LUNCH

--I'm not as photogenic as you, but I can tell a story....

LUNCH


Seeing that perfect ass again after all that time was shocking, exciting and dangerous (I received the image as a text while I was driving).  I had drifted across the center line a bit and was awakened from my trance by the frenzied blaring of multiple car horns.  I righted the car and tried to be slick in my response.

“Who is this?”

I thought that was pretty cool, considering I hadn’t heard from Annie since she left me standing at the altar nine years earlier.  I was devastated at the time, but the guy she left me for - a drummer for a Ska band called “The Intoxicados,” gave her Chlamydia.  She begged me for another chance, but by then I was pretty involved with the stripper I’d been fucking the whole time Annie and I had been dating.

“Nice try,” she responded, then went on.

“I have a job interview Thursday. The company’s headquartered in LA, so they’re flying me out for a day.  I thought we could catch up.  Thought you’d like the pic.  I’ve been working out.  But don’t get any ideas.  I’m happily married and a mom (boy and a girl).”

Really.

So she thinks after not hearing a word for nearly a decade that I am going to drop everything and meet her for some bullshit lunch date because she sent me a picture of her ass?

I texted back.

“Galleria Mall food court. 1pm.”

What can I say?  She does have a stellar ass.


THURSDAY

And there she was.  Stunning.  Well, not LA stunning. But still totally bangable in any city.  She has great skin and a hot little body and a girl-next-door face that is so pretty, I would have flown to China to have lunch with her, but please do not tell her I said that; I gotta keep her on her toes, right?  She was just stuffing her face with Panda Express noodles when I took the picture (which I now use as the wallpaper on my phone).  Her eyes are all buggy and mad and the chopsticks are going in different directions.

“Dick!  Delete that right now!”

“That’s what you get for starting without me.”

She wiped noodle grease off her chin.

“You’re a half-hour late, as usual, " she said, her words barely audible because her mouth was still full of food.

“Sorry.  Didn’t mean to leave you at the altar or anything.”

She swallowed her last bite and fixed her non-wondering eye on me, coldly, then got up and turned to walk away.  Black mini-dress.  Mother fucker.

“Hey!  Ass-whore!”  I said, loud enough so that half the food court turned to see who I was talking to.  She turned and walked up to me until our faces were a couple of inches apart.  Jesus, she smelled amazing.  Not kissing her was tough.  Maintaining my "I don't give a shit" attitude was nearly impossible.  She was winning this round, for sure.  But I was just getting warmed up.

“That’s right.  And you.  Will never.  Find out.”

“You’ve got some nerve wearing that dress.”

“Do I?  And I suppose you wear that cologne every day?”

“Every nine years or so.”

This was a battle she was sure she would win, but I had done some quick calculation and knew better.  Take notes, you youngins, and learn from The Master...

I knew she was married and I knew she had two kids and since she was too “Play-it-safe and follow-the-rules” to have gotten knocked up or rushed into anything, I figured there was a yearlong engagement and another year before deciding on a kid.  So, by my math, she hadn’t been fucked right in at least four years.  I, on the other hand, had just had rockstar sex with the 28-year-old bartender from Saints And Sinners that morning.  So, despite her posturing, I definitely had the upper hand.  Her powers were useless against me.

She broke the ice with a hug.  I got hard instantly.  She pulled away and gave me a look that said many things at once.

“What?”  I said.  “You should take it as a compliment.”

She pretended not to give a shit, but she had been a huge fan of my cock.  She used to say that she loved how it “filled her up.”

....

The rest of lunch was uneventful and mostly PG-rated.  She and Mr. Safe had moved to Connecticut and had a good healthcare plan and their retirement account was right on track.  I started to drift off when she started talking about her kid's school.  I found my gaze dropping to the floor.

Bitch.  She had a fresh pedicure.  Ruby Red.  Best Hawaiian Punch flavor and sexiest nail color. She was fucking shameless.  I found myself wondering if she’d waxed her legs the day before.  Brazilian?

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying?”

“No.”

She looked at her watch.

"My interview’s in an hour and I have to do some quick shopping first.  Wanna come?”

She called me a pig before I could answer.  But I did remember the last time I’d made her come...in the rental car on the top floor of the parking deck at Logan Airport.  Security rolled up on us in a little golf cart with a flashing light on top.  She wanted to crawl into a hole and die.  I tried the Jedi Mind Trick on them, but they were not having it.  They took us into a little interrogation room where we all watched me fingerbanging Annie.  The security guards tried to act serious, but one guy could not hide his smirk.  She was mortified.  I asked if they'd let us go if she flashed her tits (Looking back, I realize I should have run that by Annie first.).  They didn't say "Yes" but they didn't say "No."  Annie has a great rack and she was a real sport about it.  Everything was cool, but she got really mad when I asked if they could burn me a copy of the tape.  They let us go with a warning.

“What kind of shopping?” I asked.


VICTORIA’S SECRET

“You think you’re funny, but you are playing with fire, young lady.”

Annie looked at me with faux-innocence.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, sir.”

The next twenty minutes consisted of Annie torturing me, modeling various teddies and corsets and whatnot, saying shit like, "Do you think my husband will like this one?" while I stood outside the open door of her dressing booth going out of my mind and acting like I wasn't.  The salesgirl was enjoying the show as well.

Finally, I could take it no more and when Annie went in the booth to try on another outfit, I put on my leather driving gloves and waited for her to hang her previous outfit over the door.  Then I made my move.

