It seems that I spent the first sixteen years of my life waiting for my mother, and the last eight waiting for my wife Joyce. Even though I'm only thirty, in 2016 I can sing every word of the old (1951) Pee Wee King song "Slow Poke," the most salient part of which is:
"Time means nothing to you, I wait and then
Late again, eight o'clock, nine o'clock, quarter to ten."
How does a thirty year old know that song you ask? Simple! My father used to sign it when he, my sister, and I waited endlessly for my mother. At first I hated the song, but it grew on me because it was my only defense against my mother's tardiness - which I never stopped hating.
If I hated waiting for my mother, why, you might ask, did I end up marrying Joyce, someone with the same total lack of concern for punctuality? The answer to that question is also simple, although it contains three parts. 1) She wasn't like that when we first met, or even when we were first married. 2) I fell in love with her. 3) She often apologizes for her tardiness by giving me out-of-this-world blow jobs.
Despite my love for Joyce I have become less tolerant of her tardiness, and more concerned with something that she has adopted the last few years - religious zealotry. While I'm not a religious guy I am moral and believe in the Golden Rule as the basic human imperative in dealing with other people.
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I was a little past my comfort zone one particular Saturday night because we were in a hotel where we were going to meet for dinner a clergyman (and his wife) who was applying for the job at Joyce's church in a city located about halfway between his town and ours. Joyce was the chairman (I hate the word "chairperson") of the committee to interview the candidates for the job, and this was her second meeting with Pastor John Perkins. She dragged me along because his wife was coming and she thought that it would be awkward if it was just her and the two of them, like the first time that she met him.
As Joyce was upstairs doing whatever it is that she does to take hours to get ready for something like this dinner, I went down to the hotel Sports Bar to watch a game and have a few drinks. It was only six o'clock and dinner wasn't until eight so rather than sitting with my thumb up my ass in the Room 810 I thought that I'd enjoy myself more in the Sports Bar.
I play in several recreational leagues depending upon the season. It being spring, I had played a softball game Friday night. I always remove my wedding ring when I do because it psychologically adversely affects my play, especially when I'm gripping a bat. In the second inning I hit a line drive to left center which I thought that I could stretch into a double. I had to dive into second base to beat the throw from the left fielder, and when I did I dislocated the ring finger on my left hand. It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch even though I taped it up as soon as I scored a run on the next batter's single. I also soaked it in ice water after the game, but it swelled up to the extent that I could not put my wedding ring back on.
Apparently the hotel's Sports Bar was a minor meat market in this unfamiliar city because I saw an inordinate number of women in it, most either attractive, slutty, or both. It was very busy and I was lucky to get a small table in the corner although still with a view of one of the large TV screens. I was sitting at the small table nursing a beer while alternating between watching a baseball game and the women, when a striking red head walked up to me with what looked like a foo-foo drink in her hand. She seemed to be about five years older than my thirty years, with a beautiful face, big tits, and shapely legs accented by her five inch heels - not that I noticed.
"Mind if I sit down - I need to get off my feet since these shoes are killing me and this is the only seat not occupied - unless you're saving it," the red-headed siren said.
"No, no...no problem," I stuttered, standing up and pulling the vacant chair out for her. "It looks like those shoes are uncomfortable," was my brilliant opening dialogue.
"You're so right," she said with a big smile as she sat down. My senses now attuned I couldn't help notice her perfect heart-shaped ass as she swung it down onto the chair. "You don't mind if I take my shoes off, do you? I promise that my feet don't stink," she giggled.
"No - help yourself," I quickly replied, like I was going to tell her "Just live with the pain."
"Oh, that feels so good," she mumbled as she removed both shoes and rubbed her left foot. "See what a medieval torture device these things are," she continued as she held up one of the shoes for me to see. It did look like it was for show only, and about as practical as a tit on a boar.
"I know that I could never walk in them," I chuckled as I stared at her left hand, which was holding the shoe - no wedding rings. "Maybe she thinks that I'm single and wants to pick me up?" I allowed myself to dream. "No, she's too hot for that - she could get any guy she wanted," I quickly told myself, noticing even more clearly her perfect facial features, dancing green eyes, and big conical bonkers.
"Why are you here?" she asked.
Rather than give a long explanation I said "I'm waiting to go to dinner with someone and thought that I'd have a drink ahead of time and watch the game."
