"A gentleman is a patient wolf." - Henrietta Tiarks

I'm a stud. At least that's the rumor going around. Unfortunately for me, there's no truth to it. I wish I were a stud.

The rumor mill started running after I began accompanying many different women on 'dates.' They weren't really dates; they were just two people, one male, one female, going out together. But the rumor mill doesn't buy into the 'just friends' explanation. Of course, there was that one time... Let me explain.

It started after my wife passed away. She was thirty-nine when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. The women in her family are BRCA positive, which indicates a high propensity to get it. It seems there is some genetic flaw in her family. She has had two aunts and a cousin all die from breast cancer at a young age. Their odds are so awful some of her female cousins are considering complete breast removal on their thirtieth birthday.

Because her mother never came down with cancer, my wife and her younger sisters hoped that they had been spared. When her younger sister was diagnosed with DCIS, a precursor to cancer, but usually non-lethal, the dread descended on my wife. She was religious in her self-exams and mammograms. She was thirty-nine when she found the lump.

Because of her family history, they did a complete mastectomy. They followed the surgery with a round of chemotherapy and tamoxifen.

But it had already metastasized into her chest wall. It only takes a few cells to spread. A follow up visit to her oncologist found the cancer had spread. They tried another round of powerful chemo. I don't know which is worse, watching your wife waste away from cancer or watch her suffering incredibly from the attempt to save her life knowing it is futile.

She didn't make it to her forty-first birthday.

I was a wreck. My wife had been my lover, confidant, best friend, social partner, as well as wife. I had no life without her. If I went to a Giants game, I went with her. If I went to see the symphony, I went with her. We were a duad, complete and whole only with each other.

After a few months I knew I had to do something or I was going to go stark raving mad. One of the things we had done together was attend theatre, lots of theatre. I write reviews for the local alternative newspaper. In other words, the free one on the corner everywhere, that subsists on a few ads and running personals for all of the freaks and hookers in San Francisco, of which there are plenty. I minored in Theatre Arts at Berkeley. That gave me the credentials, even though I now worked in the Financial District making others rich. I didn't get paid for the reviews but I did get free front row tickets to any show I wanted to see. We, now just I, saw a show every week and sometimes two. I decided I needed to have company on these outings or I would go insane.

I decided to ask Darla, who worked in the admin area. Darla was a lot younger than me and I'm sure would never have been interested in 'dating' me. She was a brunette with blonde streaks added to her long straight hair. She had a little extra padding in her butt, but made up for it with tits that filled her tight sweaters very nicely. She also was quite pretty, which would explain why she wouldn't need to date me.

I sat at the same table as her in the lunch room one afternoon. It was virtually deserted at this hour.

She looked up and said, "Hi." I could tell she was a little surprised that I wasn't sitting at one of the empty tables.

"Hi," I said. "Sorry to bother you but I was going to ask a favor."

She hesitated, then asked, "What?"

"This is going to sound a little crazy at first," I said smiling. "Hear me out before you make up your mind." She nodded. "My wife passed away a little while ago." She nodded this time with a look of empathy on her face. I wasn't going for the sympathy vote but I think I got it anyway. "I write play reviews for the SF Bay Sentinel. Because of that I get two free tickets to opening night. The thing is I don't have anyone to come to the plays with me."

I could see her face closing up as she thought, 'This old fart is going to ask me out.'

"I'm not asking you out on a date. To tell the truth, it is way too early for me to even think about stuff like that. My emotions are still too screwed up to think about a relationship. I just hate going alone every single time to these plays. Not a date. Just two people attending the same play. One thing to consider; because it is opening night I never know until I get there and the show starts whether it's going to be great or awful. I have to stay long enough to get the material for a review. Think about it and if it sounds interesting let me know," I finished.

"I don't know," she said.

I smiled my most gentlemanly smile, "Think about it. It might even be fun." I stood up, "I hope you'll say yes. If it sounds fun, I have to see a comedy this Saturday. See you later," I said. She looked thoughtful as I left.

I got a call from Darla Friday morning. "That offer still open?"

I smiled to myself. "Yep, sure is. Want to go?"

"Sure," she said.

"Good. Why don't you come to my place and we can ride over together," I suggested.

"Okay. What time?" she asked.

"Tell you what. Come over at six and I'll fix us something to eat. Then we can drive over to the play. It's not far from my place," I said.

"Dinner? That's sounding more like a date," she said.

I laughed. "Nope. I like to cook. It's no fun cooking for one. Really, I'm doing this for me," I said.

"Okay. See you at six," she said.

I spent Saturday cleaning up my place. It sure doesn't take long to drop back into bachelor habits. I wasn't trying to impress Darla. I knew she'd freak if she saw how I was living. It actually started to look like the place it was when my wife was alive to decorate it and keep it looking nice.

