A Simple Enquiry

by D.T. Iverson

Caution: This Humor Story contains strong sexual content, including Consensual, .

Desc: Humor Story: Elmore Leonard once said that a writer should write about the things he knows. He wrote about "wild assholes with revolvers." I write about nerds. My narrator is a bit out of the ordinary, even for the nerd breed. But, he is by no means an exception. Clueless is too harsh a term. Instead, I prefer the word "innocent." And IMHO his undeniably limited perspective is no less unbelievable than the hundreds of guys who can LOOK at their wife and just "know". I hope you enjoy - DT

It started with an argument at dinner. I’m “special” when it comes to my relationships with people. But the wife has a few friends. And occasionally she likes to have somebody over for a meal and smalltalk. I would rather be waterboarded.

Still, if I act too disinterested during one of Kari’s social evenings, she gets even more “distant” when bedtime rolls around. Accordingly, I was on my best behavior with her college roomie and the woman’s husband.

Her former roommate was her best friend. Their relationship dated back to their first semester in Darnall Hall. I always thought that Isobel was born with a poker up her ass. That was because she treated me like one of her children.

Kari has told me that she was a lot of fun in college. I couldn’t verify that since I didn’t get to know either of them until five years later. But whatever mutated her from “fun” into the razor carrying bitch that I met at age 27 was nothing I wanted to mess with. In fact, Isobel was such a man hater I wondered how she had managed to produce two kids, unless it was with a turkey baster.

Isobel’s husband was a very good looking guy, tall and slim. He was one of the legion of slick Foreign Service types who infest Foggy Bottom. He was no more than a GS-13. But because he was at State, he had adopted an air of phony gravitas that was only slightly less pretentious than a Russian Grand Duke. Along with the same steaming pile of judgment.

I always wondered how a player like Scott had ended up with an uptight bitch like Isobel. I suspected that there may have been some Catholic guilt involved, since they both attended mass slightly more frequently than the Pope.

Scott didn’t think much of me. That was understandable since I really don’t have a job. Or to put it more accurately, I don’t have a “career.” Instead I sell things to the highest bidder. I am not going to explain how I got into reverse engineering code for a living. But trust me it had nothing to do with honesty, or altruism.

About the time I hit puberty, I found out that school was mostly boring. And I was smart enough that I could con my way out of doing homework. So, at age 13 I had a lot of spare time on my hands. I devoted that time to learning all about the stuff that I WAS interested in.

I began my lifelong trip to perdition by disassembling and decompiling trendy game programs, looking for all the hidden keys in the binary. That made me very popular with my “gamer” friends. But by the time I got into high school keying was really no challenge.

Consequently, I went looking for more interesting opportunities. And I found them in the hexadecimal of commercial code. You have no idea how much money the big tech companies will pay you if you discover a zero-day vulnerability in one of their products. That is especially true if they think that you might share that knowledge with the Washington Post.

“Ransom” and “blackmail” are such ugly terms. I would rather view myself as Robin Hood keeping the tech giants honest. In either case, I was making well into six figures by the time I hit 21. And the gravy train had no end in sight. Because, unlike fine wine the software industry DOES NOT improve with age.

I was living with my parents at the time; and my social life mainly happened in their basement. There are always gamer girls, mostly Goth chicks with the requisite tattoos and piercings, who are willing to hand it out for a Call of Duty key. They and my buddies and I would party in my Bat Cave most nights.

We didn’t drink. Hence, we were never THAT noisy. But the whiffs of cannabis-sativa that emanated up into the grownups living quarters eventually got me kicked out. Which led me to a condo in Manassas. It cost in the high $200Ks. I had never paid rent for my former lair. So, I had that much cash sitting in my checking account.

To say the least the decor was eclectic. Fashion is nothing to me. Seriously!!! I had spent most of my life living in a cellar in Centreville. So, I furnished my place from the Salvation Army and stuff that I found by the side of the road.

The living room was mostly futons and bean bag chairs. And the dining room table had a bullet hole in it. But I liked the ambiance. All-in-all it was an idyllic life. Nevertheless, as I matured I was beginning to get that age-old feeling. It was the primeval yearning to find somebody who I could love and who would love me unconditionally in return.

Of course, I got a dog!

