I met Robin at a local running club event. Let me be clear, I was not running. I do not run unless forced to do so by circumstances that I would consider catastrophic. But I do volunteer my time at a number of events, and this was one of those times. They were having a half-marathon and triathlon and needed people to hand out water and cheer and other tasks that make the participants happy. It is not heavy duty and gets me out of the house. Robin, it turns out, is a runner and a member of the club hosting the event. She had the unenviable task of keeping the volunteers on task. Or at least making sure we pretended to know what we were doing. She handed me a clip board and told me to stand next to her as she checked people in.

Like most runners, she has lean, smooth legs that ended in a firm, tight ass. She was wearing a running skirt instead of shorts. Her dirty blond hair was tied up in a knot on the top of her head. She had a cute smile and a commander’s voice and we all snapped to when she talked. Unlike most runners though, she was not completely free of any fatty tissue. Her chest sat nicely on her frame, secured by a sports bra and covered in a performance t-shirt. I had to resist sneaking glances at her as I put marks on the paper as people came up for their assignments.

“What do you do to stay in shape,” she asked during a lull.

“Skip a glass of scotch,” I said with a smirk.

“No, I mean what do you do for exercise?”

“I should say that I run dozens of miles a day before my personal trainer has me lift a ton of weights, but frankly, vigorous sex is about the some of my activity. I hate exercise.”

She was saved a response as another wave of folks came up to get their assignments. Robin said hello to those repeating volunteers and others she knew. Once everyone was deployed and the participants briefed on the rules and other minutiae before they were sent off on their way.

“Can you lift things?” she asked with a smirk.”

Is it heavier than a beer?” I asked with a smirk as I followed her.

She was probably surprised over the course of the next couple of hours as she had me haul food, water, prizes, podiums and any number of other things around the site. She had a glossy sheen of sweat on her face as we stopped for water. I was sweating as well but not hard. The air was cool despite the sun.

“I thought you said you didn’t exercise?” she said draining her glass.

“No, I said other than vigorous sex, I didn’t exercise.”

“Maybe I need to have you show me what you mean, because I thought I was in shape,” she said with a sexy smile.

“I will be happy to introduce you to my training program.”

She smiled again and we continued with our tasks. A couple of times I managed to get a picture of her working at her job or talking to other people. She smiled when she saw me do this and I simply smiled back at her. By the time the last participants had come in and the cleanup crew was moving in, she had let me take a couple of pictures of her not working. She even pulled me aside, took a quick look around and skimmed off her t-shirt. It must have been the cool air that made he nipples so prominent.

She dismissed us with her thanks and the thanks of the organization. I made sure she had my contact information if they needed my help in the future and wished her a good day as I departed with the volunteers. I had only just made it to my car when a message arrived.

Sorry, I can’t take advantage today, but we should schedule something soon. Make sure I get those pictures for the newsletter!

I smiled and sent back:

Let me know when you are free and make sure I am on the mailing list for that newsletter.

I hopped into the car and headed for lunch.

As promised, I sent Robin the pictures I had shot, all of them. The ones I had taken of her where she tried to pose, I had cleaned them up and cropped them. I also included a note.

These came out well. I printed them and have them as a collage. Hope things are well. I am sure they will look great in the newsletter.

I was pouring myself a drink when she got back to me.

There are some great shots there, thank you. Can we get some time together? Drinks tomorrow night at Charlie’s?

It was a date.

“Hey stranger,” Bobbie said as I sat down at my table. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”

“Evening Bobbie. I have been traveling a bit. Customer wanted my physical presence rather than using technology so I had to go to New York for a couple of weeks.”

“That sounds like fun. You get out much?”

“A bit. Found a couple of nice places to hang my hat, and the food was good.”

“Great. Welcome home. You waiting on someone?”

“Yes. Her name is Robin.”

“Runner? About five-eight?”

“That would be here.”

“You want wine? She only drinks ice water.”

“Bring a bottle and two glasses. I don’t trust people that don’t drink wine.”

“Back in a couple. Jack’s got some fresh bread just out of the oven.”

“Then it would be a shame to let it become croutons,” I said and Bobbie laughed as she went about her tasks.

Charlie’s is like an old shoe. It is comfortable, it smells a bit, and it reminds you that there are worse things in the world than having happy feet. I waved to a couple of the regulars and enjoyed a couple of sips of the wine and slathered soft butter on the soft bread. There is nothing more delicious than good butter on fresh baked bread and I indulge in it as often as I can.

“All those carbs,” Robin said as she approached the table.

I stood up and help her to the chair.

“Hey, I have to keep my energy up, and bread is one of the four essential food groups.”

She was wearing a black pencil skirt that fell just above her knees and a black boat neck shirt. Gold earrings dangled from her ears and other than a bracelet on her wrist, she was not wearing any jewelry. Her two inch pumps were sensible shoes and made her calves looks wonderful. I took all this in while she looked at me.

“The four essential food groups? OK, this I have to hear.”

“Oh, it’s very simple. Garlic, butter, bread, olive oil. You really don’t need anything else, although I find rosemary sometimes adds a nice surprise to a focaccia or a roasted garlic bulb.”

“It’s amazing you are not the size of a house,” she said laughing.

I poured her some wine, which she did not decline and smiled.

“Vigorous sex,” I said by way of answer and a toast.

“Vigorous sex, then,” she said.

We ordered out meals and Bobbie went off to place the order.

“The committee loved the pictures of me doing work. One smart ass said he didn’t know I could do manual labor and was going to make sure I was on the next work crew, just so he could witness it for himself.”

“I am glad. What did they think of the last one?” I asked, nudging her.

“As if. But Michelle, my running partner, she liked it, a lot. She wants you to take one like that of her so she can send it to her ex. Seem she used to get grief about her weight. Well, let’s say she’s dropped more than a hundred pounds, but picked up muscles in all the right places without losing her curves.”

“Ah, a real woman then. Not that you are not. Your curves are quite respectable. But no woman should get grief for what is a necessary part of their body structure. I would be happy to oblige her desire. I will even use a real camera if she would like. I can bring the studio to her.”

“Studio?”

“I guess I didn’t get around to that. I an a graphic artist. I have access to a complete photo studio. I also have amassed a fair amount of my own gear and I can put together a decent home studio if I have too.”

“That explains how you can get such good pictures from a cell phone.”

“And a bit of post processing. Normally I don’t fiddle with an image more than brighten it for printing, but I tweaked a few things with yours. I can do the same for Michelle with a decent camera and some properly set lights.”

“Here is to mysterious men and their unknown skills. Now if you cooked, I would start looking around for your wife.”

“I do, and my own laundry too. I haven’t had a pink sock in decades. And no wife, nor ex to worry about. Just never saw the need.”

“Self sufficient. I like that trait too.”

Bonnie brought us back our dinner and we set to. Robin tried not to tease me too much about my food choices, but she was not always successful.

“You know,” I began as I speared a French fry, “You have to run 3/4 of a mile to burn off the calories in that lump of broccoli. And while you might experience a runner’s high along the route, you will still have suffered through the pain of actually eating it in the first place, because it is supposed to be good for you. I, on the other hand, need only to give you one screaming orgasm to burn off the calories in this French fry, and I get to enjoy the pleasure of it twice.”