1 comments/ 51409 views/ 7 favorites Whites By: Nellskitchen "Exquis," I thought, as my eyes wandered the small but smartly attired apartment. Seeing how another lives is always illuminating. At first blush it was clear Paige lived an orderly life. "I can only wish," I thought, reflecting on the relative disarray of my own. "You like to cook," I observed, anxiously glancing about at the kitchen's legion of culinary gadgets. "Mmm, I like to eat even more," Paige answered, sprinkling devilish laughter into the mix as she glanced down at herself. Her hands wafted over wide hips and came to rest with a slap on her firm buttocks. Turning to face me she asked, "Does it show?" Having taken the liberty of scrutinizing her lithesome body earlier that evening, I knew otherwise. "Um...no. It doesn't show. You're so trim," I answered jealously. Hinting skepticism, she smiled. "You're just trying to be nice," she added, backing me up against the counter top. "Anyway, I still like your answer." "Do you like to eat?" she murmured. "Or perhaps you prefer to be eaten ...." She planted a sultry kiss firmly on my lips and slipped her tongue into my mouth. She tasted good to me, a combination of champagne and affection. The heat from her sex flirted with my pelvis. Finding no resistance, she probed deeper. I was taken by her assertiveness and breathing heavily, I held onto her shoulders even after our mouths disengaged in self-defense. "Come with me...I want to show you something," she entreated. Taking my hand, she led me to the next room where I caught sight of the bed whose spread had been turned down as if in anticipation. "So wonderful, I love them," I ventured softly. "What?" "Satin sheets," I answered. Seating herself and crossing her long slender legs, she asked, "What do you find...wonderful about them?" Leaning, I ran my hand over the glossy spread and smiled at her. "They feel slippery. Like cum, only fabric." "I'm already in love with your sense of humor Jordan; 'cum - only fabric!'" She smiled so totally, not one of those repugnant smirks, but a real smile that lighted a CoverGirl face. "Come, sit next to me," she invited, patting the spread with her hand. I sat. Moving herself close to me and gently curling my hair behind my ear, she riveted me with her dazzling blue eyes and impish air. Then, as if revealing some secret insight, she confided softly, "After tonight, when I slip between my sheets, I'll conjure wicked images - ill-fated girls in bukkake videos, swimming helplessly in a sea of yucky man batter." We screwed up our noses in unison but our eyes stayed fastened. Suddenly, she was on her feet again, stacking layers of downy pillows against the headboard. "Have to change. I'll just be a minute. Stay here," she instructed. I reclined back, my gaze following her shapely butt as she retreated to a walk-in closet. Closing my eyes and only half-listening, I took little notice of popping snaps and the occasional hanger bouncing along the closet's metal rod as I reflected back to that annoying exchange at the party. Paige, plainly skilled at infiltrating hidden meaning in the conversation of anyone in her presence, had latched onto a thinly veiled revelation from earlier in the evening, swiping what amounted to little more than a trifle from a parting exchange between me and my former lover like a cobra might snatch up an unsuspecting bunny happening by. I worried she might be too much for me. Anyway, it didn't matter as I was here now. "You comfy out there?" she called. "Yes, Paige, I'm good. Why don't you dress out here? I want to watch." Conveniently disregarding my question, she called back to me, "Give me another minute, all right?" Her voice seemed distant, muffled by the closeted enclosure; her way of politely excluding an unwelcome request. Then suddenly, her voice rang clearly. "Because I wanted to surprise you, that's why." Her declaration was as posed as the feminine form now posturing in the very doorway through which she had vanished minutes earlier. "So...is this what you had in mind?" she asked suggestively. Upon her reappearance, my thoughts, which had a tendency to diffuse when left to their own devices, quickly reordered themselves. My deficient reply, an inane grin. Standing in the doorway, her ghostly form radiated white light that seemed to emanate from deep inside her, pouring through the filter of my senses as if fluorescent thought. I reacted with a stumbling gasp, "Whites! So, so beautiful." Browsing her curvaceous figure, my eyes wandered its splendor as I struggled to answer her question. "Yes Paige, that's it; exactly as I pictured," which in an erotically frightening sort of way meant she had read me