Thanks to my assortment of Editors, including Dragonsweb, Jacques Noir, RastaDevil, The Old Fart & WanderingScot and other advance readers that prefer to maintain deniability
I really hadn't wanted to attend my ten year High School class reunion, but my fiancée Amber talked me into it. While I had stayed in pretty good contact with most of my old school friends and had visited home fairly often over the years, Amber had never met any of them and the timing of the reunion seemed ideal for her meet all of them together in one place at the same time. She especially wanted to meet my best friend Peter, since I had told her a great deal about him, and his rather remarkable 'gift'.
Amber and I had known each other casually for about four years and it took nearly that long for me to chip away at her rather frosty exterior enough to get her out on a date. When I finally accomplished this, the legendary ice princess slowly began to thaw, and over the next six months a torrid romance began to flame up. Finally, about three months ago, she consented to become my wife. The long pursuit was most definitely worth every moment of it!
Actually, the trip back home for the reunion could serve several other useful purposes as well. My parents were still living there in the old family home but were seriously considering moving to Arizona for their retirement. They were willing to leave me the house if I wanted to move back home, otherwise they soon planned to sell it. There was also a rumor that old Bert Hunter wanted to entirely or partially sell his machine shop, with an eye towards retiring himself in a few years.
If I could somehow scrape up the money, I would be more than interested in buying into that business. Old Bert had given me my first machinists training back while I was still in High School and supposedly business was still good there, with several lucrative and long-term aerospace, military and oilfield part fabrication contracts that would provide a regular stable income for years still to come.
Becoming a machinist had been a pretty good career move for me. I wasn't a good enough jock to get a college sports scholarship and I didn't have the brains to earn one the hard way either. Taking out a lot of student loans didn't seem like such a great idea either, especially as I didn't have a clue about what I wanted to do for a living. I had the patience for machine shop work, especially the tricky jobs that required extremely tight variances of 1/1000th of an inch or more. I became good at this sort of work and had a pretty nice resume of both old-fashioned and computerized machine tools that I could operate, and a stable job history working for some of the better regional shops, mostly in our nearly local small city.
The money had been pretty good too, but I was starting to look forward to the idea of buying into one of the local shops and making some bigger bucks by being one of the bosses.
Amber was more than willing to move with me from the small city we were now living in, to my hometown, which was considerably smaller. She had a college degree in English and worked as an administrative assistant for a small aerospace firm. Business wasn't all that great there and she was always worried about being laid off. She figured that she could work as a secretary or in administration just about anywhere, and she's probably right.
In any case, Amber was very gung ho about going to the reunion. If nothing else, she wanted to meet my parents before they retired and take a good look in advance at the old family home and the town. She wasn't particularly high maintenance and neither did she require a lot of 'shopping therapy', but she did want to take a good advance look at the lay of the land before making any final commitments to move there with me and settle down some serious roots, like starting a family.
Besides, her own reunion would be the following year, and turn-about is only fair play.
We left a bit early for the reunion as I wanted to spend a day looking over Bert's machine shop — assuming that he really was interested in selling some of the ownership ... and indeed he was. We spent the day together reviewing finances and the current and probable future workload and together we worked out a rough sales agreement for a 25% minority ownership to start with, with a secure five-year option to buy out the remainder of the company.
The only problem was, I didn't have nearly enough money even for a suitable down payment.
Bert was happy to see me again, and more than willing to make me a more than reasonable offer, but even with some very creative accounting I was going to end up a bit short. Just for a down payment alone, I was going to need at least $50,000 in earnest money right away (and more would be better). Even for this small minority ownership stake I would need financing for several hundred thousand dollars, for which Bert was willing to work out payments directly, without requiring a bank loan. Sure I could also do some sweat equity or bring in a few really high value contracts, but I'd still need to come up with some real cash to make the deal work.
Currently, I could come up with $10,000 fairly easily from savings, and another five or six thousand if I maxed out all of my other credit options like my checking overdraft and my line of credit at my bank. I filled out a commercial bank loan application with them as well but the bank manager had already warned me that their corporate head office was tightening up on loans and approval was by no means guaranteed. Borrowing from my parents really wasn't an option as they were getting ready to move for retirement and their cash situation was currently fairly tight, especially if they didn't sell their old house and Amber and I moved into it.
Bert agreed to keep the offer on hold for a few weeks to give me time to wait for a miracle to raise the needed money. The miracle, if it was one, appeared promptly that evening during the first reunion event, the Friday night cocktail party, held at a local nightclub.
My hometown was about a mid-sized town, and we had a fairly good sized graduating class of about four hundred kids, of which at least two hundred, plus their spouses or significant others were also in attendance. My clique of old friends, the jock crowd from our less than famous football and baseball teams, had gathered together and assembled two long tables off in a corner, one for the guys and the other for the girlfriends and wives. I introduced Amber around to both tables before she sat herself down at the girl's table to solicit embarrassing stories about me, and I joined my old teammates at ours.
I'm not particularly sentimental, but it was a good deal of fun to hear repeated all of the old funny stories concerning our usual ignoble disasters upon the playing fields of glory. Far too many defeats and not nearly enough glory ... but still we had enjoyed ourselves while we played. What we lacked in talent we made up for with enthusiasm. Our baseball skills were slightly better than our football talents, but not by much. Neither team ever went to the regional championship playoffs, let alone state.
After more than a few pitchers of beer had been downed and our playing field mishaps temporarily set aside, the conversation began to shift to wives, girlfriends, dating and marriages. Which in turn soon lead towards the discussion of our absent teammate, Peter, the inhuman 'Sex God' that no woman could resist. Peter was still at work tonight, he was the sales manager for our local big chain hardware/home improvement store but he had promised to join us for the luncheon and dinner meetings tomorrow.
Everyone knew at least a dozen good stories involving Peter and we must have told them all that Friday evening ... besides, I think every single one of them really was true. More than once I heard Peter's name mentioned over at the women's table also. I'd told Amber a few stories about Peter, undoubtedly now she was hearing a few more, from the feminine perspective. No one, male or female, doubted for a moment that Peter was some sort of inhuman Sex God whom had temporarily manifested himself on earth. He was certainly more than unique.
Peter, who was also my best friend during High School, wasn't particularly tall, or nor of dark complexion, nor was he especially handsome. He wasn't buff and didn't have six-pack abs, and from what I could casually see in the showers after gym or team practices his cock was nothing exceptional either. He seemed average in every measureable way. He did, however, ooze sex appeal out of every gland and pore of his body.
His success rate with girls was perfect. Most just good, not even great ... but inconceivably perfect! One hundred percent. To our knowledge, not one girl in High School had ever resisted his advances. Not one ... ever! And not due to lack of trying. Girls would make all sorts of bets that they could resist him and refuse to date him, but none could. Most even ended up at least once in the back of his car or in his bed. It even became sort of a rite of passage for a new girl arriving at school wanting to join one of the better social cliques', to be ordered to flirt and make passes at Peter but given strict instructions to refuse to date him. They'd always fail ... every single time.
.... There is more of this story ...