"I hope that I won't distract you," she smiled, while batting her eyes.
I wanted to say "You're the biggest distraction I've ever seen in my life," but instead I lied "I'm not really that interested in the game. So why are you here?"
"I'm going to meet someone later too, but he's out and about and I don't know when he'll get here because he's always late so I thought that I'd get a drink for myself, and this was the only place nearby."
"What's your name?" I asked, extending my hand, "I'm Brian."
"I'm Alisha, Brian," she replied, again batting her eyes as she put her soft hand into mine. "Sooo nice to meet you." She held onto my hand a length of time that was inappropriate for someone who wasn't married to her or a good friend of hers, but for some reason I didn't complain. Actually the reason was apparent; it sent an electric charge up my spine.
I found Alisha about the easiest person to talk to that I had ever met - but also the most "flirty" and provocative. I bought us each two more drinks while the conversation flowed as we talked and laughed. Our conversation got to a point where we exchanged risqué stories and jokes, when my cellphone rang, snapping me out of a trance that I was in staring at Alisha's beautiful face and bewitching cleavage.
"Hello," I innocuously answered.
"Hi Hon," came Joyce's voice. "I just wanted to let you know that I heard from John Perkins, and he won't get here until about nine - and I could use the extra time to get ready anyway."
"What the fuck?" I said to myself - how could she need more time. Then I remembered that in addition to her normal tedious ritual of getting ready that she had to brush up on the topics that her church wanted her to discuss with John. "Do you want me to redo the reservation?" I asked.
"I already have," she chuckled. "See you in the restaurant about 9:00." It was 7:15.
"OK, see you then," I said, terminating the call.
As I looked back at Alisha I saw that she was looking at a text message on her smartphone. She key boarded something short, and then put it in her purse.
"Any problem?" she asked.
"No, not really - just a delay in when I'm to meet who I'm supposed to."
"I hope that you're not disappointed to spend some more time with me," she said, again batting her damn eye lashes as she simultaneously flipped her long red mane over her shoulder and smiled showing her flawless pearly whites.
"No...no...no problem," I stuttered as she placed her hand on top of mine. She didn't remove her hand but rather several minutes later her bare left foot contacted my leg. My cock started saluting. About 7:30 she looked at her watch on her perfectly tanned arm, with just the right amount of muscle.
"Say, Brian - I hope that I'm not being inappropriate, but with your delay I wonder if there is something that you could help me with in my room, upstairs. I simply can't connect to the Internet with my laptop and I really need to later tonight, and the hotel doesn't have an IT guy on staff today and the front desk has been unhelpful."
"SHIT," I said to myself, drawing upon my golden rule morality. I had never been unfaithful to Joyce but this was the sexiest woman that I had ever seen in my life - not just live, but in any media. Was she propositioning me thinking that I was single?
"Uh...well...I'm...uh...married," I stammered.
"I am too," she replied with a devilish smile as she squeezed my hand harder. "I'm just asking you to help me with my computer," she continued with a glint in her eye and batting her goddamn coquettish eyelashes again. "I'm sure that it won't take long."
"Uh...OK," I stammered some more, seemingly having lost the inability to say "No" to this siren. She got the biggest smile I've ever seen - which seemed to morph from sweet to diabolical.
When we entered Room 334, much to my relief she actually did get out her laptop. I was hoping that she would leave the door to her room open, but it automatically closed like most hotel room doors do. I started up her laptop at the desk in the room. She stood right next to me, putting one hand on my shoulder and pointing with the other hand. "You won't abuse my trust if I tell you my password, will you?" she chuckled once the machine fired up.
"No," I laughed as I turned my head toward her and found her face, with twinkling eyes, pursed lips, and an intoxicating aroma, right next to mine.
I played around with the computer for a while - Alisha's hand never left my shoulder, occasionally squeezing it when it looked like I was making headway. I'm no computer expert by any means, but I am fairly familiar with and conversant in the operating system that she had, and I had set up the Internet on Joyce's laptop earlier in the day. After about five minutes of playing around with it, Alisha was connected.
"Thanks soooo much Brian," she gushed, planting a kiss on my cheek. "Can you click onto this?" she asked pointing to an icon on the screen. I did; up popped a photo of Alisha naked in a beyond-incendiary pose. Her nude body was impossibly alluring.
