Chapter 3

I actually never answered Christy’s question. I think my tongue buried as deeply as I could get it inside her mouth was answer enough.

And I never broke that kiss until after I had walked past the bedroom she had been in the night before, and into my room.

When I finally broke the kiss and sat her down on her feet, Christy looked around the room and gasped.

“Oh. My. God. This is the biggest bedroom I have ever seen,” she exclaimed. “This is bigger than my entire apartment.

“How many closets do you have?” she asked.

“Hey,” I asked, “what happened to ‘take me to bed NOW,’” I asked. “Do I need to go find a two-by-four?”

“Oh, poo,” she retorted, “Don’t be a spoilsport. If this is going to be where I’m living, I need to know where my closet is.”

I just shook my head. I was once again convinced, as if there had ever been ANY doubt, the more I thought I knew about women – the less I really did understand.

I finally had to point out to Christy which closet would be hers ... a walk-in closet. She gasped again when she saw the size.

“This CLOSET is bigger than my entire bedroom. Oh, My God! Is that a vanity with sink in the closet!

“And a desk where I can sit down and put on makeup? What about mirrors? I have to have mirrors! Only two full length mirrors?

“Oh, My God! How many shoes will that thing hold? The shoe closet is bigger than my closet now.

“Oh, My God! There must be a thousand clothes hangers in here. How many clothes can I buy? When can we go shopping?”

THEN she saw a door, opened it and discovered the bathroom.

“Oh, My God! This BATHROOM is bigger than my entire bedroom.

“Is that a bidet? I’ve never used a bidet. Can I try it now?

“Oh, My God! Look at the size of that tub. You could get five or six people in there. Is it a whirlpool? On, please say yes, please say it’s a whirlpool. I’ve never been in a whirlpool tub. Can we try it now?

“Oh, My God. Look at the size of that shower. You could get a dozen people inside. How many shower heads does it have? I see four or five, plus body jets. Can we try it now? Please?”

I finally walked over and picked up Christy in a fireman’s carry. That is, her waist was on my shoulder, with her legs in front of me, and her upper body hanging down my back.

Her little butt was directly beside my face so I reached over with one hand and gave her a fairly gentle, but still firm, smack on the exquisite butt.

She started shrieking and giggling and laughing, calling me a beast.

I dropped her on the bed, stood beside it and hit myself on the chest like a gorilla.

“You woman, me man,” I said.

Then I lay down beside her and we began kissing.

Nothing much needed to be said. Just lots of groans and moans, little shrieks of pleasure and occasional screams of joy.

Well ... that is not entirely true. After I helped Christy take off her clothes, she helped me take off mine.

Once Christy pulled my boxers off and saw what was waiting, she just said, “Oh, My God. You ARE! You ARE!”

And if you can’t figure that one out, then you need to go back and read the story again.

The rest of the day, and night, both of our mouths, and other parts, were busy bringing pleasure to the other.

So ... how much of Christy’s list of things she wanted us to do did we get accomplished that night, all the next day and the next night?

Gentlemen never tell.

After the most incredible two days of my life, my weekend was finally over. Which is something of a misnomer, since that week, my weekend was actually composed of Tuesday and Wednesday since I usually worked at least three Saturdays and Sundays of every month. With the way Bates rotating schedule worked, one week my “weekend” would be Tuesday and Wednesday, the next would be Thursday and Friday, the next would be Sunday and Monday, then I would actually have a true weekend on Saturday and Sunday. Then it would start over.

I found Christy passed out behind our building on Monday night, and we spent all day Tuesday and Wednesday, and all night, together. Christy had actually taken some vacation time, since we had a “use it or lose it” policy. Christy didn’t have to be back to work until Saturday.

Thursday morning I had to be at work at 5:30 am, with the store opening at 6 am. By 10 am I was getting pretty hungry, so I was just getting ready to leave when I heard my name being paged on the overhead speakers.

That, by itself, was not unusual. They were always calling department managers to different areas to do overrides on damaged items, or help settle customer complaints.

The only thing unusual about this page was I recognized the voice as belonging to the store manager, Dave. Dave could do anything I could, and in fact, more, but I nevertheless headed up front.

If I even recognized the store seemed unusually empty of employees as I walked up front, I didn’t think too much about it.

When I got up front, however, I saw virtually every single employee was already there. I was later to find out Dave started calling, and had the cashiers call all the other employees up front, but making sure none of them said anything to me.

Dave was an unusual guy. He had spent 22 years in the Marine Corps, stood about 6’4” and weighed around 240 pounds. He had also spent about half his career as a drill instructor at Parris Island where he would spend hours and hours of every day calling marching cadence and yelling and screaming at wayward recruits.

The result of this was, when Dave spoke, it sounded like two stones rubbing together. Gravelly voice, I think they call it. Also, when Dave whispered, you could hear it 10 feet away. When he spoke normally, you could hear it half the store away, and if he ever really yelled ... well, I think you could have heard it in several surrounding states.

Dave and several other of our larger employees were all standing shoulder to shoulder, obviously hiding something behind them.

“Oh, here is our Man of the Hour,” Dave almost yelled. You could hear dogs start barking half a mile away. I began to get a really bad feeling.

When Dave and the other employees separated and I could see a table covered in at least TWO dozen roses, along with 10 or 15 other plants, I began to get a really, really bad feeling.

“The sender of these flowers has asked that SHE remain anonymous,” he started, really emphasizing the word “SHE.”