Daunted

Recently, and inexplicably, a number of fifty dollar words have wormed their way into my vocabulary. I have an irresistible impulse to use them in a story (I don't know if there is a word for that condition). So that you don't think that I'm a totally pretentious asshole, I'll define them for you at the start:

Atychiphobia – unwarranted fear of failure

Concupiscent – lustful, sensual, eagerly desired

Diastema – a gap between two teeth

Gambrinous – the state of being full of beer

Globella – the space between one's eyebrows

Lalochezia – the use of swearing to alleviate stress

Sillage – the scented trail left behind by a person wearing perfume

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

I was beginning to wonder if my wife Rachel had some sort of personality disorder. She's not a sociopath, doesn't have OCD, and isn't narcissistic, but it didn't seem that she could handle it when I achieved. This played-out from the mundane to the important, and was despite the fact that I consciously went out of my way to support her during all of her successes, and consoled her during her failures, even at the expense of my own activities. Countless times I had rearranged my schedule to share in her joys or commiserate her sorrows.

A mundane example of Rachel's inability to acknowledge my successes; she didn't attend my firm's basketball team game in the city rec league when we were playing for – and won – the championship despite the fact that all the other wives (and families) were there. A "business trip" suddenly popped up – on a Friday night.?!

The most serious important example occurred on another Friday night; this time I was receiving an award from my firm for being the top producer over the previous year at a dinner/dance at a fancy country club. Again an "essential" business trip popped up on Wednesday that would consume all day and night Friday and until early evening on Saturday.

Rachel didn't give me the news about missing my awards dinner until Wednesday night after she did her best to put me in a good mood. Not only did she make my favorite light dinner, but she pampered me afterwards, enticed me to shower with her, proceeded to suck me to maximum hardness while playing with my testicles, and then rode me reverse cowgirl. As she rode me she swore a blue streak while simultaneously fondling my balls and pulsing her pc muscles. By the time that we had both been reduced to puddles of protoplasm by our extreme orgasms, in my stupor I actually checked to see if my dick was still attached.

Rachel didn't leave it at that, however. Once we regained cognizance she sucked my cock clean for one of only a handful of times in our seven year relationship, and maybe for the first time in our five years of marriage.

As I lay in supreme bliss I heard "Blake, darling; that was soooo wonderful. You're a sex God."

"Shit, Rachel, I don't think that I could feel any better," I moaned in response.

After some more pillow talk, "Honey, I have some bad news. I so, so hate it – I almost feel like quitting my job..." – that was total bullshit because Rachel absolutely loved her job – "...but a nasty absolutely essential trip has come up for Friday morning until Saturday late afternoon and I'm going to miss your award dinner. God, I'm so sorry."

That was followed by tears; I can never tell with Rachel whether tears are real or crocodile since she was a big deal thespian in college. She had played it right, however; at that point in time I was so serene from one of the best sexual experiences of my life that nothing could put a damper on it.

"You have to do what you have to do," was my cliché response, which was immediately followed by Rachel sticking the nipple from one of her prodigious tits into my mouth while she concurrently stroked my scrotum. She knows that I love to have my balls manipulated. In fact my three favorite things on earth, in order, are my cock in her pussy, her manipulating (with hand or mouth) my ballsack, and me sucking on her nipples.

Oh shit, I guess I have to be honest; somewhere among those three favorites is fantasizing about a woman that I have no business dreaming about.

Because of my Wednesday night sexual bliss – followed Thursday morning with another sexual highlight when we fucked sitting face to face so that I could suck and fondle her tits while we were bouncing to a rewarding climax – her manipulation and my latest disappointment in her inability to share in my achievements didn't really hit me until Thursday afternoon. Then I started to work up a real mad. I was on the verge of calling Rachel and going ballistic on her when one of my co-workers, John Preston, came into my office.

For some reason John liked me – I don't really know why because he was the type of guy who always made crude remarks, which caused me to cringe or chastise him, and I was never overtly friendly to him. However despite my antipathy toward him I had done some favors for him in the past, and he was always willing to help me out.

"Hey Blake, I'm really sorry but I'm going to miss the first part of the awards dinner on Friday. I hope that I can get there before yours is given out because I want to lead the cheers – you really deserve it."

