"Is this thing set up properly?" I demanded. "Are you sure it will catch everything?"
"Yes, Helen," Paul tried to reassure me, a combination sympathetic smile and eager grin on his face. Well, who could blame him? We were setting up the video camera so it could catch every moment of what was about to transpire between him and me. I was about to get some unexpected but well-deserved payback for the activities that Paul had brought to my attention.
I had met my husband George at the company where we both worked. I was a computer technician and he was a salesman. We first met when he brought his lap-top in to be repaired. He had such a woe-be-gone look on his face as he described what was wrong that I nearly burst out laughing. By the time he finished telling me what the problem was I had fixed it. He rushed out of the office hugging the laptop like it was his child. I laughed, shook my head and proceeded to immediately forget about him.
Two days later he called me.
"Ahh, Helen, this is George."
"Who?" My mind was a blank.
"George Thomas." When I remained silent he added "I brought my laptop in the other day. You solved the problem while I was still trying to tell you what the problem was."
"Oh, right, now I remember. You didn't give me your name."
"I know and I went storming out of there without doing the most important thing. I didn't say 'Thank You'. All I can offer in my defense is that I had two weeks worth of orders on that laptop and I needed to get them submitted. I know that hardly excuses bad manners though."
I was just about shocked. Most of the people who brought their equipment in to me spent the whole time bitching as though it was my fault. "Is this going to take long?" or "What do you mean you'll have to order a part?" and "Is there anyone here who knows what the F
they're doing?" were what I was used to. Not "Thank you."
"Wow, well, you're welcome."
He hesitated and cleared his throat twice before stammering, "Helen, I'd, ah, that is, I was wondering if you would, errr, let me make it up to you by, what I mean is..."
"I'd love to go out with you, George." Okay, I know that makes me sound like some pushy broad, but really I'm not. I just was afraid that if I waited for him to finish I would be too old to get dressed without the assistance of a nurse. Besides, immersed as I tended to be in whatever was in front of me, my last date had been 6 months previous and to qualify it as a "disaster" was to actually report it as better than it had been.
There was another hesitation on the phone, just enough to let me think "Brilliant, Helen. That was NOT was he was trying to say. Practice making a fool of yourself much?" Fortunately for my shreds of self-esteem, the silence was broken by a warm laugh.
"Great! How about Friday night? Dinner some place nice but not too fancy and then we'll see where we go from there?"
I gave him my address. "I'll be ready by seven."
Friday night I was examining myself in the mirror for the umpteenth time when the doorbell rang. I had on the good old basic black dress, cut a bit above the knees, combined with low heels and pantyhose. I really wasn't much of a dress wearer and definitely did not take to heels. The boots I had worn in my early twenties before I went to technical college and running shoes were more my style. Not that I'm butch, you understand. I just prefer comfort.
George looked very handsome when he picked me up. We went to a nice restaurant in the center of the city and had a good meal. After that, we went for a stroll through the little shops and boutiques of the restored downtown area, just window shopping.
We seemed to fumble for conversation. We talked mostly about work, not getting into personal issues much. I really don't know why. I could feel that there was a tenuous connection between us but somehow neither of us could seem to catch the thread and reel the other in.
We finally decided to call it a night. On the way home, George's car slowed for a moment as we passed the local athletic park complex. I glance at him and followed his gaze. He was looking at the marquee announcing that the first game of the local Class A minor league baseball team was tomorrow afternoon.
Being a gentleman, George walked me to my front door. There was an awkward moment of silence. Then George wished me goodnight and started down the walkway.
"George, wait!" I called after him. He stopped and turned around. I swallowed and walked up to him.
"This didn't go very well tonight George and I don't know why. Let's try it again. Instead of dressing up and a restaurant, how about jeans and hotdogs and that ballgame tomorrow afternoon?"
He grinned and his face lit up. "First pitch at 3:15. Pick you up at 2 so we can watch batting practice?"
"Its a deal." I kissed him and scampered for the door, a grin on my face that was as big as the one on his.
The morning passed slowly. The afternoon, well, from the first crack of a bat, I started falling in love. We had the promised hotdogs, smothered in mustard and ketchup and relish. We had beer in overflowing soggy paper cups and cheese fries and popcorn. Every bit of it went straight to my hips and butt and I loved it all.
George had to dress up in order to look as a salesman was expected to on the road, but he turned out to be a jeans and sport shirt guy when it was his choice. We swapped our life stories and were astounded at the similarities of our high schools, the three years we each spent between then and college, and what we considered important in life.
We did a lot of screaming and bouncing up and down. Our seats were right by first base and the ball game was slam-bam right down to the ninth inning when the home team broke the tie score to win. Arms wrapped around one another, we jumped into the others' arms. Some time during that hug our first kiss started. We didn't break it up until the cries of "Get a room!" became exceptionally loud.
The drive back to my place flew by. We kissed all the way up the walk, through the door that George managed to kick shut behind us and all the way down the hall to my bedroom. Shoes, jeans and shirts littered our trail. George threw my bra to the winds as we fell onto the bed. My hand was inside his boxers, my fingers trailing over his erection.
