Chapter 1

Monday afternoon in October. I was just getting ready to close the lid on my computer when Brenda walked in.

"What are YOU doing here?" she asked with a smile.

"I gotta do a little training and a little hand-holding," I said. "Brady's not really comfortable with the new equipment. So what are YOU doing this far from your office?"

I was an engineer. Fifty-five. Pretty good shape. Losing hair. Okay, twenty pounds were there that I needed to lose.

Brenda managed one of our maintenance database programs. Brenda was in her mid-forties, fifty pounds overweight, brunette, with interesting streaks of blonde added, tastefully arranged. Her grey eyes seemed to me to be constantly laughing, pleasant. She had a quick, sarcastic wit and got along well with people, whether they were the engineers and administrators of the regional office where she normally worked, or the dirty-hands mechanics and technicians of the various remote sites like this one.

"You know that they just rolled out a major upgrade to the program," she said. "I have to go to every station and do a couple of days of training so everybody can use it." She sighed. "Like everybody uses it in the first place."

"I know what you mean. Computers. They scare the daylights out of the old guys. At least some of 'em."

"Yeah," she said. "I have two of those here."

"They'll try, or not, but there's others who'll pick up their slack," I said.

"Uh-huh," she frowned. Then she started smiling again. "So where're you staying?"

I named the hotel, a mid-priced one, part of a national chain.

"Me too," she said as she hauled out a projector. "As soon as I get this thing checked out for tomorrow's training, I'm headed there."

"Lemme help you," I said. I was pretty proficient with the projector in question, having used it myself. Together we figured out the location and made sure that it was going to work with her laptop.

She started putting her computer away. "So if you want, we can eat dinner together. I hate going to eat by myself."

"None of the station guys wanna go?"

She shook her head and said softly, "No."

"I can't figure that out," I said.

"Some of 'em would get in trouble with their wives, and some of 'em just wanna get home, and I'm not exactly the one that..."

"That what?"

"If ... Let's just say if I was twenty an' blonde and a hundred and ten pounds..."

"We're talking about dinner, right?"

"Yeah! You up for it?"

"Sure! I'm like you. Gets old eating by myself."

We left the site in separate company cars and drove fifteen miles to the nearby town. I let her check into the hotel ahead of me and we went to the elevator together.

"What room?" she asked.

"Two-twelve," I said. "You?"

"Two-forty-four. What time d'ya wanna go to dinner?"

"Five-thirty okay?" I asked.

"Sounds good. I'll call you," she smiled.

I went to my room, slipped off my shoes and took a little nap, then took my personal computer out and checked personal email, then washed my face. I was looking at the clock when the phone rang.

"Hey, Steve," she said. "You hungry?"

"You betcha," I said.

"See ya in the hall, then."

I stuck the keycard in my back pocket and stepped out into the hall. She was walking toward me, that permanent smile beaming. We walked through the lobby.

"Let's take my car," she said.

"Your call," I said. "You got a restaurant in mind?"

"You don't mind Mexican, do you?" she asked.

"Look at me. Does it look like I'm picky?" I laughed.

"You an' me both," she said. "Mexican it is."

We were sitting in the restaurant, talking about the work and the people and enjoying things in general.

"You drink wine with your meal?"

"On occasion," I said.

"This is an occasion," she answered.

"And it's on expenses," I laughed.

"That too," she giggled.

The meal was pleasant. Brenda was an excellent conversationalist, knowledgeable in many areas, and we talked our way through the meal.

"You know who's on Monday Night Football?" she asked.

I named the teams. "That was going to be my evening," I said. "Eat, shower, watch the game."

"Mine too," she sighed. She looked at the wine glass. "This is pretty good stuff. I could use a bottle."

"Not while you're driving," I said.

"No, but a couple of glasses while I watch the game..."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't see the end of the game," I laughed.

The waiter brought the check and I flipped my card at it. "Let me pay..." then I saw the twinkle in her eye. "Well, my card. Company pays!"

We walked out of the restaurant into the waning light and drove up the road toward the hotel. She pulled into a package liquor store. "What was the name of that wine?"

I told her.

"Come in here with me. I'm gonna buy a bottle."

I went inside with her and she did indeed get a bottle of a very pleasant wine.

As we completed the trip, she looked at me. "This is pretty pleasant," she said, "having company like this. You know, we don't have to watch the game in separate rooms."

"No? You wanna go watch it in the lobby?"

"Nahhh, I wanna get my shower an' get comfortable, but if you wanna go do YOUR shower, then come to the room, I got two queen beds. That way I don't talk to myself, if you're there."

"You know, that might be a good deal."

She smiled. "And that way I don't have to drink this whole bottle by myself."

We walked back into the hotel and went to our separate rooms again.

"I'll call you when I get finished with my shower, ' she said.

