It was an old bowling alley, probably built in the early 1950's when the freeways were just starting to make their way this far out of the city. It contained 30 lanes, a counter where the shoes were stored and the games where paid for, a snack bar, and a separate bar/restaurant. Oh, it had all the other "usuals," a trophy case and a ball cleaner. In short, it looked just like a bowling alley from the 1950's in the suburbs of a large East Coast city.

I married her right before I was transferred east. Lyndia is a beautiful statuesque blonde with big innocent blue eyes and incredible long legs. With her long blonde hair pulled up behind her head and her conservative clothing she looked, well, glamorous. We were both young, in our mid-20's, and I was taken by her beauty, god she was beautiful!. She was about 5'7", as I mentioned blonde (natural), with long awesome legs, slim hips, a perfectly flat belly, and nice, soft "c" cup breasts. A fucking wet dream.

The only real problem was that she wasn't very much in bed. Seeing her naked, which didn't happen all that often, was enough to send any heterosexual male into a frenzy. But, the frenzy was never returned. It wasn't that I didn't try. We spent hours in bed as I patiently made love to her. I would touch her and message her, tell her how beautiful she was and how much I loved her. I gently played with her tits and pussy, eating her until my tongue would cramp. Oh, to see her pussy. Her lips would turn pink with my play. She has blonde/red pussy hair that's so fine it's almost like no hair at all.

While she seemed to enjoy the play, and her pussy would get wet from my gentle licking and sucking, it was not unusual for her to be completely dry again when I tried to enter her. I'm of average size, and when I did get it in, she would be so tight that I wouldn't last long. Of course, all that foreplay didn't help my staying power. Lyndia didn't give head. She'd touch me if I wanted, but no head.

Right after we married I was offered a great job and we moved across the country, renting an apartment two blocks from the bowling alley. At first I thought her lack of response was just because she was leaving home for the first time and the stress of the move was too much. A few months later I had to admit to myself that it was just her.

I worked in the city. It wasn't far, maybe only 10 miles or so, but it wasn't unusual for the drive to take an hour each way. They had started to build the freeway right after World War II and they never guessed how many cars would be on it each morning and evening. My job in the financial district kept me busy often from early morning until into the evening. Lyndia is a great corporate asset. She's beautiful, sophisticated looking, and a good conversationalist although she was young and her formal education ended with high school.

It was in the fall that Lyndia surprised me with her new job at the bowling alley. She really wanted something to do. A job that was close and didn't require much of her, but where she could meet people. I was so in love and I had placed her on such a pedestal, that I was disappointed that she would want to work in a bowling alley but I was willing to give her anything she wanted.

It was a workday in January when the snow started. I didn't notice until the middle of the afternoon, but by then the streets were already covered and traffic was a mess. By 5:00, the radio was announcing that the authorities were recommending that people not use the freeways. The hotel rooms in the city were already gone by 5:00 and most of the staff had decided to stay in the office and, well, party. I called Lyndia at the bowling alley and told her I wouldn't be home. She sounded fine and said that the snow was really bad and almost nobody was bowling.

By 6:00, the "party" in the office had turned into a disaster. The mailroom guys were drinking heavily, the women had all retreated to one of the conference rooms were they'd locked the door, and one small fight had already broken out. The senior staff had hotel rooms, so anarchy ruled. A friend of mine with a four-wheel drive truck decided that he had had enough and since he lived only a few miles from me, asked if I'd go with him if he tried to make it home. I agreed, and without calling Lyndia, we set off.

The roads were a mess. The snow was falling heavily and it took until 10:00 to reach my apartment. Lyndia wasn't home so I changed out of my work clothes and started the walk to the bowling alley were I thought I'd surprise my wife and get some food. The streets were deserted and the parking lot of the alley was almost empty with only a few employee cars covered with snow.

The alley was also deserted as I walked through the main door. The lights were on but there was nobody to be seen and the whole place felt empty. I walked past the counter where the shoes were rented and back to the snack bar where Lyndia worked. Again, nobody to be seen. Behind the snack bar was a window into the bar/ restaurant. The window was for Lyndia to order hot food and drinks (usually beer) from the bar. Since the snack bar had been added long after the bowling alley was built, the window didn't line up with anything. It just entered the bar in the middle of the wall. The window had a shelf, a bell, and a spindle. When Lyndia wanted to order something she would place the order on the spindle, and ring the bell. The bartender or waitress would take the order off the spindle and, eventually, place the order on the shelf.

As I neared the snack bar I could hear music and voices coming through the window so I walked around the counter and looked through the window directly into the bar. As soon as I did, I dropped out of sight so that nobody could see me. Because the bar was empty, I could see directly into the big circular booth on the far wall. It was not a big bar and the far wall was only about 15 feet away. In that booth sat Lyndia and the four other employees of the bowling alley. The jukebox was playing and the table was full of empty glasses and beer bottle. Lyndia was laughing and her beautiful face was flushed. As I peeked over the side of the window Lynida, who never drank more than a small glass of wine, took a big swallow from a shot glass and I heard one of the guys joke about the drinking game they were playing and that's what she had to do when she lost a round.

The owner was sitting on Lyndia's right. He was probably in his late-30's and looked like a character from the TV show the "Sopranos." In fact his name was Tony; he wore gold chains and rings and fancied himself a tough guy. On Lyndia's left were Eric the bartender and Allen, the cook. Eric was a biker. He wore his blonde hair long and dirty looking to match his beard. He was trim and muscular looking. Allen was an immense black guy with the meanest face I'd ever seen. He looked like he's just as soon rip off a head as anything but it was a lie. He actually was a great guy with a terrific sense of humor. When he laughed, which was often, his whole face would light up.

Sitting in a chair pulled away from the table was Mitch. Mitch was the maintenance guy and probably in his early 50's. He always wore gray work pants and shirts from Sears. He as short and painfully thin. I had never heard him laugh or even say much of anything. He was usually in the back with the pin setting machines and such.

Lyndia was clearly enjoying herself. She was laughing and playing their game and losing on a regular basis. Every time she lost, Eric would pour her a shot of Tequila. After a few minutes Tony told Mitch that he didn't think anybody was going to be bowling, what with the snow and all, and would Mitch turn off the lights and lock up. I dropped behind the counter again as I heard Mitch walk down the hall from the bar and into the alley itself. I could hear him walk to the front of the building and turn the deadbolt lock. On his way back he stepped behind the shoe counter and suddenly the alley was dark. The only light came from a couple of night-lights near the front door and the light coming through the window from the bar.

I don't know why I hid. I was completely intrigued by what was happening. I wanted to see where this was going. I'd never seen Lyndia drink like this, and I was being turned on imagining the possibilities.

As I peeked back through the window, I heard Tony ask Lyndia to dance. The jukebox was playing a slow tune and I saw Lyndia shake her head no and tell him that she really didn't want to. Tony stopped smiling at that, gripped her hand and said that he did want to dance and that she might like it. He stood up, taking her with him, and pulled her in front of the table. I watched as they started to move to the music. Lyndia was clearly drunk as she looked up at Tony with shinning eyes and said "ok Tony, anything you like."