We have a great little upscale market in our neighborhood that stocks fish just off the boat and produce from local farms. I picked up some Red Snapper and veggies for a ratatouille along with red potatoes. Nothing tremendously fancy. Oh yes, and a nice Pinot Gris.

My wife loved to cook; it was a creative activity for her. She gave me the bug and I actually got pretty good at it. All of my best recipes I stole from my wife. She used to haul me off to cooking classes at the Culinary Institute, so I learned some pretty fancy techniques. Cooking for one simply isn't the same. I had missed the fun of cooking and I was enjoying it again. I crushed up some toasted almonds to coat the fish and set up everything ready to go. The table was set, the candles waiting to be lit.

Darla showed up a few minutes early. "Come on in," I said. I led her back to the kitchen. "Ready to watch the master at work," I said smiling.

"If you mean, am I hungry? Yes," she said.

"That's what I meant." I started the onion for the ratatouille and got the potatoes roasting with rosemary. I brought out the wine, opened it and poured us both a glass. "Here you go," I said handing her the glass.

"Thanks," she said.

"All of my recipes start the same, one cup wine, for the chef," I said. We clinked glasses and took a sip.

"You have a beautiful house," she said.

"Thanks. I'd like to take credit but Jennifer did all of the decorating," I said.

"Oh," Darla said quietly.

"It's okay. I can talk about it. It was really hard the first couple of months, but I'm starting to feel human again," I said. She was getting that look again. "Don't feel sorry for me. I've had enough pity for a lifetime. My wife would kill me if she thought I was wallowing in pity. She'd kick my butt and say, 'Get out there and live your life.'"

"She sounds like a good woman," Darla said.

"She was." I turned to the cutting block. "Now, I'll turn these into dinner." I am a little proud of my cooking. Jennifer had a fine set of Wusthof knives and Calphalon pans. Nothing but the best and it does make a difference. You simply can't cook with bad knifes and pans.

Dinner was good. Okay, it wasn't Fleur de Lys but it didn't cost a week's salary either. San Francisco probably has more great restaurants per square mile than any city in the world, including Paris. I borrow their ideas without remorse. I make interesting food, well presented. Darla was suitably impressed. When I lit the candles she accused me of turning it into a date. I had to explain that Jennifer always had candles lit for dinner. She didn't think it was a proper meal without the candles.

I drove us over to the theatre and picked up my front row comps. The play was Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All for You, by Christopher Durang. I'll spare you the details, just that it is a black comedy about a nun at a Catholic school and how Catholic school ruined the lives of all of these students who have returned for a reunion. I'd seen it several times over the years and noticed that there are always pockets of people in the theatre who all laugh at the same time. I realized they had attended Catholic school and were laughing at some inside joke us we heathens missed. Darla had to have attended Catholic school since she was rolling in the aisles with them.

I drove her back to my place, walked her to her car, and said good night. That's the last I thought of it.

Well, I underestimated by a good margin what I had started. Darla told her girlfriends about the evening. One of them called me and asked if I really did have to see all these plays. I confirmed it. She volunteered.

Again, I didn't think much about it. It just seemed like a nice idea. I'd get to have company for another play. I took Karen to the play after making us dinner. At the end of the evening, I didn't even invite her in to my place, just walked her to her car. No attempt at a kiss, just said good evening.

The next week Cindy and Brenda called. I took Cindy to a play on Thursday and Brenda to one on Friday. Both evenings were pleasant.

It was the next week when things started getting a little out of hand. Darla, Cindy and Karen all called back, along with two new ladies. I didn't need to see five plays so I invited Darla, as she had been first. Well, I heard about it come Monday. I also got calls from three more women asking about the plays.

Tuesday afternoon, Margie, one of the other managers, came into my office. "Hi Romeo."

"What?"

"The admin group is all a buzz about Mike Martin and what a gentleman he is and how he is just the greatest date."

"You're kidding," I said.

"Nope. Be careful. It is always treading a fine line when a manager dates staff. A lot of these young girls wouldn't mind a little payoff from the company if they happen to quit. It's easy to say they quit because of the harassment. And you know, men are guilty and can't be proven innocent in sexual harassment proceedings," she said. "It's your word against hers."

"Jesus, all I did was ask a couple of the women to a play," I said.

"And dinner," she said.

"And dinner."

"Yeah, I know and so does every other woman in the building. You have been labeled a great and safe date." She smiled and said, "Just be careful," as she turned and walked out of my office.

I shook my head. I wasn't 'dating' anyway. There really wasn't anything to be concerned with, was there?