"Okay. See you in a bit."

I closed the door behind myself and started undressing, thinking of how pleasant and comfortable the evening had been to this point. Comfortable. Brenda was NOT the kind of female that had you hanging your tongue out, then when you couldn't get close to her, you ended up whacking off in frustration. Besides, at fifty-five and divorced, I was adept at handling frustration.

I showered, shaved, dabbed on some aftershave and deodorant and donned the clothes, jeans and a pullover shirt, that I expected to wear the next day, and then waited.

A few minutes passed and the phone rang.

"This is Steve," I answered.

"Hey! Come on down. Have you been watching?"

"Yeah," I said. "Nothing to nothing, so far. I'll see you in a minute."

I walked up the hall and knocked lightly. She opened the door. I looked. She was wearing a hugely oversized football jersey. It reached almost to her knees.

She read my eyes. "Oh, I hope this isn't too relaxed. I mean, it doesn't show as much as the dresses I wear to the office."

"Oh, no," I said. "That's fine. Wish I had something as comfortable, ' I finished as I stepped inside.

She flipped the deadbolt and the lockbar. "Habit," she said.

There were two queen beds, one showing that it had been used. I kicked off my shoes and stretched out in the other, propping up on pillows.

She got her bottle of wine. "Forgot a corkscrew," she said.

"Got a Swiss Army knife," I said. "Lemme do that." I opened the bottle handily and she produced a couple of water glasses.

"Classy," she laughed as I poured us each a generous serving. She took a tentative sip, then a longer drink. She wrinkled her nose, grey eyes twinkling. "Mmmm," she said. "Good!"

We watched the game for a while. She looked at me as I moved, trying to get a bit more comfortable. "How about another glass, Steve?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," I said.

She poured us each another. Giggled. "I don't drink that often. Kinda buzzed," she admitted.

"Me too," I said.

We knocked back the second dose and the split the remainder of the bottle between us. She was grinning. "You know, Steve, you look uncomfortable, buddy. I'm comfortable, you know. This is what I sleep in. What'd'you sleep in?"

"I don't have any pajamas," I said.

"What'd'you sleep in?" she repeated.

"Drawers and a T-shirt," I said.

She smiled. "You COULD get more comfortable, you know..."

"Uh..." and the wine sort of dulled my good sense. "Yeah, I guess I could, but..."

"But I don't mind," she said. "You're over there. I'm over here. Go ahead. If you WANT to."

"Okay," I said. "Why not?" I stood and stripped my pants and socks off.

She looked me up and down. I was half-hard, producing a respectable bulge in my drawers. I tried to turn, attempting to hide it, and I thought I saw her eyes change. I lay back down on my side, propped up on an elbow so I could watch the game.

Hair. The normal look Brenda affected had her hair held in place with spray, not a bad look, but all my life I'd despised hairspray. The Brenda I saw right now had the soft look of shampooing and blow-drying and was a softer, more pleasant look. I shouldn't have said anything, but I made the comment.

"You like it like this?" she sounded surprised.

"I hate the feel of hairspray," I admitted.

She stroked her hair, then ran her fingers through it. "I never paid any attention. Always used the stuff, since I was a teen," she said. Her eyes brightened. "You can touch it..." she got up and sat on the edge of my bed.

It was offered, and I couldn't resist. I reached, stroking the softness, relishing the feel, ending my stroke by smoothing it onto and over her shoulder and the back of her neck. "Feels nice," I said. "Really..." I stroked some more.

"That feels so nice," she said. "You ... if I stayed here, would that be okay?"

That was the point where I could've stayed sane. Brenda was married. Had pictures of husband and kids and the new grandbaby on her desk and walls at her office. And I could've easily said something to defuse the situation, but instead I said, " Sure, Brenda."

"Just wanna be touched," she said. "Like you were doin'..."

"Then scoot over here," I said, holding my arm out for her to get close to me. She took the signal and snuggled her plush body against me so I could continue to caress her head. I didn't restrict myself to her hair. Her face wasn't made up now, after her shower, and forty-odd years showed on her, but who was I to be complaining: she was close and warm and completely pleasant and my fingertips bushed her cheek once, tentatively.

Instead of a 'no' or a 'stop' or a movement away from my touch, she turned her face to give me better access.

"Mmmm, feels soooo good, Steve..."

"You sure? I can stop."

"Don't," she said. She turned onto her side, moulding herself against me. I couldn't touch her head with that arm any longer, but it did fall on her side. I know that some guys get upset with the idea of a fat woman, but this ... Brenda, yes, her side wasn't a smooth curve, but rather a couple of rolls of fat, but it STILL felt good to touch, at least to me. And I touched her gently, then pulled her even closer.

"I'm not grossin' you out?"

"Whatever would gross me out, Brenda?"