If you're looking for a story with lots of sex -- this ain't it. This is about an exploration of relationships.
What sex there is, is in later chapters.
Sandy
Sometimes change comes into our life so quietly, subtlety, that it's only later we see the pattern.
That's what happened to me a few years ago.
Chapter one
I met her in a fish store. No, not the eatable kind; a tropical fish store. She was an employee. I think the only one, really. Her name was Sandy and just about the first thing you noticed was her eyes; they had a smoky gray color that seemed a mile deep. You always had the feeling when talking to her that she was paying complete attention to you. I noticed she gave the same attention to everyone she served, and yet knew when others needed help.
It was several visits before I looked beyond her eyes; a woman in her mid - twenties, maybe five foot six. Her hair a short cut, tousled brunette that lay close over her ears and framing her face. The face was round, but not full, with prominent cheek bones, a small nose and shapely lips. Her voice was soft yet clear, and she spoke in an almost shy manner.
I couldn't tell about her weight as she always wore very loose and very long sweaters over jeans, but her hands and wrists were small and delicate.
I'm Mark. Mark Hoffman. Married, forty two, five foot eight and one hundred eighty pounds. At the time my day job was Distribution Dispatcher for our local electric company. It's a high pressure job with little room for error. Consequently when I'm home I needed a hobby that took my mind away from work, so I grew and bred tropical fish.
The first time I met Sandy I was in the shop trying to sell some of my fish. I had an abundance of Australian Rainbows and was willing to make the shop owner a good price.
While we waited for the owner, Grace Samuelson, Sandy and I talked. She'd never seen these fish before, and was taken with their bright colors and flowing shapes, and after Grace bought what I had, I took time to teach both how to tell males from females; customers were happier if they had a mix.
Anyway, I was in and out of Grace's shop periodically, and every time I had pleasant conversations with Sandy. She seemed well versed in fish; you'd expect that, but she also seemed well up on current affairs, asking my opinion on events. Occasionally I'd hit the shop as she was taking a break, so I'd sit and talk with her. She had an interest in local politics; following city affairs closely, and an intense interest in global warming.
When we talked, her eyes seldom left my face, and I'd get engulfed in her eyes; sometimes even losing track of our subject. This had a tendency to shake me as I was happily married and not looking to cheat.
After my third visit to Grace's shop, I mentioned Sandy to my wife. Not because I felt guilty or anything, we talked often of others we had met and invited some to our home. Many became good friends.
"What do you know about her?"
"Only what I've told you. She seems very nice, but there's an underlying shyness that keeps a ... I don't want to call it a wall ... but a distance, between us. And yet she seems to want to be friends also."
"So, she's just your usual conflicted woman."
"I guess."
"Well, let's have her over when she's off; I'd like to meet this mystery woman."
Karen was my age and just naturally had almost the same figure as when I met her twenty years before; and that's in spite of two kids. Her blonde hair swept down and over her shoulders in natural waves. Wire framed glasses and green eyes gave her a bit of a hippy look, and her choice of flowing skirts and peasant blouses highlighted her figure. She seldom wore bras, letting her b-cup breasts stand proud.
