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Subject: {ASSM} Repost:: Limits  Rajah Dodger 
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Date: Thu, 30 Nov 2006 19:10:03 -0500
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Abstract: A man has to rediscover himself after his wife's death.

     Limits, by Rajah Dodger <rdodger@hotmail.com>, Copyright (c) 1997.
 All rights reserved, except that electronic not-for-profit
reproduction rights only are explicitly granted with the stipulation
that this authorship and permission note must remain attached.

     Cori's relatives and my coworkers were milling around the funeral
home, munching on celery sticks and green bean casserole, and
occasionally coming up to me to murmur something soothing and useless.
I was still somewhat in shock and denial since the car accident, and I
have no idea to this day what they said to me, nor whether my replies
made any sense.

     I do remember when Kenneth from Accounting came over; Ken's hobby
was accounts receivable, but his real job as far as he was concerned
was the location and harvesting of attractive women. He came up to me
with his current brunette in tow.  "Tough break, old man," he said,
clapping me on the shoulder, and turned to his companion.  "Blue, this
is Green.  Hey, your names go together!"  Ken was the only person who
called me Green; it came from my middle name.  My parents, with an
elegant sense of art and sadism, had saddled me with Samuel Giuseppi
Grunewald Franklin.  My friends called me Sam; I never claimed Ken was
one of my friends.

     The woman by his side looked at me with something that wasn't
exactly pity, took my hands in hers and brushed her lips against my
cheek.  "I'm sorry for your loss," she said in a husky voice, "I know
it's not a consolation, but there are others who survive every day.
Just don't try to rush things -- we all have our limits.  God grant you
the strength you need to go forward."  And she brushed her lips against
my cheekbone just under my right ear.

     Somehow, the feeling of her lips persisted through the afternoon.
And I don't know why, but her reassurance seemed to mean something to
me in a way that nobody else's comments had. That night, in the big bed
with the gaping empty spot on the mattress, I managed to get to sleep
with less effort and fewer tears than I had managed for the entire
previous week.

     I ran into Ken a few days later and asked after his companion, but
he couldn't remember her.  Typical of him.

     *****

     Time went by.  I survived my loss in the way of men since time
immemorial -- I buried myself in work and shut out the rest of the
world.  There was one good result of this; I earned myself a promotion.
 Instead of being confined to a cubicle for eight-point-five hours a
day, I now got to (well, had to) leave town frequently to visit the
company's other sites.  Getting out of town was a blessing -- it
reminded me that there was a lot going on in life that I used to be a
part of.

     Six months of bland hotel rooms and HBO brought one particular
part of life to the forefront.  One cold night in Chicago, I left the
hotel for a walk and came back with a trashy-looking tabloid.  I
flipped through the back pages until I found the heading "Health
Services".  There, along with a few legitimately therapeutic massage
studios, was a column and a half of women who would be glad to "pamper"
and "relax" me for a fee.  What the hell -- it was forty-two degrees
outside, I was four hundred miles from home, and I'd been both widowed
and celibate for almost a year.

     I made several calls, just to find out what the going rate and
sales pitch were, and eventually settled on "Marla" who described
herself as green-eyed, 5'8", brunette and "proportional".  I gave her
my hotel address and arranged to meet her in the coffee shop that
evening.  After hanging up, I thought about some possibilities and
eventually bundled up some things to go into the hotel safe.  I set
eight twenties into an envelope, sealed that, and put another five
twenties in my wallet.  Then I took a long hot shower.

     I was in the coffee shop at five till nine, seated at an open
table with a copy of the Proceedings of the IEEE in front of me.  Not
as Hollywood as a red rose, but just as distinctive for identification.
 Promptly at nine, I was tapped on the shoulder and heard a mellifluous
voice say "Sam?"  I turned to look and was more than pleasantly
surprised -- the woman at my table could have been one of our district
managers in her business suit and briefcase, with what looked like
crucifix earrings.  I got up to hold her chair, and when we were seated
I discreetly passed her my airline ticket and drivers license.  My
orange juice arrived, and she declined my offer of a drink.  She
glanced through the papers and handed them back to me with a smile.

     I finished my orange juice as I noticed that her earrings were the
Egyptian ankh, not a crucifix.  I rose and offered her my arm, and she
took it as we strolled through the lobby to the elevators.  She wore a
faintly spicy scent, almost a reminder of cloves.  We got off at my
floor and walked to my room, where I opened the door and held it for
her.  "You can put your briefcase over there," I said, indicating the
low dresser on which I had left the envelope marked "Marla".  She
looked in that direction, smiled at me and said "Thanks," then set her
briefcase down unopened on the dresser.  When she turned back to me her
arms were open, and I accepted the unspoken invitation -- taking her
into my arms for a warm embrace followed by a gentlemanly kiss.

     "Is that all you asked me up for?"  She inquired.  I smiled and
said, "not exactly," and pressed my head forward for a more thorough
kiss, letting one hand trail down to fondle her ass. Her side of the
kiss got noticeably more enthusiastic after that -- I guess she was
looking for some sort of non-cop behavior.

     When we broke the clinch, she headed into the bathroom and
returned with a couple of towels.  "You might want to get comfortable
while I freshen up."  That was fine with me; I was a little bit nervous
at the thought of disrobing in front of a strange woman.  Silly
thought, since after all I was paying her to be in my room.  I nodded
and she shut the bathroom door behind her.  I folded my clothes neatly
over the top of a chair and lay down on the bed, one towel under me,
the other draped discreetly over my bottom.  "Okay," I called out.