I continued to get, well, not complaints, but let's say suggestions from various women on how I should chose whom to invite along. When I got three calls, Karen, Cindy, and Brenda within ten minutes, I knew I had to do something. I finally threw up my hands. There was no way I could satisfy this many women when I only saw one maybe two plays a week. I created an e-mail list in Outlook. When I had a play to see I'd send an e-mail with the date, time, theatre and play. If more than one lady sent back a yes, I'd look at the time stamp in the e-mail system and go with the earliest. If a woman called about the plays, I added her name to the e-mail list. Completely fair and unbiased.

Okay, I cheated a few times. Darla had taken a chance on me when no one else would and she did fill her sweaters better than any other woman in the building. I gave her a certain deserved priority. This did quiet the grumbling. Everything seemed to have settled into a nice routine. I was seeing plays again and the ladies were enjoying themselves on our quasi-dates.

Now, you are probably asking yourself, what the hell did this guy have that these women were throwing themselves at him? I can guarantee that it sure wasn't looks.

First, they weren't throwing themselves at me. It was simply a pleasant evening out with no strings attached. A woman can tell when a man is on the make and I wasn't. I think they found it refreshing to be out with a gentleman.

Second, I listen. Sure, you guys are saying, I listen. Boy do you listen while staring at her tits. Listening isn't not talking. Listening is an art.

You have to shut up about yourself. There is nothing worse than someone going on and on about themselves, their own hobby or sports by men, or their feelings by women.

Then you have to not think about what you are going to say. You've seen them, the ones who are in their own heads thinking about what they are going to say as if the conversation were a debate. If you have something interesting enough to say it will come to you when the other person is done. In the mean time, you have to pay attention.

Next, you have to understand, actually understand what the person is telling you.

Then you have to let the person know you are listening. A few "really?" or "Why did you choose blue?" comments asked at the appropriate time let the person know you are listening and getting it. I'm not talking about that neuro-linguistic crap of repeating back exactly what the person said. That's just a fucking tape machine. If you want the person to think you're a machine, repeat back exactly what they said. But if you want them to know you understood them, you have to make appropriate comments that show you're understanding.

I suspect it was a real shock for these young attractive women to have a guy actually listen to them. I have to admit, if I was young and on the make I wouldn't have been able to go out with someone as sexy as Darla without thinking about getting her in bed. And she would have known it. But I wasn't, and she knew that as well.

And last, they had fun. I always made a nice dinner and we went to a play. Live theatre is to television as kissing your aunt with the mustache is to kissing Halle Berry. One is dreary and the other makes your hair stand on end. There is an energy to any live performance that makes the packaged pap on television pale in comparison.

I wasn't a stud, just a gentleman. I thought things were rolling along pretty well.

Until Tuesday at lunch. I was sitting at one of the tables in the lunch room by myself as usual. "Mind if I join you?" a voice asked.

I looked up at this stone fox in a tight dress which left no doubt about her gender. She wasn't overly endowed but the dress left no doubt that what was there was real. "No, no not at all," I said. She sat down. I had seen her around the building but didn't know her name or even exactly where she worked. "I'm Mike," I said.

She took my proffered hand and answered, "Anna," holding onto my hand a beat longer than necessary.

We made small talk for a few minutes. I was getting a little uncomfortable. I had no idea what this fox was doing at my table? She made it clear. "I understand you go to a lot of plays."

The nickel dropped. "Yes, I do."

She let it hang there in the air, daring me to not ask her. As beautiful as she was I doubted she was used to being turned down. Unfortunately for me, I am just as male as the rest of my befuddled brethren.

"Yes, I write reviews for the paper. I get a couple of free tickets to a show and write a review," I said.

"Interesting," she said. "You get two free tickets?"

I couldn't help myself. "Yes. I'm always looking for someone to come along. I hate going by myself."

"Really," she said and genuinely sounded surprised. This girl was some actor herself. "I love theatre."

Back in my court. Was there any doubt what my next line was going to be? "I'd love it if you'd come along sometime. In fact, I'm seeing a play this Saturday."

She smiled, "I'd love to," she said being generous in her victory.

I gave her directions to my place and we agreed on six.

I spent Saturday cleaning. It was getting easier to clean since I didn't have months of backlog. I went simple with dinner, pasta made with fresh basil, arugula and prawns in a light créme sauce. Anna seemed pleased.

The play was a drama. Burn This is either an excruciating evening if the director doesn't get it, or one of the more moving plays you'll ever see. This director and cast got it. I saw Anna leaking tears a few times. The play twists your emotions but, as in all great theatre, it also acts as a catharsis. You come out moved and challenged and maybe even changed. It also has a 'happy' ending in that love does win out. Anna grabbed my arm as we emerged from the theatre. She needed the contact. For me, it was pleasant feeling her tits rubbing against my arm, although I don't think that was her intention.