almost too perfectly, something that made me uneasy in a relationship still raw. She was delectable and in minutes had transformed herself, discarding the starkly-contrasting black bow mini dress of the party animal I had just met into the crisp majesty of an accomplished R.N. Though originally regarding myself as merely the evening's convenient stranger, I now wanted to believe that donning her uniform was a gift, a welcome; something only for me. To my cluttered mind, the nurse in whites - THE image of purity - appeared as Mary Immaculate, wrapped as she was in a freshly-laundered uniform, something my senses took a moment to absorb, as my eyes roamed its tight fit, emphasizing firm breasts whose nipples surged in a vain attempt to escape their disagreeable confinement; its short skirt ending provocatively at mid-thigh and baring long, white-stockinged legs. Her nurse's cap and polished white pumps punctuated the confident professional. With stethoscope draped about her neck, she appeared half-nurse and half-waitress as her latex-sheathed hands balanced a menacing surgical tray whose contents lay loosely hidden, covered by a fluffy white towel. "Ready for your examination, Jordan?" she inquired ominously. Ready or not, the sight of her made me wet. *** It all had to begin someplace, and that place was the party earlier that same evening. There, employing my most resourcefully executed sneaky glances, I had systematically assembled pieces of her body's enigma. She intrigued me and had only caught me staring once, snaring with her own, my careless glance. There were women everywhere; some I even knew, but she wasn't one. Our eyes met; mine flitted away, but returned to hers, which, to my delight, had remained fixed. Sauntering over to Wenda, and looking floorward, I registered the standard inquiry. "Don't stare," I murmured firmly. "She's already caught me once, so give it a second and then tell me her name. Are you listening?" "Which?" Wenda asked a little too naively. "Don't fuck with me Wenda. That girl standing near the piano; the one with the black hair. Who is she?" Wenda smiled in that savagely tender way of hers and took a sip from her glass before casually searching the crowded room for my would-be trophy. "Ahh...that's Paige, Paige de Villeneuve," she observed. "Do you want her?" "You've had her, haven't you," I said blankly. "Maybe," Wenda added, her rapid blinking confirming the unmistakable. Before she dissolved back into her role as hostess, I put her on notice. "I have to meet her." *** Everyone was drinking pink champagne from fluted glasses; the ten-inch ones that snap in half if someone sneezes. Balancing elegant silver trays on raised fingertips, three nude waiters, the only men present, lubricated the evening with booze, all the while dodging grabs from increasingly intoxicated women. "Nude" wasn't exactly accurate as the boys wore tasteful red bow ties; an engaging addition, I thought, to the party's ambience. Most interestingly, each sported a respectable dick, not exactly "apparel," but somehow worn, nonetheless. Needless to say, the floppy appendages swayed all about, drawing the attention of every girl present. I was especially taken by Hernan's, as he was cute and uncircumcised. I never knew why, some Freudian thing I suspect, but uncut attracted me, something which dated to Justin and that first blowjob in the shower. There wasn't much about men that spoke to virtue, but a malleable foreskin offered something to play with, something to draw back, to search under. Anyway, it surprised Sheree Winton that never once did any of the waiters display even the semblance of an erection, and it wasn't as though we weren't all hoping to see one, because we were. "Can you believe these boys?" she asked, reaching to tap the butt of Jorell as he darted by. I didn't envy them. Just college kids, they waded through a gaggle of lesbians to scoff up a few extra bucks on the weekend. Amusingly, from time to time an entire tray would crash to the floor, as one of the girls grabbed hold of an innocent scrotum. I even did it once, to Mr. Steel-buns. Everybody laughed. He didn't care and readily accepted the fifty bucks I tipped him. It wasn't until shortly after ten or so that it finally happened. Simultaneously and possibly quite by accident - although I couldn't swear to it - Paige and I both reached for the solitary remaining flute on a passing tray. Our fingers fumbled at the stem, our eyes met and the room transformed itself into that scene from "West Side Story," where we, like Maria and Bernardo, abruptly found ourselves alone in a crowd, frozen in a time-current in which no one else truly existed and where everyone