     I looked over my shoulder at her as she came out of the bathroom.
She had changed into -- no, she must have been wearing under her suit
-- a short black dress that swirled around her hips and stopped just
beneath her knees.  I noticed in passing that she had disposed of her
nylons.  The top of her dress wasn't straining, but it justified her
claim to be "proportional".  Her earrings and a simple gold choker
completed the picture.  I whistled -- something I hadn't done in a long
time -- and was rewarded with a pretty smile and a graceful pirouette.

     I lay my head down on the pillow as she opened her briefcase.
"Lotion or powder?," she asked.  I shrugged my shoulders, "Whichever
you like.  I've got no preference."  She replied, "Okay dear, powder it
is."  I felt her sprinkle the powder lightly across my back, then climb
onto the bed to sit straddling the towel over my hips.  Her fingers bit
into my shoulderblades, then went skittering across my back -- an
interesting sensation with the powder instead of the lotion. For a good
five minutes she alternated a good strong massage with deft touches
that woke up tingly nerves along my neck, arms and sides.  She then
turned around and worked on my legs, paying particular attention to the
soles of my feet.  Another few minutes and I was feeling both relaxed
and tingling from my heels to my neck.  She slapped me on the bottom
and said, "Turn over, sport -- the towel's optional."

     I rolled over, tossing the towel to one side.  I wasn't
particularly erect, but that changed as Marla stood up facing me and
pulled her dress over her head.  I revised my estimate of her age up to
the early thirties.  She wasn't wearing a bra, and her breasts looked
lovely tipped with big brown nipples.  The only thing she wore now was
a narrow panty of forest green, and she watched my cock grow as I
looked her over.  Her eyes twinkled as she got back on the bed and
scooted up my legs, finally sitting astraddle my stomach with her ass
rubbing against the head of my cock.  "You haven't done this before,
have you?," she inquired.

     "No," I said in some surprise, "did I do something wrong?"

     She chuckled low in her throat, and reached back to fondle my cock
in her cool hand.  "Oh, no...  I think you're going to do just fine."
And with that she released my cock and leaned down toward me, her
breasts dangling on either side of my face. "Why don't you see what you
can do with these?"

     I reached up and cradled her breasts in my hands, slowly stroking
her nipples with my thumbs.  She closed her eyes, and scooted back
until she was sitting on my cock, trapping it in a warm silk embrace.
I took her left breast, put it to my lips, and gave her nipple the
deepest soul kiss I could imagine, exploring the unfamiliar surface and
taste with my tongue as her hips began rocking gently from side to
side.  She tangled her fingers in my hair and stroked the back of my
neck as I switched from her left to her right breast and gave it the
same treatment.  I was finding it a little hard to concentrate because
the way she was rocking her hips was rolling my cock between her
panties and my powder-covered stomach, and there was more than enough
friction to get me fully aroused.

     She pulled back from my mouth and cupped her breasts briefly, then
put her hands on my chest and teased my nipples with her nails.  All of
a sudden the stimulation was too much for me.  "Uh-oh, Marla, I'm
gonna..."  and that was all I had time for as my hips bucked under her
weight and I started cumming.  A brief look of disappointment crossed
her face, then she started riding my cock, scooting forward and back
and reaching back to stroke me.  Every little move she made just made
my balls throb and spasm that much more, and I was reduced to making
incoherent mouth noises...

     The next thing I remember I was curled up on my side, shaking and
crying like a baby.  Marla was spooned up behind me, holding a damp
washcloth against my forehead and stroking my leg and hip.  She was
murmuring something like "There, there, hon." When I could get words
out I tried to apologize, but she pressed her finger to my lips and
shushed me.  Then she took my head in her hands and pressed her mouth
to mine, no tongue, just a wide-open caress of lips as she held me
until I quit shaking.

     She rolled me over and got me to lie on my back, then cleaned the
sperm from me with the washcloth and went into the bathroom.  I heard
the water run for a bit, and when she came out she had a bath towel
that she deftly wrapped around me. She kissed me on the forehead, and
started putting her dress back on.  "I don't know who she was," she
commented, "but you're not ready yet to do this with someone else."

     I had plenty of time to think about that as she quickly changed
from semi-naked bed partner back to professional businesswoman.  A snap
of her briefcase latch and the thud of the door, and she was gone --
leaving me with my tears and her scent.

     I dreamed of Cori that night, for the first time in a while.  She
seemed to be giving me a blessing.

     *****

     I went back to HBO for my entertainment after that.  Truth be
told, I was more than a little scared at the intensity of my reaction
and the loss of control.

     Last week there was another staff shuffle in the office and our
group got a new addition.  It was the woman I remembered from the
funeral, and seeing her brought back memories of Cori, but also the
sensation of her lips at my ear.  Somehow I knew I wanted to know more
about this woman.

     I got the opportunity to have lunch with her a few days later and
asked her (out of curiosity) why Ken had called her "Blue".  It wasn't
her name, which was Camilla, nor her eyes, which I saw were green.  It
turned out Ken had played the same game with her names that he had with
mine -- where my middle name was Grunewald (which became green), hers
was Azul (Spanish for blue).  We shared the humor in that.

     Camilla asked what I had been doing since losing my wife, and I
gave her an edited history covering my work, promotion and travel.  She
looked at me oddly, but dropped the subject and we moved on to other
topics.  We finished our lunch, which was really very pleasant, and got
up to return to the office.

     In parting, Camilla suddenly hugged me tightly, her hair brushing
my ear.  "I'm glad to see you doing well," she said quietly, "You seem
like a really nice person.  I'm going to enjoy working with you."  When
she straightened up, much to my surprise she gave me a quick, warm kiss
on the lips.  Then she brushed her skirt off and we returned to the
office like any two colleagues after an uneventful lunch break.

     I think I'm going to ask Camilla out.  I think I'm ready to start
living again.

***** {END} ***** Completed 1997-11-20, 2355 words

Copyright (c) 1997 Rajah Dodger (rdodger@hotmail.com)

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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