I guess you might say I'm a lucky man. My name is Paul, and I have a runner's body which has stayed with me since college. That's how I got to college in the first place. I was good at running the hurdles and even better at the sprint races. If it was a mile or less, I was your man. At least I was good enough to get an athletic scholarship. I even got to try out for the Olympics, but I was point zero four seconds too slow.
I didn't have a specific major because I had no special interest, so I settled for a general studies degree. While that was going on, I received a master's degree in sex education. I had the looks to go with my body, and I took full advantage of it. Girls were easy and most of them were excellent teachers in the art of making love. I learned more about sex during those four years than most men learn in a lifetime.
I got lucky after graduation and was offered a job by an electrical wholesale company. The main office and warehouse was in Central City. We had four satellite warehouse outlets in each of the four directions, about four hours away by car. They were North City, South City, East City, and West City, as my boss liked to call them. Part of my job was to visit each satellite store every fourth week. The owner believed in hands-on supervision and wouldn't let me use the computer or the telephone as a substitute for face-to-face meetings.
I would leave early every Thursday morning for one of our stores, arrive about noon, review their inventory, and check on any problems they might have. I would stay overnight at a good motel or hotel, check back in with the store for a couple of hours Friday morning, and then drive home. The boss provided me with a nice car, and he didn't complain about my expense account.
I met Gail at our first company picnic. She was attending a family reunion that was holding a picnic at the same park. She was beautiful. No, she was more than beautiful; she was exquisite. You could see her in a bikini at the swimming pool and still be suffering from wet dreams about her a week later. We introduced ourselves and sat on a bench to talk. Well, I think she was interested in talking. I was interested in something else, but not in public.
We talked for about thirty minutes, and I realized two things. She had the most desirable body I had ever seen. Her fine blonde hair was done up in a pony tail and it went down to well below her shoulder blades.
That was the problem, she was blonde. The creators of every blonde joke ever told or written must have had her in mind. No wonder she was twenty-three years old and still single. As far as I could tell, she didn't even have a boyfriend. I was only a year older than her but light years ahead of her on the intelligence meter.
We exchanged phone numbers, and I called her the next day. We made a date for the next Friday night, but that turned out to be a complete waste of time for me. I took her to a nice place to eat, and we danced afterward. Actually, she was light years ahead of me when it came to dancing. Rule number one was that you don't look like you're making love when on the dance floor. We could keep an inch or so between us, or we could sit down. I found out about rule number two when I took her home. I got a kiss on the cheek, but I didn't get invited in. Okay, there was always date number two.
Date number two was exactly the same as date number one. Date numbers three, four, and five ended the same way. Back in college, I always scored by the second date. Considering I wasn't getting anywhere with her, I started teasing her. What the hell, why not? I would be moving on before long anyway. She was so dumb that she would laugh right along with me, never realizing that I was making fun of her. Dumb blonde.
We dated a few more times, and I continued to make fun of her. She never knew the difference. Of course, I never saw the inside of her apartment either. By the time I decided to move on, it was too late. I had become obsessed with her.
I wanted what I couldn't have. I had never been turned down like this before. I made up my mind that I wouldn't give up until I had her. Marriage was no problem. There was always divorce if it didn't work out.
She was a virgin; something I had never experienced before. Out of the numerous women I had enjoyed, that simple pleasure had escaped me. I would have her maidenhead, one way or the other. If I had to marry her to claim her virginity, fine.
Her complete lack of experience would definitely work to my advantage. It would be fun teaching her how I liked to be pleasured. I wouldn't have to worry about her comparing me to some former lover. Marriage seemed like the best way to get exactly what I wanted.
I had heard that a girl became totally devoted to the man that took her cherry. That, plus her marriage vows, would make her mine and mine alone. That's what I wanted, complete loyalty.
Was I in love? I doubt it. Besides, love is for romantics and fools. I did want her though. She would probably loosen up once we were engaged.
I reserved a table at the very best restaurant in town for our next date, and we had a perfect candle light dinner. She accepted the engagement ring with a close hug and an intimate kiss.
That got me through the front door and all the way to the couch. We were sitting close, and I started to put my hand down her blouse. She stood up, cupped her breasts with her hands and informed me that only her husband would play with those puppies. She then cupped her sex and informed me that only her husband would ever explore that territory.
We hadn't set a date to get married. I was thinking along the lines of a year or so but when she said that, I moved the timetable up to as soon as possible. We compromised on two months. She wanted a nice church wedding, and it would take that long to make all of the arrangements.
