits were moving in wide cycles as they swung and shook on her chest.

I had just about gotten to where I wanted to get to when she made a ridiculously loud shriek and as she came I could feel her insides fizz like a shaken up bottle of champaign.

She relaxed for a second but I needed my cookies at that point.

So I continued to pound her at an increasingly powerful rate. Her eyes bugged impossibly wide and she yelled, "OH MY GOD!! I'M CUMMING AGAIN!!" And she went off on an outrageous set of writhing and bucking maneuvers, all the while making a noise like she was choking to death. Her legs and lower stomach were literally quivering as they held me in a death grip.

The uncontrollable contractions of her passage finally got me to my destination. And I arrived like an out of control locomotive.

That set her off in a final very loud orgasm. We held our intimate breeding posture for a couple of minutes while I pumped into her. I thought that there wouldn't be any fluid left in my body.

When we were done we were lying in a sweaty heap. I got a little rationality back. She was looking at me like she thought she had done something wrong. I said, "What?"

She said, "Do you think I'm some kind of wanton slut now? I've never been that out of control in my life."

I laughed and said, "Every man wants a lady in the living room and a whore in the bedroom. You just totally fucked my brains out. How could I NOT love you?"

Oh shit!! After two dates I had done the unforgivable!! I'd used the forbidden "L" word.

I knew that I might as well just put on my pants and leave - before she called the sheriff to evict me.

Instead she grabbed my neck in both hands, looked in my eyes and with touching sincerity said, "I love you too."

And so it all began. We dated for six months, which was as long as it took for us to be completely comfortable with each other.

I met her parents when they came to the wedding. I could tell that the Dress Blues and the medals were responsible for most of their admiration. That was what the uniform was designed to do.

I wasn't going to enlighten them about the fruit salad. Most of those were the same shit that everybody else gets. The Army likes their people to look like heroes when they're dressed up.

We settled into married life in a little place in Greenbelt. She could take the Green Line in to L'Enfant and Capitol South and I could drive up the Baltimore-Washington Parkway to the Fort.

It was an idyllic period in both of our lives. Even the dogs slept together. Although I was worried about 100 pound Buster accidently crushing 5 pound Chiquita in his sleep.

Janet was making her way up the ranks of Congressional staffers and I was finishing off my hitch as a Captain.

After I got out, I was recruited to a private firm in Roslyn. I was doing the same kind of analytics but the pay was well into six figures, which was a tribute to the amount of "War on Terror" money that was washing around DC.

We mortgaged ourselves to the hilt and bought a condo on the C&O Towpath in Georgetown. Vienna would have been a lot cheaper but both of us liked the Georgetown vibe. And we did all of the things that 34 year olds would do down there.

Our love life continued to be perfect. We made love four or five times a week, often more than once. And we had an affectionate, easygoing, relationship all of the time that we were together.

We laughed a lot and we had wonderful quiet Sundays together, both of us with a book and Chopin playing on the house speakers. All-in-all it was everything you could ever expect, or ask for, in a marriage.

One of the advantages of commercial intelligence work is that you have nine-to-five hours, not like it was when I was on active service.

I was doing mostly analytics with a team of bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed GWU and Georgetown graduates.

It was the usual generic threat assessment stuff that I had done for Army CI. But it was on an attack surface that was businessy, rather than military. So I dressed for work in a preppy get-up, rather than BDUs and a beret.

My people were only eight to ten years younger than me but between my service time and the fact that I was their boss they tended to treat me like I was Methuselah. I enjoyed the respect but I missed the camaraderie that I got with my crew at the Fort.