"Thanks, John; I hope that you can make it too," I replied, a little chagrined.

"There's one thing, though. Can you and Rachel give Jill a ride there? She can ride home with me once I make it."

Jill is John's wife. She's the one that I have no business dreaming about, but do. While I lust after Jill, I have a hard time interacting with her. Even when I had been gambrinous while she was around it was hard to make more than idle conversation; while I loved to ogle her, I rarely interacted with her one-on-one despite the fact that I attended many activities where she was present.

Why did I have a hard time interacting with Jill? Simple; Jill was the only person in my adult life who intimidated me.

Jill didn't intimidate me because she's an Amazon and I'm a wimp. I played middle linebacker in college for the Division III national champs (I was a little too slow for Division I, but strong and mean enough) and Jill is maybe 5 feet 2 inches tall, and certainly less than 110 pounds. However, she is the most – for lack of a better word – intriguing looking female on the planet as far as I'm concerned.

At least somewhat defining her intriguing look are her dichromatic eyes (one intense blue, the other just as intense green), a conspicuous diastema, and the smallest glabella this side of a unibrow, topped off by the fact that her eyebrows are a different color than her hair. On a normal woman these features would turn me – and almost any guy – off, but the rest of her facial features, mannerisms, and body, make her look exotic rather than strange.

Yeah there's that body, more fitting as a classic museum piece than a real human being. It can best be described as "solid," "erotic," and "compact," in the sultriest connotations of those words. Her legs and ass are so perfect that they sometimes don't look real, her arms have muscular definition just on the sexy side of brawny, and her tiny boobs appear – in the almost sheer blouses that she often wears, sans bra – to have oversized plump nipples.

If that were not enough, she's the ultimate in cheery and concupiscent at the same time!

Is it a wonder that the only – and I do mean only – woman that I have ever thought of besides Rachel herself when I was fucking Rachel is Jill?

Obviously my entire image of Jill was caroming through my mind after John asked me his question, apparently putting me in a trance. This caused him to say "Blake – earth to Blake – did you hear me?"

"Uh...Oh...sorry, John; I was thinking of a perplexing problem when you came in and zoned out for a second. What was it that you asked me?"

"Could you and Rachel give Jill a ride to the dinner/dance tomorrow night? I'll be late, but she can ride home with me."

"Uh...sure...uh...yeah, John. What time should I pick her up?" I responded, somehow failing to mention that Rachel would not be along.

"Well I know that you have to get there a little early, and Jill is chronically late, so I told her 6:00 p. m. so that she'll be ready to go by 6:30 and you can be sure to get there before 7:00," he replied, obviously pleased with himself.

"Uh...yeah; sounds like a plan – I'll get there at 6:00. Remind me of your address..."

With directions to John/Jill's house in hand, my antipathy toward Rachel inexplicably disappeared. It took me an hour of daydreaming – about Jill flipping her long shiny brunette hair off of her neck while laughing at a pool party while her thick nipples were prominent in her bikini top and her tanned consummate thighs glistened in the sunshine, and the time that we played miniature golf and she wiggled her ass before each putt – before I could concentrate on work again. I was knocked out of my trance only because my secretary barged into my office with an emergency.

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

Friday morning I kissed Rachel goodbye without visible acrimony even though her apologies for once again missing an important event in my life seemed hollow because they were so effusive, and were followed by "Miss me! I'll call your cell once I'm sure that the award has been presented." I also didn't like the clothing and another item that I surreptitiously saw in her suitcase the night before.

I was surprisingly efficient at work on Friday. I plowed through without taking any time for lunch, but left the office around 2:30 in the afternoon to go home. I had a light snack, did some muscle toning exercises, shaved and showered again (even though I had in the morning), took a brief nap in the nude (noticing that my cock was spontaneously coming to attention), and then picked out my most fashionable clothing.

I arrived at Jill's house at 5:50 and just drummed my fingers on the steering wheel of my Tesla until it was 6:01 and then went to the door. When Jill answered within seconds of my knock I was floored. She looked especially fantastic – and given how she normally looked, that meant world class. She gave me a toothy smile, accenting her small adorable diastema, as she nonchalantly flipped her beautiful mane off of her neck.

