The Tall Girl

by GToast

Copyright┬ę 2008 by GToast

Romantic Story: She was tall and lovely. What could go wrong?

Caution: This Romantic Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   Heterosexual   .


This story is loosely based on my life, but is largely fiction. There is no explicit sex. If you want a stroke story, this isn't for you.

I unlocked my front door. It was all I could do to open the heavy door and close it behind me. I took three steps and sat on the floor. How had I gotten to this point?

Sixteen years ago, I was a freshly discharged USAF veteran. I had served in the first Gulf war. I had saved every penny I had earned; so when I got out, I was able, with the help of the GI Bill, to finish college (I had two years of community college prior to enlistment), and then complete law school. Life was shaping up to be sweet.

It was right after I finished law school, and I had started working for a prestigious local law firm. I was well-equipped to pass the bar, and the exam was coming up in three weeks.

A couple of friends, fellow lawyers at the firm, invited me out to a local night spot. Lady lawyers, they promised. Lotsa lady lawyers and doctors and CPAs, they said. I'd get lucky for sure, they opined.

Well, they were sorta right. And therein lay the problem.

I had been at this shindig for a half hour or so when I spotted a very tall woman across the room. Someone must have read my mind; Phil, my immediate supervisor, took me by the arm and led me over to her.

"Connie," he said, "Jeff. Jeff, Connie." With that, he slapped me on the back and waked away. We both watched him, a little dumbfounded and maybe embarrassed.

I turned to look at her. After a moment, she reciprocated.

Looking into her eyes was different from my previous experiences: up close, I could see she was several inches taller than I was. I clock in at 5'10"; she must have been 6'3" at least.

I started talking, about what I don't remember, and soon we had moved to a couple of chairs and were chatting like old friends. We made small talk for half an hour; then the smoke got a little thick for my preference, and I said, "What say we bail and go somewhere a little quieter? Maybe Starbucks... ?

She smiled broadly, and said, "God, thanks. I was starting to suffocate." (This was the mid 90s, before no-smoking-anywhere laws began popping up.)

We walked two blocks to the nearest beanery, and continued our previous conversations over cappuccini. I learned she was a CPA, a graduate of a blood-rival of my own alma mater, and very sensitive about her height. She had agreed to go with me for coffee, she said, because I had looked her in the eyes, and not in the chest.

We both blushed a little over that.

We wandered back to the nightclub. She intimated she would need to find her friends, as she had not driven. I took the hint: I offered to drive her home. She was a tad hesitant, but accepted.

She lived not far from my own place, in a decent condo in a decent section. I got out and moved to her side of the car, but she already had the door open. So much for chivalry, I thought.

Before she got out, I asked, "Could I get your phone number? I'd love to continue the conversation. I had a really nice evening."

She smiled, and maybe she blushed (it was rather dark, so I couldn't tell). She pulled out a card and proffered it to me. "Call me tomorrow evening," she said.

I took her hand, and on impulse I kissed it; then I took the card.

She giggled, turned to leave, and then said, "You're a sweetie," over her shoulder. She walked quickly up the walkway and into the building.

I went home feeling like things were going well.

I called her the next evening, and we chatted for over two hours. The time evaporated, such was the quality of the conversation. I learned a lot about her, and she about me, in that getting-to-know-you sort of way: place of birth, how was childhood, schools attended, interests, that sort of thing.

We agreed, before ringing off, to talk again the next evening, and the next, and to have a date the coming Friday evening.

Without spelling it all out, we had a few good weeks dating. We brushed up against intimate subjects, but never crossed an uncomfortable line. We instinctively knew and respected one another's space vis-a-vis matters of the ... uh, groin? no, heart.

One Thursday evening, about six weeks into our relationship, we caught a comedy act at the Laugh Den, the local yukbucket. After the show, we shared a coffee, and a passionate-yet-innocent kiss, and went our separate ways. Dinner on Saturday evening? You betcha!

The next morning, I was clearly happy. My co-workers noticed my upbeat state of mind. Phil swung by my cube and said, "Seeing the tall gal?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

I sighed. "Yeah, Phil, we went out last night."

He giggled. "I bet you did," he said, and then, "Got lucky, huh?"

I was barely paying attention to him, but I focused enough to say, "Yeah, Phil, I think I've gotten real lucky."

He grinned and sauntered off. End of conversation.

Well, no.

Saturday evening, I arrived at Connie's apartment a half-hour early, as is my wont. She answered the door dressed not at all prepared for dinner. She made no move to invite me in.

"Hi," I said, warily.

"Goodbye, asshole," she seethed, and closed the door.

Well, that was different.

I knocked again. Twice, three times. The door finally opened. She was clearly crying and angry. "What do you want? I want you to go!" she spat.

"Connie," I stammered, "what did I do?"

"You told Phil you fucked me Thursday night, that's what. Lying sack of shit!"

"I did no such thing!" I protested. "Connie, listen, you know me..."

"I thought I did," she hissed. "I don't know why I don't just go lesbian. So much easier than dealing with men." She closed the door and refused to answer.

I immediately drove to Phil's house. I was ready to kill the motherfucker.

I banged on his door loudly, ready to go at it. His wife Barb answered the door. "Hi, Jeff," she said, smiling until she saw the anger etched on my face.

"Can I see Phil? Sorry, Barb, but this is big time and bad news," I said through clenched teeth.

"Uh, yeah, Jeff, come in, sit down." She ushered me in and left to get Phil. It was all I could do not to trash the living room; but Barb had had nothing to do with this.

Phil came in, looking surprised. "Hey, buddy, what's the haps?"

I grabbed him by the throat and said,"What the FUCK did you say to Connie?"

Barb was on me in a flash, pulling me back.

Phil went down in a heap, and rose to his knees. "I don't understand," he said, lamely.

"BULLSHIT!" I thundered. Everyone in the house could hear. "You told her I fucked her Thursday night. I never told you ANY SUCH THING, you bastard!"

Barb calmed down the growing crowd -- there was apparently a family party going on, thanks to my great timing -- and said, "Jeff, that's not true. You know it."

"Then why did she just throw me out of her apartment?" I spat. "Why did she name HIM as the one who lied on me?"

Barb looked at me, wide-eyed; then she looked at Phil. "What's he talking about, Phil?"

Phil looked very uncomfortable. "I didn't talk to her," he said, "I just mentioned it to a few people..." He trailed off, then began again. "Well, you said you got lucky, so I assumed..."

"ASSHOLE!" I screamed, and the assembled guests backed off. "I meant I was lucky to have met a woman like her. I never told you I fucked her. You lying weasel!"

Barb had shooed everyone out of the room. She said, "Jeff, you're too mad to be here. Please, go home. I promise I'll clean this up. Okay?" She held my gaze with soft eyes that drained the fury from me.

"Okay, Barb," I said. "Sorry about your party." I turned to leave, then turned to Phil and said, "I'm done working for you, you miserable lying prick. Consider this my notice. Effective immediately, and I want six month's severance, or I charge you with sexual harassment to the firm's partners."

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