*Note to readers. I've written several stories about my life beginning with a pretty substantial physical transformation I went through just before my senior year of high school through an affair I had with my married English teacher followed by an affair with a married Mormon woman. Creative Writing is the account of the first affair while the second was told in Bagging Lauren. When I wrote it, the title just jumped out at me. After some reflection, I regret the choice of words because "Lauren" was a beautiful, sensual woman and the title makes it sound cheap and sleazy. That said, the title is set in stone, so I'm sticking with it in this fictional account.
I rarely spend time thinking about the past as it's a colossal waste of time. If you've read either of the two stories I mentioned, you know my early past was fairly challenging. My family was literally dirt poor, and I was just about the most unattractive and most picked-on kid in school until 12th grade. However, as I've written and shared these personal stories, they've caused me to reflect on the past and remember the good times.
This is a story about how things might have went had I not married the woman of my dreams whom I met in South Carolina just before I left active duty in the Marine Corps. She was everything I ever wanted in a woman and more, yet we ended up divorcing when her need to be dominated got to be more than I could take. (I also returned to an old temptation which further sealed our fate even though it was the cause of the divorce.) I've written about those events too, in stories called Making Changes, Offering Me Claire, and The Agreement. They happened in real life and are therefore written in the first person. This story is one version of what I wish might have happened. Since it's fictitious, it's written in the third person even though I'm the main character—or jerk. :-)
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"Dude! Turn on your television right now."
"Okay, hold on." Cal reached for the remote and hit the 'on' button. "Which channel?"
"Fox. She does the weather. Hurry before she's off."
"Fox? You gotta be shittin' me," he told his best friend as he changed the channel. As soon as it came in clearly, he knew why Garrett asked him to turn it on.
"Damn! She really is hot," he said.
"I told you, didn't I? She's like the hottest MILF I've ever seen," Garrett Benson said authoritatively. "She's 45 years old and looks like she's 30. I mean, she is just smokin' hot! I'm finally getting why you're into older women, dude."
Cal Petersen had seen her before while he was flipping through the channels and he had to agree. Having had affairs with two older, married women while he was still in high school, he'd had a thing for older women ever since.
"Yeah, she's really beautiful, Garrett. Now, back to reality. Who's driving today? Me or you?"
"It's my turn, but I told you I'm going to the Zumba class today. Did you forget?" Garrett asked reminded him.
"You were serious about that? Zumba? Jesus, Garrett. Who's gonna spot me?"
"Dude, you can ask any of the chicks who are always hittin' on you to do that. Or just grab another guy standing near you. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to have to bench 450 instead of 475 once, would it?"
"Fuckin' asshole," he said. "Seriously, why are you doing this?"
"I told you already. That's why I called you. There's a new Zumba instructor and she looks like that MILF on Fox. I'm gonna check her out—up close and personal, you know."
"Why can't you just look through the window on your way in and out? Why do have to fuck me over just to look at some woman who won't even look back at you?" Petersen asked with a little bit of irritation in his voice.
"It's just this one time, okay? Jesus. Get the sand out of your pussy already. Aren't you a Marine?"
"Former Marine, but yeah, the title's for life. But that doesn't mean jarheads don't get pissed off at their disloyal—friends." Sarcasm dripped from the final word.
"Okay, fine! I'll work out with you, but I'm definitely gonna be checking her out between sets. Is that good enough for you or do you still need to go douche?"
"Fuck you," Petersen told him then said, "See you at two o'clock, right?"
"Yep. See you then."
Today was chest and back, Cal's second favorite workout. The only thing he enjoyed more was leg day. When he first started lifting in high school, he hated working out his legs. Over time, it became the thing he enjoyed the most while the majority of guys who lifted were into biceps and pecs. Petersen's chest looked great, as did his arms, back, and shoulders, but legs were the shit.
He was on his last set of when Benson said, "Holy shit! There she is!"
Petersen had 460lbs on the bar and had done four reps. He was going for a fifth when Garrett lost focus. Petersen's entire upper body was quivering as he pushed to get that last rep, but it wasn't going up. As he slowly lost the battle he grunted, "A little help here shit for brains!" Benson looked down and saw the bar was almost on his friend's throat when he grabbed it with both hands and helped lift it up.
Petersen lay there and said, "She better damn well be worth it. You almost let that fuckin' thing kill me—asshole!"
"Sorry, man," he said sincerely. "But she's definitely worth it. And dude? I think she's checking you out."
Petersen sat up and looked toward the aerobics area when he saw her. She was indeed standing there and yes, she was looking at him. As soon as he made eye contact with her, she looked away, turned around and headed outside.
"What did you do, man?" Garrett said. "She was looking over here until you looked at her and she bolted. What the fuck?"
Petersen wasn't listening. He stood up and walked as quickly as he could toward the exit. He flung the doors open and saw her getting into a shiny new BMW. As she closed the door, he ran toward the car. Just as she was starting the engine, he tapped on the window. She didn't look up nor did she put the car in gear. She just sat there.
He tapped again and said, "Lauren?"