"Hi, Blake – don't you look nice for your big night. Right on time, I see," she said glancing at the diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist.

Contrary to what John had told me she was completely ready on time – and I was at a loss for words.

"Wow...uh...geez...uh...Jill; I mean...wow...you really look so good that you're spectral," I stammered like a high school freshman before his first school dance.

"Spectral, huh?" she laughed. "I hoped that you'd like my new dress; the woman at the dress shop said that it flatters me, but I don't know if that was just sales hype," she chuckled.

"No...uh...no; she was absolutely...uh...right," I continued to stammer, sure that my eyes were the size of baseballs.

"Let me just get my clutch then we can leave," she chimed as she turned and walked toward her kitchen, her ass naturally wiggling as she moved in her 5 inch heels. I was mesmerized.

When she returned, clutch in hand, she cheerily said "You're so tall that I decided to wear my five inch heels so that I wouldn't look like a midget next to you. I hope that I don't fall over in them," she giggled.

"I'll catch you if you do," I smiled, finally gaining a semblance of composure.

When I opened the front passenger car door for her she asked "Where's Rachel?"

"That's kind of a sore spot, Jill; an emergency business trip just popped up and she can't make it."

"She can't make it to your awards ceremony?" Jill mooed. "Or, poor baby; well I can be your biggest cheerleader then," she smiled, squeezing my hand on the steering wheel. A surprisingly diabolical look came over her face at the same time.

I really wish that Jill hadn't exposed her thighs while we were driving to the event.

I really wish that Jill hadn't continuously switched between sultry and funny as we rode to the country club.

I really wish that Jill hadn't periodically touched my arm, shoulder, or hand while making a point.

I really wish that I hadn't sniffed her exotic sillage as she preceded me into the country club front door.

I really wish that she didn't hold onto my bicep and lean into me as we walked around the dinner/dance hall and up to the bar to get a drink.

Why did I wish all these things? Because my cock was about to bust my zipper, that's why!

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

Jill acted in every way as my date, except that she never kissed me. She did put her hand on my thigh or knee on occasion during dinner, she did dance every dance with me and declined invitations from other guys, she snuggled up to me during the two slow dances we swayed to although she kept her crotch and thighs a respectable distance from my obviously excited meat, and she led the clapping standing ovation when my award was announced. When I returned to our table from my quick speech after accepting the award she held my hand and whispered into my ear "That was the funniest, most self-deprecating, yet warm speech that I've ever heard."

That warmed my heart, and hardened something else (as if it wasn't already impossibly hard).

Jill's cell phone rang once shortly after the three award presentations were over. In a matter-of-fact, more cheery than disappointed, manner after she excused herself and came back following her phone call, she told me "That was John. Some real problems came up and he won't be back until tomorrow late afternoon. Can you be a sweetheart and give me a ride home?"

The question was followed by an almost imperceptible eyelash batter and diabolical smile.

"I'd be honored," I replied, taking and kissing her hand as she giggled.

Rachel never called.

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

At the start of the ride back to Jill's house she said "Blake, I hope that you don't mind if I take these heels off and even put my bare feet on your console. They hurt like hell."

"No problem – I'm really touched that you'd wear those impossibly high heels just for me, and I certainly want to minimize your pain," I replied.

"Maybe you'll even give me a foot rub, then," she cackled as she discarded her shoes on the floor and put her right foot on the dashboard, exposing her tanned, sculptured, sinewy, world class, thigh, all the way up to where her panty line should have been, making it almost impossible for me not to crash. As if the visual stimulus of her consummate thigh wasn't enough, her touches and happy banter as we drove the twenty minutes to her house had me more sexually charged than at any other time in my life.

"You've got to rein it in; don't make a fool of yourself; don't become a fucking cheater;" was my attempted mantra to myself as my Tesla silently whisked along streets that had just recently been coated by a film of rainwater. However, my chant did nothing to quell the stirring in my loins.

