Hey Folks, it's a new year, hopefully it will be one full of joy and happiness for all of us. There are so many things to look forward to. There's a new platform out there, the first normal production run Mustang with an independent rear suspension. I love the back of the car, but the rest may just take me a little time. I'm excited about the engine choices that are going to be possible, especially in a year or two when the standard GT gets 500 horsepower. I'm also excited to have the great Barney-R working with me and hopefully we can continue to write stories that you guys want to read. My plan this year is to mix it up a bit more. I think I Got a little stale last year because of my heavy duty schedule and all of my exams. So this year I want to get a bit wilder. Anyway, here's my slightly late New Year's story. But before I go, for all of you who asked about Delilah from the last story, she was based on a real person, who is out there on the internet. SS06
"Holy Shit! Something is going on," said Peggy loudly beside me.
As we watched the dance floor, I wondered again what she was talking about. It seemed to me that Peggy just fuckin' talked too much. Everyone talked about New Year's resolutions. Perhaps the best resolution for me would be to stop listening to Peggy, and to stop hanging out with her.
It was just like me to spend New Year's Eve, grieving for what I had lost. What made my grief worse was that I had caused it myself. My addiction had ruined my life as surely as if I had just thrown it all away. Like a gambler betting his life savings on one roll of a casino's loaded dice. Just me and Peggy on a New Year's Grieve.
It was, in fact, her idea for us to come to this boring party. Everyone around us seemed to be laughing and dancing and talking. They all seemed to be having a good time too. Peggy and I watched it all from our table on the edge of the room.
I wish that I could say that our table was exclusive. Well ... In a way I could. There was no one at our table except Peggy and me. Not that we planned it. No one seemed to have any interest in dancing with us, or partying with us. They seemed to be more interested in pointing at us when they thought we weren't listening.
I was sure that they were whispering about us. How dare we show our faces here? The party we were at was our small Michigan town's New Year's Eve blowout.
I suppose there was a time when I would have enjoyed this party immensely. There was a time when I would be there among the party goers, wearing my own silly hat, and holding on to my husband for all I was worth.
There was a time when I would have been pretending to dance among all the others and screaming at the top of my lungs. I say pretending to dance because all I ever did was move my feet while rubbing my pussy against Gary as hard as I could.
To me, the best thing about the party was always what came afterwards when we got home. Both of our kids were born nine months after New Year's Eve parties.
Maryanne was conceived in our living room. We couldn't wait to get upstairs. Gary had just ripped my dress off of me and fucked me on the floor with the door standing open where anyone passing by could have seen us.
And two years later, with Benny it was even worse. Gary had just dragged me outside of the hall and around to the side of the building. He had pushed me against the wall, pulled my dress up, and fucked me in the cold night air.
It was supposed to just be a quickie, to take the edge off of the desire we had built up while dancing. However, we got so into to it that I ended up on the ground on all fours with my ass in the air, while Gary slammed his dick in me and mauled my tits.
God I miss those days. My sigh of frustration catches Peggy's attention.
"I know you hate her, but..." began Peggy.
"Peggy, if you say one God Damned thing about that bitch, I'll walk out the fuckin' door and leave you here alone," I snapped, interrupting her. The anger of my delivery caught her by surprise.
I looked across the floor to see her, but focused on someone else instead. Someone I could never look away from.
The first time I saw Gary, was at his company's Christmas party. He was twenty-five years old and was just starting with the company as an engineer. It was his first party for the company, and he didn't know anyone there. He was so shy and so uncomfortable that I took pity on him.
I was working the party as a server. My job was to keep glasses of drinks available to the crowd. Even though we were not supposed to fraternize with the customers, I couldn't resist him.
By the end of the night, I had handed him a last beer with what I thought was a dazzling smile. "Make sure you use that napkin," I said. He looked at me as clueless as ever.
Luckily for me, I was halfway across the room when he discovered that I had written my name and phone number down on the napkin. "Cool," he yelled so loudly that everyone in the room turned to look at him.
I continued serving drinks as if I had no idea what was going on. I saw my supervisor looking at him just as everyone else was. "Maybe we should stop serving that guy alcohol," I said. She just nodded. But I noticed that she had a big smile on her face. Gary's enthusiasm and pure joy were so contagious that it infected everyone around him.
Less than a week later we were dating. Less than a month later, we were an item. Less than a year later, we were married. And every second with him has been precious.
I've often told people that Gary was made for me. He was my perfect match. He was so devoted to me and our children that I was sure that we would never be apart.
Our years together only served to prove me right. He was a great father, a devoted husband and I loved him more as time went on.
Our life together was a happy one. We bought the house of our dreams and loved our neighborhood. Our neighbors were all great people too. Some of them had their quirks, but as a whole, it was a wonderful place to live and a great place for our kids to grow up.
"Hey," said Peggy. "Do you think I should go and ask one of the shy guys to dance?"
"Peggy, you're a grown woman. Do whatever you want," I said.
It always seems to come out of nowhere, or at least, it seems to hit you when you're not looking. "IT" can be trouble, or betrayal, or pain, or sudden death. "IT" can also be luck or unexpected success. Sometimes it can even be love.
I really believe that I'm in love. I have all of the symptoms. That dizzy feeling when I look into her eyes; check. That surety that she is the most wonderful creature that God put on this earth; check. That desire to protect her and to kill anyone who tries to come between us; I have that too. And most importantly, that belief that she feels the same way about me and would never hurt me? I have that in spades.
However, as I prepare myself to knock her socks off, I hesitate. No one knows what I'm about to do. And there are a few people here who know and understand the significance of the place and the timing of the event. But even those few in the know illuminati as it were, have no idea what I've planned.
I wonder for the last time, if I should do this. Will it really make everything better? It'll make your relationship so much better, they say. I've also heard that it will supercharge your emotional connections by taking out the doubts.
My hesitation isn't based on any amount of doubts, no matter how small, that I have over being in love. Shit, I'm an expert on being in love. As I look across the floor, my eyes see Carol and her friend Peggy. A bit of bitterness still causes my stomach to churn as I see her.
It was Carol who taught me how to love someone. I won't go into how we got together or how our life together has been. I won't talk about our children, and I also won't talk about how we expected to be spending our remaining years of life, or the way we intended someday to spend our retirement years. Let's just stick to how we are now and how we got that way.
Carol and I had been married for twenty years. That was roughly two years ago. It was just before Christmas; Carol got that weird strain of the flu that had been going around. She was as sick as a dog. So naturally, being a devoted husband who worshiped the ground his wife walked on, I stayed home from work to take care of her until she was feeling better.
Both of our kids were out of the house by then. Maryanne was married, with a home, well an apartment anyway, of her own. And Benny was away at college. Carol had taken a part-time job, working in the local hospital's records and administrative division, and that was probably where she had picked up the virus.
While she was sick, she didn't have much of an appetite. It was all I could do to get her to try to force some soup down her throat. It took plenty of guilt trips and teen romance-like declarations of love to get her to consume even that. I knew damned well that the woman loved me after all of those years. So telling her that if she really loved me, she would eat her soup just seemed moronic and unnecessary. However, it was what I did.
All she really wanted was for me to sit by the bed with her and hold her hand. The medicine, her doctor told us, would make her better sooner, also put her to sleep in no time. She slept most of the first couple of days. So like any good husband, during her periods of lucidity, I asked her questions about what she wanted to eat. Then I slipped out to the market while she was out and bought her plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables, because they were what she seemed to crave.
.... There is more of this story ...