Dressing room doors have the flimsiest locks.  Just saying.

When I smashed through the door, she turned toward me and was about to instinctively cry out.  That’s when I put my gloved hand over her mouth before tearing off the emerald green teddy she was going to model for me.  I pulled her hair back with my other hand and sunk my teeth into her neck like she was Sookie Stackhouse and I was Eric Northman.  She quivered and I felt her weight as her knees went weak.  I turned her around roughly so that she was pressed up  hard against the full-length mirror.

I tore what was left of the teddy off Annie and that was it for foreplay.  I jammed my cock in her so hard, she screamed against the leather-clad hand still covering her mouth.

I had always been a very "sweet" lover.  Romantic.  Taking my time.  Building slowly.  But nine years was a long time and I guess I still had some resentment to work out, so I drilled her.

I hit that pussy like it owed me money.

Every bit of rage, desire and frustration got compacted into the most intense fucking I have ever been a part of before or since.  Her face and her tits were pressed up against the mirror so firmly, I thought it might shatter.  I took my hand off her mouth and smacked her ass so hard that it alerted the salesgirl who totally knew what was up.

“Is everything alright in there?”

Annie’s response was timed to my savage thrusts.

“Yes, fine!  Every!  Thing’s!  Fine!”

I spun her around and the back of her head smacked against the mirror as my gloved hand caught her by the throat.  I was in her again and took her feet right off the ground and just pounded her.  She bit her lip, hard, to keep from crying out, but I was smashing her so hard against the wall, the entire dressing area was shaking

Annie dug her nails deep into my shoulder sending trickles of blood crying down my arm.  I felt myself get even thicker and harder as I drove it home a dozen more times.  I bit deep into her shoulder as we climaxed.

I stood there panting as Annie slid down the sweat-soaked mirror into a heap on the floor.

I picked the shredded teddy, wiped the sweat off my body and the Annie-honey off my still-throbbing cock.  I pulled up my pants and left Annie collapsed against the wall.  I was still catching my breath when I told her...

“I’d go with the black corset with the white, lace trim.  He’ll like that.”

The salesgirl was standing outside the door when I exited.  She looked past me, wide-eyed at Annie all fucked-out and out-of-breath, lying in a heap on the dressing room floor.  I handed the salesgirl the soaked teddy, wrote my phone number on her hand with a Sharpie and kissed her softly on the neck just below her ear.

I walked out without looking back.

Game.  Set.  Match.

DEFERRED

My heart has been broken more times than I can count.

I am responsible for all of these, except the first time because I could not have known such a thing was possible.

I was fifteen.  Dale was seventeen (considered a significant age difference at the time).  She told me that my intellect belied my years.  She was my equal.  She was my first.  We were in love.

Infidelity did not occur to me.  When we breathe, do we imagine something better than air?  It never crossed my mind.  I had no jealousy or insecurity.  My parents stayed my parents.  My brothers were always my brothers.  The sun rose in The East and set in The West.  And Dale and I only made love to one-another.  Until...

Of course I now know that this shit happens all the time.  I have betrayed and been betrayed numerous times.  It always hurts, but the pain has always been tempered with knowledge of the possibility or expectation or even resignation...

God, I wish that last part were true - that it gets easier.  But becoming accustomed to pain and developing a tolerance to pain are two different things.  And though, over the years, I have developed a tolerance to all sorts of things, heartache is not one of them and I think I know why.

I simply never healed.

Earlier this month I had surgery done on my rotator cuff.  The pain in my shoulder was really bothering me.  The surgeon asked me when this pain started.  She looked at me funny when I told her, "I first noticed it 25 years ago.  It was either a diving injury or motorcycle crash, both of which occurred before I was twenty."

"Well, you're going to feel a lot better in six months.  But why did you wait so long?"

The pain was not that bad in my twenties and it only flared up after a workout at the gym.  Avoiding the gym seemed to solve the problem so I went sporadically and would get into a routine until my shoulder hurt.  Then I'd quit.  As time passed, the activities that triggered the pain increased as did the intensity of the pain.  I couldn't pick up my son, a toddler at the time. When I was taking surfing lessons, I found it impossible to paddle out.  I couldn't swim.  I live on the Westside; how am I supposed to take a yoga class if I can't do it on a fucking paddleboard?

So, I went to the VA and started the process I should have started a long time ago.

Now I'm    h    e    a   l  i  n g   and the pain is more intense and nearly constant.  It is DIFFICULT to imagine that I will be able to put something on a shelf above my head, let alone swim or surf.  I feel like my recovery is a burden on others.  Things need to be done and I can't do them.  I was told emphatically that if I did not allow this injury    t   i   m   e    to  FULLY  heal...

...re-injury.  Is.  Certain.

But I perceive people looking at me like I am just avoiding work (would not be the first time).

What they cannot see is the work that IS being done.  They cannot see it because it is under my skin.  It is within the framework of my joints.  The cartilage and tendons, the muscle and bone, the very parts that animate us.

All I need to do is rest.  Eat.  Drink.  Shower.  Shave.  Say, "Yes." Ask for help and graciously accept it when offered.  Try to be positive.  Get discouraged and move forward anyway.  Let time do its work.  Only do activities which the PT says I'm ready for, because I will feel healed before I am.

If I do all this, somewhere out there where the surf meets the sand (hopefully somewhere where the water is warm) there is a wave waiting to carry me toward shore