I managed to hook a leg between his and roll him over. I pulled his shorts down and admired his cock standing straight up from his body. That admiration lasted for just a moment before I engulfed it with my mouth. I cupped his balls, gently squeezing them in the same rhythm that my lips slid up and down his hard shaft. I paused at the top of the first upstroke and released him long enough to lick the head clean of its first secretions. Then I showed no mercy.
Down my head plunged until I had him fully in my mouth, my nose buried against his groin. I began to suck him as my head bobbed up and down, the head battering at the entrance to my throat. Faster and faster I went, never releasing the suction of my mouth. His groans and cries of pleasure were delightful music to my ears. Then he gave one deep moan and filled my mouth with hot, salty cum, which I greedily swallowed.
I had no sooner raised my head in triumph when he grunted, "Your turn now BAM." He caught me under my arms and pulled me up his body until my pussy rested over his face. Then his tongue burrowed inside my slit and was stroking inside me as fast and as furious as my mouth had been on him. His hands slipped up my body to capture my breasts.
I felt his head tip back far enough for his searching tongue to find my clit. He danced around it, then brushed over it, then settled firmly on it to rock it back and forth. I rewarded him as he had me, with yells of pleasure and my own flood of juices on his face.
I was kneeling over him, my hands on the top of the headboard, leaning slightly against it. Therefore I was in a perfect position when he blew on my still throbbing clit, slid out for under me, grabbed my hips to pull me into position and then impaled me from behind in one powerful thrust of his hips.
"Oh God, honey! Oh damn, so good." He suddenly froze. Before I could demand he start again, he managed to croak, "Are you protected?"
Thank God I was. Why I had kept using my birth control pills through the long drought of celibacy I don't know, but it paid off. "Yes," I managed to gasp. Then my voice regained itself. "Now George, fuck me!" And he did.
When it was over I laid in the crock of his arm, my eyes idly watching the spinning ceiling fan. "Nice shot," I commented. He just grinned at the sight of my bra draped over one of the blades.
"Expert shot, you know."
Two months later we moved in together. Six months after that we were married. On our honeymoon we visited South and North Carolina, spending time enjoying the places we had unknowingly shared in our younger days. When we returned we found a place to be "ours" and settled into a happy domestic routine of work and home.
The only fly in the ointment was all the travel George needed to do. But he was making excellent money and enjoyed it as much I did my own job. Both of us were naturally thrifty, so we were able to save a good bit of money each month. Soon we would be able to afford a down payment on a house and we were discussing the exciting possibility that I would be able to stop work eventually and have our child.
Under George's more outgoing personality I had started participating more in the company's social activities. I played softball on the mixed team the company sponsored. Unfortunately, George missed a lot of games due to his responsibilities. But he always came when he was home to cheer for me as "the sexiest first baseman I ever saw".
Paul Weincamp was the director of Corporate Relations and also the pitcher on the softball team. A tall, well-built single guy, he was the object of a lot of leering by the single females, and more than one of the married ones I was sure. Who all he was dating was none of my business or interest.
One day he collapsed on the bench after a well played game. He pulled two bottles of water from the ice chest and offered me one. I gratefully accepted.
"I think he's in Saint Louis today."
Paul shook his head. "George is a real go-getter but I bet you wish he didn't spend so much time on the road. If you were my wife, I wouldn't let you out of my sight. Well, I know what its like out there." A look of sadness crossed his face, "My ex-wife was in sales and gone all the time. Then I found out she wasn't spending those nights on the road alone." He heaved a sigh. "You never expect it to happen to you." With that he rose and wandered off towards the parking lot.
Well, that was unexpected. I dismissed the thought that George was capable of being anything less than 100 percent faithful. I was surprised however about Paul's ex-wife. After all, he was quite good-looking and made an excellent salary I was sure. Why would someone cheat on a catch like that?
The weeks went by and I seemed to run into Paul more and more often. He stopped by my office occasionally and several times I was requested specifically to install upgrades in the computers at Corporate Relations. Of course we saw each other every ball game. He never failed to ask about George, and yet his words always seemed to be tinged with a bit of suspicion. While given his own history I could understand his thoughts, surely George was behaving himself on the road.
More than once I started to expound on that, but Paul always seemed to sense what I was feeling and change the subject, usually to me. He often complimented me on my ball playing skills, as well as my over all attractiveness. With assurances he meant nothing untoward by it, he made a point of making some slight but flattering reference to my looks. More than once I returned home to inspect myself in the mirror. Apparently he was seeing something that I wasn't.
I rather enjoyed Paul's attention. We grew to be, if not friends, at least close colleagues. He told me it felt good to have someone to confide in about the failure of his marriage.
One day he asked me, "Helen, may I ask you a question?"
"Well, you can ASK Paul," I replied.
He chuckled with appreciation at my wit. "Why does George call you 'Bam'?"
"Its a nickname. It has to do with something we discovered about each other when we first started to date." I laughed. "Its sort of one of those things that makes perfect sense when you share the same experiences but otherwise is meaningless."
Paul didn't push the issue.
About a month later the company held its big Fourth of July party. I had been looking forward eagerly to it was going to be a 3 day weekend for all of us. Unfortunately, George had to call from Dallas the night before and tell me he wasn't going to be able to get home on time. I assured him it was alright, that I would miss him and I loved him.