We talked about the play all the way back to my place. Since we were still going strong, I invited her in for a drink. We sat in the living room, sipping port and talking about the play. We had hit it off and I was having an enjoyable evening. Then Anna caught me off guard.

Looking over the rim of her glass she asked me, "So, what do you do for sex?"

As usual, in times of stress when dealing with a beautiful woman, my brain vapor-locked. "Well, since Jennifer died I haven't been able to."

This was not strictly true. My desire had waned for some time, never completely. I still had to flog the monkey occasionally. To this day, I still don't know why I said what I said. I guess I was feeling a bit vulnerable and thought that I would be safe if she thought I couldn't. Stupidity. If I had remembered Cary Grant's quip, "To succeed with the opposite sex, tell her you're impotent. She can't wait to disprove it," I'd never have said it.

Anna's eyes got wide. "Really?" she asked with what sounded like genuine concern.

I was desperate to change the subject. "Jeez Anna. I mean, it's kind of hard talking about it."

"Mike, I would never talk about something this personal with anyone else. I understand that would be difficult for a man," she said.

Especially since it wasn't actually true. I dug myself in deeper, "Yes, it is. I do miss it."

She set her glass down and stood up. I assumed I had made her uncomfortable and she was leaving, so I stood as well. She grabbed my hand and led me back to my bedroom sputtering, "No, no. I don't think we should."

"Mike, I know you are probably scared you can't perform. I know men are funny about that. But I am not taking no for an answer." She pulled me into my bedroom and fairly tossed me at the bed. "Maybe I can't help, but I sure as hell am going to try."

I was half lying on the bed. She smiled and slowly started unbuttoning her blouse. She didn't have anything on under it, and didn't need it. Her tits were perfect. With the blouse unbuttoned, she turned coyly away from me and bending at the waist, so that her cute little ass was pushed out at me, slowly drawing her skirt off over her butt. She had grabbed her panties as well. Her ass came slowly into view. I couldn't take my eyes off of the slow revelation of her creamy skin. I was hard already, giving lie to my earlier protestation. Luckily, Anna didn't notice. As she continued pulling her panties down, her pussy winked out from between her thighs. And I thought I was hard before. Anna wasn't doing a strip, but it was far more erotic than any strip routine could have been. After her skirt and panties cleared her ass, she stood and pushed them off. She flipped her blouse off her shoulders and turned to me. She was incredibly sexy, the blouse still buttoned at the cuffs, making it appear she was bound but otherwise completely naked. She smiled at me.

"Like it?" she asked.

Her words broke the spell. I shook my head trying to clear it. "Anna, I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything," she said.

"Anna, you are a beautiful woman. But I haven't been with another woman since I got married. That's been a long time," I told her. And it had been. Hell, I wasn't sure I could please a woman other than my wife anymore. I knew she loved me. I had a burst of conscience, thinking about Jennifer. What would she think if she knew I had this hottie in 'our' bedroom? I still loved Jennifer even though she was gone. She had told me during her last weeks, that she didn't want me wasting away at home. I was to go out and find a new wife. She had even kidded that she was going to write me a letter of recommendation to future girlfriends. She was concerned that I wouldn't be able to take care of myself. I suppose it was because she took such good care of me. Maybe Jennifer wouldn't mind this little hottie in our bed. Or maybe she would. She would want me to find an equal, a woman of intelligence and wit, not just youth and beauty.

My mental argument was interrupted by Anna as she unbuttoned the cuffs of her blouse and let it fall to the floor before coming over to the bed. "Mike, please let me try. I'll not take no for an answer."

"It's just not that simple," I started to say.

"Yes, it is," she said. "Simple. I'm going to fuck you." She grabbed my belt and started undoing it. I defy any man to stop a beautiful naked woman who is undoing your belt. Go ahead, tell her to stop. She pulled the zipper down and started yanking my pants off. I lifted to help, bringing a smile to Anna's face. She pushed my shoes and pants off and knelt between my legs, smiling lecherously.

Where a few seconds before I had a raging hardon, the argument and thoughts of Jennifer had caused the blood to flow back to my big head. Anna only saw a little guy and still had no idea she was being gulled. She put her hands on my thighs. She slowly ran her hands over my thighs and cupped my balls before taking my cock in hand. Bending forward, she engulfed my cock in her hot mouth. That reversed the flow.

Her mouth felt like heaven. Jesus, it had been too long. Watching her angelic face giving a bj would have made a corpse hard. My cock quickly grew in her suctioning mouth. She started bobbing on it as it grew stiff. When it had risen up fully, Anna released it and smiled. "I think we have lift off," she said. I smiled. "Get up on the bed," she ordered.