I opened the door and my life changed. For the second time in six months.
I had heard something in the bedroom when I entered our suite, but I didn't process what the sound was until I already had my hand on the door. As the door swings open, I am greeted by a vision of my wife of two weeks, stark naked on all four, her breasts swaying, as a hotel employee, I think he was a cabana boy, his pants down, plunges in and our of her. She turns her head and gives me a sneering smile and I close the door again.
As I sit on the couch, I wonder how I had not seen this coming. I am supposed to be a genius, but I sure was stupid. Was this her plan all along? I think back to our first meeting, six months ago.
*******
I was sitting at my favorite cafe near my condo in silicon valley. I am here at 8:00 in the morning, seven days a week, almost always at the same table, always alone. I always have the same order: a croissant, a small bowl of fresh melon and berries, and a large hot chocolate. I like my life predictable -- although I have never been formally diagnosed, I suspect I am on the spectrum. If you met me, I bet you would think so, too.
My life was going about to my expectations. I went to MIT at seventeen. If you don't know it, there are really two student bodies there. About two thirds of the students are more or less normal college students. They are smart by normie standards, but not MIT smart. Many of them are children of alums or celebs. They generally have to work hard at their classes, party hard and some of them cheat a lot to get through.
Then there are what people think of as MIT students. I was one of those. We are almost all misfits, nerds. geeks. Whatever you want to call us. We might forget to go to class for a week, but the course material is not actually that challenging for us, so we catch up.
If you put a bunch of jocks in a dorm together, pretty soon they would have a pecking order of who was the strongest, who was the fastest, but there would be constant competitions to refine your place in the pecking order. We were no different, but instead of arm wrestling, we competed on logic puzzles or abstract math. I wasn't top dog in my class, but close enough to the top to engender a lot of respect from both the students and the faculty.
I got recruited by a local start-up software company right out of school. That company didn't go well -- they rarely do. But after two years there, I got a FAANG job (Facebook Apple Amazon Netflix Google -- the highest aspiration for tech workers), which is where I still am two years later. I was at the end of the wave of absurdly high salaries. Some of my peers have been let go in the recent cost cutting, but they seem happy with my work.
I have established a simple, predictable life. I like predictable.
This particular morning, something unpredictable happened. The cafe is more crowded than usual for a Wednesday. A beautiful young woman, about my age, asks if she can share my table with me. She sets her coffee cup and a plate with a pastry down on what is now our table, breaking my routine.
I had noticed her walking around, scouting for a table. Most of the people here this early in the morning are regulars. She was most noticeable for her outfit, short white shorts and a green halter top that shows her boobs to a nice extent. And much of her belly. She is about 5'7", slender, with above average sized breasts for such a slender body, probably C cups, and long brown hair. She is minimally tanned, so she may not have been in California for long.
"Thanks, this is a godsend. I was trying to figure out if I could eat standing up."
"No problem, there is room at the table," I say, trying not to sound too grumpy.
I haven't been this close to a woman with this much exposed skin in months, not since I broke down and went to a strip club. I will probably think about her when I masturbate tonight.
"Oh, my name is Eileen. A family friend lent me his condo for two months out here to give me a change of scenery. I just moved in Monday."
"I'm Tristan. I have a condo over there, pointing to the building across the street."
"Have you lived here long? It seems nice, but it's probably too expensive a neighborhood for me to live in long term. What things should I check out while I am here?"
"I mostly just work and stay in my condo. I'm not sure I am a good guide for you. I suppose it depends on what you like to do."
"I will probably see you around, so think about it," she says. And she gives me a peck on the cheek and is gone.
I keep thinking about her all day at work. And I do masturbate that night imagining untying that halter. Twice.
I am back at the same table at the same time with the same breakfast the next morning. I see her again, now in a blue short skirt and a white top. She comes over and says, "Good morning Tristan, I am glad you are here again."
"Hello, Eileen. I am here every day at the same time eating the same thing, usually at this same table."
She sits down at the side of the table next to me today, rather than across the table like she did yesterday. She has the top two buttons unbuttoned, ones that I would expect to be buttoned, giving me another good view of her boobs today. Even more exciting, her blouse is largely translucent and she is wearing a lacy bra. I can clearly make out her nipples and her areolae. More masturbation material for tonight.
"I was thinking about what I like doing," she says. "I enjoy art museums and nature mostly."
"There are plenty of both in the region. Do you like oceanside, forests or mountains better?" I ask her.
"Oceans and then forests, I think. We don't have many mountains back east."
"Where back east? I lived in Cambridge, Mass for six years," I say, maybe finding a commonality with someone who is quickly becoming my dream girl.
"I lived in or near Lowell my entire life, until Monday. Were you Harvard or MIT?"
"MIT," I say.
"Oh, one of the smart ones instead of a rich one."
I change the subject, saying, "You could take the coastal highway down towards LA or you could drive up in Marin County. And if you like forests, the redwoods aren't that far. Many of the good art museums are right in the city. I haven't been to many of them, but I would like to."
She puts a hand on my bare forearm. It feels like electricity sparking through me. And I suddenly having a raging hard-on. I hope I can calm down before I have to stand up.
She stands up, gives me a peck on the cheek again and then puts her arm on my far shoulder and gives me a quick squeeze, pressing her boobs against my upper arm and back. She whispers in my ear, "Thanks for being my first California friend, Tristan."
And then she is gone. If I can't get myself to calm down in the next few minutes, I am going to need to go back to my condo for some quick relief before I can go to work. I sit for a few minutes, but going back to my condo wins.
