My Friday started off great. My commute to work took 15 minutes less than normal, everyone on the subway was pleasant, the sun was shining, I got complimented about my work on several projects by two different bosses, and I had a great tasting lunch with good companionship.
I expected my day to get even better. That night I had two skybox seat tickets, that had been gifted to me, to a Washington Nationals game. I had a date for the game with a good-looking woman I had gone out with three times who really seemed to like me, and I was anticipating getting in her pants after the game.
Everything went smoothly until I was walking to the subway to go to the game, having replaced my dress shirt, tie and sport coat with my Nationals jersey. I had arranged to meet my date at the front gate since she worked near the stadium.
My cell phone rang. It was my date's secretary saying she had to work late and wouldn't be able to make it. She didn't have the decency to call herself? And how could she not realize that $300 seats were not something to blow off, especially since the game was against the defending World Series Champions and sold out? I was as bummed as I can ever remember being, but not enough to miss the game.
As I went down the subway escalator in a daze, wondering what I was going to do with the other ticket, I was taken aback by a babe riding in front of me. She had on a perfectly styled business suit with a tight skirt slit up the back, and four inch heels. I could see she had shapely hips, a bubble ass, and spectacular legs -- at least her calves, back of her knees, and what part of her thighs were visible through the slit. I followed her through the turnstile and onto the platform -- she was going the same direction I was.
I couldn't help but ogle her. As we waited for the train I inconspicuously walked around her trying to get a look from all directions. She appeared to be in her mid 40s, dyed short red hair, a pointed nose, perfect makeup, a ruffled blouse, extremely poised. I don't like red hair, dyed hair, short hair, makeup, or pointed noses -- but she made it work, especially with those quintessential hips, ass and legs. Then she caught me staring at her -- she had piercing big beautiful blue eyes. I turned away trying to act nonchalant, but was as embarrassed as hell. Just then the train pulled up -- saved by the bell.
The train was fairly crowded -- no seats. I moved to the middle of a car and grabbed a hand rail. I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings having refocused on what I was going to do with the other ticket, when I did notice someone else grabbed the same handrail. When I looked up it was her -- holding onto the hand rail with one hand and with the other holding a pocket-sized Nationals calendar she was looking at. No rings on her fingers. Without thinking I blurted out:
"Are you a Nationals fan?"
She looked up at me, smiled, and said "Yes. I'm trying to find a game that will fit my schedule. Are you going tonight?"
I told her I was, showed her the two sky box tickets, told her how excited I was; she replied that she was jealous. We engaged in some pleasant small talk. She exuded personality and was as effervescent as she was sexy. I'm in my early thirties, tall, in good physical condition, and not bad looking, but certainly no stud. This woman looked way out of my league; but I was in an optimistic mood and thought to myself "Hey, stranger things have happened."
Suddenly a lightning bolt hit me. Eureka! I pulled out my cell phone, telling her I had it on vibrate, and pretended to answer it and to have a conversation with my already cancelled date. I ended the phantom call with a forlorn look on my face.
"What's wrong?"
"My date just cancelled on me -- said she had to work late. I hate going to games by myself."
"Wow, that's too bad. She must have a horrible job, or really be stupid to give up skybox seats when the Nationals are playing the defending Champs."
"Say, I'm embarrassed to ask you, but do you have plans for tonight? The game starts at 7:05 and should be done before 10:00."
"Are you asking me to go with you?"
With a lump in my throat as big as a baseball I hoarsely said "Yeah, I know its...." Before I could finish "I would love to! By the way, I'm Cheryl," she said with a big smile on her face and holding out her hand. "I'm Chet" I replied, taking her hand. It was strong but soft at the same time, just like the rest of her appeared to be. I virtually floated off the subway to the ballpark, chatting her up as we went.
The skybox was full of high rollers in business suits, probably lobbyists and company executives, maybe a Congressman or two -- despite living in Washington I don't recognize any politicians. I was kind of surprised that at least five or six of the guys said hello to Cheryl, calling her by name, and she actually responded with the names of two or three of them. I didn't want to pry so I didn't ask how she knew them. Anyway, I was completely awed by how good the seats and the included beverage and food service were -- no standing in line for hotdogs or beer here; anything you wanted came to you.
Cheryl and I seemed to really click. She was as fun to joke and kibitz with as any woman I have ever talked to in my life. She knew surprising little about baseball considering she was a Nationals fan, but did know a lot about human nature. She was especially big on whether some player when making a play on the field, or fan during the numerous between inning promotions and attempts to catch foul balls, was good or lucky. With a twinkle in her eye each time she must have asked me whether it was better to be good or lucky on a dozen different occasions. I didn't mind -- shit, I looked forward to it -- because each time she asked she put her hand on my arm or leg and stared at me with those knockout eyes! I did notice some of the guys she said "Hi" to seemed to be staring at us, but she didn't pay any attention to them, so I didn't either.
The Nationals won in the bottom of the 9th inning on a walk off home run. The crowd was delirious, everybody high-fiving and hugging each other -- especially wonderful when Cheryl hugged me while jumping up and down, revealing that there was a lot of meat underneath that ruffled blouse. When our hug was over, I had to cover my hard on with my game program.
As we excitedly exited the ball park with the rest of the joyous throng Cheryl grabbed one of my biceps and said "There is no way I'm going to be able to get a cab, and I only live a mile from here. Do you mind walking me home?"
Does the Pope poop in the woods? Is a bear Catholic? It was all I could do to suppress my elation as I -- likely too eagerly -- said "No, not at all." I recovered my senses quickly and made as good of a play as any in the game when I saw a sidewalk vendor selling crocks with the Nationals logo on them.
"You've probably been in those heels all day -- really nice looking but I bet they're killing your feet. Let me get you a practical souvenir" I said as I led her over to the vendor and got her a pair of crocks. I insisted on paying for them saying "You made what could have been a bummer into a great time -- I insist you let me get them for you."
Cheryl lit up like a Christmas tree as she put a hand on my shoulder to remove her high heels and put on the crocks. I carried her shoes for her as we walked through the din of the crowd to her condo, with her hands on my left arm, occasionally squeezing my bicep and making me very happy I weight-lifted regularly.
As we turned into a luxury condo complex with a security gate and a doorman my heart leapt when she said "You've been so nice, the least I can do is offer you a drink. It's only 10:15."
Shit, I didn't care what time it was -- I hope I didn't blurt out "Sure, I'd like that," too quickly or enthusiastically.
