Monday, April 6, 2009

Well Planned Exit

I got on the road out of the big city around 4 PM heading south on the Interstate to the place Denise chose for our rendezvous. She was coming north, direct from work at the university. The idea was that we would both drive two hours or so and end up in the same place roughly half way between. She had found an exit with a bunch of restaurants and selected one where we could meet. It took longer to get out of town than I thought so I exceeded the posted limit most of the way once I was on the open road. I was looking forward to seeing Denise. It had been over twenty years and I had been pleased to hear from her via e-mail several months earlier. Oddly, given our history, there was never as much as a double-entendre in our e-mail exchanges. We hadn’t talked on the phone either, although we had exchanged cell numbers when we settled on a meeting place just in case we couldn’t find each other. Consequently I didn’t really know what to expect—which probably made it more interesting. After all, if I was meeting up with Jackie I would know exactly what to expect. I would expect to get fucked to within an inch of my life. With Denise I had no idea.

I pulled the sedan into the lot in front of the TGI Applebee House of Denny’s and started to walk towards the entrance. I was about ten or fifteen minutes later than the time we chose but not late enough to have called. I noticed a woman walking from the right at an angle that would cut me off before the entrance. It was Denise. I’d know that Jane Fonda look-alike face anywhere. Her hair was still short but cut and colored in a late 90’s style not the mid-70’s from our last encounter. (I say that not really understanding what the hell I'm talking about. But, if you showed me a hairstyle from 1976 and one from 1998 I think I could tell one from the other.) She grinned broadly as I smiled at her. It’s an awkward thing when you're walking towards someone in a situation like that. If you look right at the person the gaze lasts an uncomfortable length of time. If you look away it isn’t good form, and if you look at your feet it appears as if you can’t walk without help. So, I looked right at her, grinning like Goober, until finally we were close enough that I could say, “Denise!” about the same time she said, “Wil!” Then came a good long hug.

The careful reader might recall that the last time I had seen Denise she was quite a bit more slender than when we were going steady in high school. Now her shape was more like it had been before she lost weight —not heavy, but not skinny either. She was dressed in her work clothes—a suit and fairly sensible shoes. Nothing overtly sexy. We decide to have dinner there and not run around trying to find another place. After all, who doesn't love TGI Applebee House of Denny's?

Dinner was fun. We caught up on all sorts of things and she was very interesting. Her personal story since our last contact was extraordinary. We talked a lot about kids and about her career choice of helping people with addictions. I was careful to make sure I didn’t bring up my affliction, pussy addiction. It didn’t seem appropriate. I also didn’t bring up how her body now resembled her mother’s. That would have been most inappropriate. And yet, a compliment. See when I first met Denise’s mother she was about the age that Denise was at the time of this dinner get together-- give or take a couple years. At that time long past her mother had a body like the middle-aged Liz Taylor. Not the “National Velvet” Liz. Not the senior citizen Liz. We’re talking the “Taming of the Shrew” era Liz. Only bustier. Denise’s mom had that hourglass figure thing working for her back then and I never thought Denise would look anything like that. But, now she kinda did. She was taller than her mother but the weight she gained since last I saw her had landed mainly in the northern and southern hemispheres and not at the equator. It was an observation I kept to myself through dinner, even when she returned from the restroom and I was smiling from admiring her fine round ass as she walked away and her bouncing jugs as she returned. Definitely not slender these days. But I wasn't getting a strong feeling about, ya know, sex, and the prospects for such activity.

After dinner we walked out to the parking lot talking away. We hadn’t run out of conversation all evening. Unsurprising given the twenty plus years since we had last seen one another I suppose. My car was closer and we stopped there talking. As the conversation went along Denise had seemed to invade my personal space subtly-- even touching my arm from time to time. Things were getting interesting. Finally, when there was a lull she said, “I guess you need to get back to Chicago.”
“I don’t need to be at O'Hare until tomorrow afternoon so there’s no rush. (PAUSE) But, I guess you need to get back home for your son…” I said.
“Actually, he’s staying overnight at a friend’s house. I decided to get a room up here and just drive to work early in the morning,” Denise said.
“Oh?” I said.
“Yeah. If you’re not in a huge hurry to get back north why don't we go over there where we can talk some more?” she said with a wave of the arm towards the Holiday Red Roof Hampton Express Inn.
I started to think that Denise picked this exit ramp very carefully for its ample amenities.

I followed her over to the hotel. In the parking lot I said, “Why don’t I run over there and get something for us to drink?”
She agreed, gave me the room number, and said white wine would be good.
As I was getting back in the car she said, “Wil, do you mind if I change clothes?”
I didn’t. But as I went over to the Stop-N-Go to get some refreshments I wondered what she’d change into. Which was the whole idea of mentioning it, I’m sure.

When I got to room 215 and knocked I found that Denise had changed into an outfit that was basically boxer shorts and a tank top. I figured out that they were pajamas when she said, “I didn’t pack anything except pj’s… other than my clothes for work tomorrow. You don’t mind do you? I just had to get out of that suit!”
I said that I didn’t mind as I poured white wine into plastic champagne glasses—the only thing I could find that was remotely suitable for stemware at the convenience mart.

We had some wine and suddenly we didn’t have as much to discuss as we did in public.
I thought about the last time we got together after her first divorce and how it had turned into several days of relentless sex. And then years of no contact.
I remembered it but decided that I didn’t want to discuss it at this point.
Then we kissed and I soon determined that her full breasts were natural and quite soft.