When we arrived at Jill's house she had turned from seductress to siren. As I opened the door for her she picked up her shoes in her left hand, and held her clutch in her right. "Blake, I don't want to put my shoes back on, and I don't want to get my feet wet and dirty walking to the house – could you be a chivalrous gentleman and carry my lard ass to the front door?" she cooed with an enormous grin on her face.

"Sure," I quickly and enthusiastically replied, as I reached into the car and lifted her out of her seat, closed the car door with my leg, and marched her jiggling, giggling, body to the entrance to her house with my right hand firmly engaging her exquisite bare left thigh. She gave me a quick "thanks" kiss on my lips when I set her down, quickly got out her keys, and opened the front door. When I was still on the landing after she entered, my mind obviously debating whether I should go in or not, she devilishly smiled as she said "Blake, you promised me a foot rub. Get your ass in here."

"Yes ma'am," I replied, the debate now over, as she grabbed my hand and led me to her living room couch. I noticed that all of the drapes had been closed, and the only light that she turned on was a 25 watt incandescent bulb on an end table.

"OK, Mr. Chivalrous, have at it," she chuckled as she lifted her right foot up after plopping her ass on the couch.

I smiled as I got on my knees, took her foot in my hand, and started to massage it.

"Oh, that feels so fucking good...so dreamy...Oh, WOW..." she kept repeating for the first several minutes while her eyes were closed. Then she opened her eyes and saw me trying to look up her dress. She chortled, and then said "I removed my panties as you were moving from the driver's seat to open the door for me, and tucked them into my shoes. Is that what you're trying to see – if I have panties on?" Her smile took up her entire face.

"Busted," I responded, probably blushing.

"Once you start on the left foot I'll give you a peek," she chirped.

I soon moved to her left foot and when I did the "peek" turned out to be her flipping her dress up onto her waist so that her pussy was completely exposed. The sparse bush, prominent clit, and moist lips defining a small slit, made her pussy as delectable as her thighs. I'm sure that my eyes were the size of volleyballs!

As Jill oohed and aahed for a few minutes while I kneaded her left foot and her eyes fluttered, I was stupefied by the vision of her consummate pussy. As I proceeded with the foot massage like I was an automaton her eyes finally completely opened. "My feet feel great," she moaned more than said. "Could you lick my pussy now?"

I didn't need to be asked twice. I got to work, but I found myself shaking, and my mouth dry. After a few minutes where it was obvious that I wasn't getting the reaction from Jill that I desired she mumbled "How about sticking that thing causing the big bulge in your pants into my little slit?"

I quickly dropped my pants and boxers, my sport coat and tie long ago having been discarded but my shirt still on, and moved my cock into contact with her wet little gash. Penetration was difficult but we both worked at it and it was accomplished. Rising slightly up from my knees I started stroking as she grabbed onto my neck and closed her eyes. "I'm fucking the sexiest woman that I have ever seen in my life" precipitously popped into my head. Then disaster!

My cock wilted.

After a few more embarrassing strokes I pulled out, completely chagrinned. I spontaneously indulged in lalochezia, startling Jill. As I sat on my bare ass on her living room rug with my head in my hands I imagined Jill's reaction as somewhere between disgusted and angry. I was flabbergasted by her real response.

Jill moved my hands from my face and with an expression more puzzled than disgusted or angry said "Blake, honey. What happened?"

"Shit, I don't know," I moaned, feeling unwelcome tears starting to form in the corners of my eyes. "You're the sexiest woman in the world, and I was energized all night thinking about you...then..." my voice trailed off as I refused to make eye contact.

"Your cock was straining your pants all night," she chuckled – not a demeaning chuckle, just an observation. "Maybe it couldn't sustain being hard more than the five hours that it was?"

"I don't know," I moaned, "you're so fucking sexy I should have been able to stay hard for a month."

With one of her small but strong hands she lifted up my chin, stared into my eyes and said "We're going to figure this out. First thing, let's get completely undressed and shower together."

As shocked as I was by her response I couldn't help but hop to my feet just like she had. We both disrobed and left our clothes in the living room, and she led me by hand to the master bathroom which had an oversized marble shower stall. She put a shower cap on as she got the water to the temperature that she wanted it at, then stepped into the shower and pulled me in with her.