Buster was a brown dog, huge, muscular, smelly and devoted. His original owners tied him to a cinder block and abandoned him over in Anacostia. I rescued him from the DC Pound. He looks like the hound from hell. And he has scars all over his hide. I think he was originally bred as a fighter. But he is so sweet and gentle that he simply wouldn’t fight.

He had so many of the big breeds in him that it was hard to tell what type of mutt he was. The one thing I was certain about was that whoever the actual father was, it must have been one hell of a busy night for his mother.

But nobody could ask for a better friend and companion. We talk a lot. He sounds exactly like Barry White. You would have to be a dog lover, to understand how I knew that. But if you own a dog you know what I’m saying.

Buster and I led a happy nerd existence. Until one fine day Eve appeared in the Garden. I saw a woman walking a rat on a leash one day, while I was waiting for Buster at the Costello dog park. Buster inspected the bushes and I inspected her.

She was tiny, perhaps five two, with dark brown hair that was cut into a neat preppy bob. She had a cute little figure. She was maybe a hundred and ten pounds, not spectacularly round, just kind of lithe and well put together.

What I noticed were her legs. She was wearing a short dress and high heels, like she had just dashed home to take her dog out after work. The wind was blowing and so I was getting the Marilyn Monroe effect. And it showed off a great deal of beautiful, well-muscled leg and rounded buns.

As the wind gusted I even got a flash of what was at the top of those long gorgeous limbs. It was a perfect jewel of a lower body. I am a leg and butt man so that piqued my interest. She was coming toward me. She knew I was checking her out. I smiled at her. Her rat growled at Buster.

I can never figure out Chihuahuas. Buster was perhaps 140 pounds, all thick armored fur and long dripping fangs. And her mutt was maybe 5 pounds of deluded canine. But Buster took a step back. He will avoid confrontation at all costs which is one of his most endearing qualities.

The woman smiled at me and said, “Don’t worry, she won’t hurt him.” Very cute!

I said, “Well your princess is certainly full of herself.” She had a pink collar with rhinestones so I could tell it was a girl. Kari then proceeded to stop and tell me exactly how full of herself Chiquita was. That led to coffee, which led to a date, and then to marriage.

I know I should explain that. But I can’t. From the time I met Kari, I felt like I was on one of those moving sidewalks at Dulles. Where the inevitable destination was holy matrimony. Possibly the time was right. Maybe she was just THAT attractive. And perhaps I didn’t have a choice.

Kari is determined and willful to say the least. And in that respect, we are BOTH like our dogs. All I know is that we bonded from the time we met. I had never actually HAD a girlfriend. I had my share of women, often for the night, sometimes for a week and in one case for an entire summer. But the arrangement had never had any sense of permanence. I’m just not THAT into other human beings.

Kari was different. I am far from emotionally sensitive, but I felt comfortable and connected with her. I was a lot more secure and happy when we were together. She had a way of making me think cheerful thoughts, not my usual nerd world-weariness. Then again, maybe the attraction was the fact that she is the world’s hottest fuck.

Her body isn’t exceptional on top. She is slim and lissome. Her boobs are nice and well formed. The word “perky” comes to mind with big beautiful nipples. Just touching them drives her nuts. But her hips and legs are heavily muscled and gorgeous. In fact, if you like beautiful long full legs Kari is your woman. And did I mention that round little ass?

I asked her if she was a dancer and she told me it was genetics. Whatever it was it was one in a million. She was particularly fond of the missionary position, which sounds kind of boring. But it was the way she used her legs during those sessions that made our bouts memorable.

She would constantly manipulate me between her hard thighs like a rider with a horse. Sometimes she would spread them incredibly wide to get maximum penetration. Sometimes she would wrap them around me and pull me around to get a sensation.

And Kari was NOT quiet when we fucked. In between moans, cries, groans and gasps you would get a very loud play by play about how marvelous she was feeling and how much longer and harder I had to pound her. She always kept me interested that way

Kari is a very smart woman. I love smart women. She had a big girl’s job with a K Street firm and she was mostly a joy to be married to. There would be the usual moments when she was pissed at me but I chalked that up to her Mediterranean heritage. She is Italian and Greek, which is a very bad combination if you are seeking even temperament.

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