simply stopped moving; where the couple instantly melded into one person residing in separate but henceforth immaterial bodies. Like their attraction, ours was immediate and had the potential to be just as habit-forming. A momentary lapse of reason, it harbored an intensity every romantic covets. Whatever it was, we merged and I somehow managed to breathe in the rest of her form, noting deep blue eyes set wide apart, long legs, the riddle of whose confluence I instantly wished to unravel, the blackness of her hair and an elfin waist, which I - mistakenly, I later discovered - judged to be cinched tightly by some modern-day variant of a Victorian corset. She smiled. I smiled. "Here, you take the champagne," we blundered in chorus. "No, you," we both insisted, laughing gleefully. An hors d'oeuvre tray happened by and I lifted a caviar-smothered wafer. In an audition of sorts, I nibbled before handing it to her, wondering if she'd bite; but especially wondering whether she might snack at the previously injured corner. I wanted her to in the worst way. Briefly holding the brittle crucible with delicate fingers, she fixed on me and consciously rotating it, raised the cracker to parted lips. She watched me in a telling sort of way, then snapped the cracker in half with perfect teeth. "So good," she commented. Eve's apple, I mused. It was the second step on our communion path. "Wenda told me you work at the clinic. You're Paige, right?" "Mmm...you know my name, a promising sign. I like it if somebody I like knows my name. Am I going to like you?" she asked, swaying her hips in sensuous undulations as she nipped the cracker a second time. "Anyway, yes, I'm a nurse at Eastside Medical." "Gynecology, right?" "Oooo...correct again! That's twice. So you're familiar with...my work; interesting." "Surely. I mean, I did ask about you after our eyes met earlier. I think nurses are hot. But tell me something..." "You do? What makes you think we're hot?" The twinkle in her eye betrayed she already knew the answer. "I don't know...maybe it's putting myself in somebody's hands. Whenever I'm examined, I get goose bumps. Then there's the uniform. Things are so casual now, but traditional nurse uniforms are, you know...do you ever wear them?" "Rarely," she said before pausing for thought. "Maybe, though. For you I might put one on. But you didn't answer me before. Do I like you, Jordan?" "I think you..." "Anyway, if it's whites you want, we'll have to get out of here." The commanding chemistry tugged at us. I hadn't hooked up with anyone in months but a hook-up wasn't what this felt like. There was more to it, or at least that's what I chose to believe. But we were well-mannered and for appearance's sake remained another half hour - the best we could manage after the champagne scuffle. With spontaneity's freshness distilling its own excitement, we surreptitiously plotted our escape and after finally getting up the nerve, we sheepishly drew close to our hostess. "We really have to run," I shouted over the noise and music which overwhelmed most conversation anyway. Wenda recognized what was happening and as usual, interfered. "Leaving already? But you haven't had dessert! And how sweet is this?" she observed, happily, blinking her eyes in friendly mockery while deliberately drawing unwanted attention to what was meant to be a discreet exodus. She obviously didn't mind the early departure but used it as an opportunity to heighten the volume of her typically restrained voice. The entire room stopped itself in place to gawk at us. "Bitch," I thought, smiling. "And Jordan, I know how much you like your dessert," she added sardonically, alluding to the world's most poorly-kept secret. It dated back to the Christmas party. In that instant our common memory popped to the surface like a buoy and in an exchange of glances, we each recalled how we had slipped away together, leaving the busy club's first floor for the privacy of a banquet-room upstairs, where Wenda played lead in the role of dessert... The burn started at my chest, its heat rising into my neck and face as Paige in a flash, gleaned the secretive meaning transferred as if by code during the infuriating exchange. Wanting to break from the meddling Wenda, I needed one thing, to evaporate from this place with the catch of the day. But by then, she had already shifted gears and was addressing Paige, whose concentration had perked as her search engine silently ransacked Wenda's thinly-veiled but obviously calculated leak. Looking back at me, Wenda continued, "And Paige, you must understand that Jordan will do anything - anything - for a sweet, creamy dessert - won't you, Jordan?" I glanced pleadingly at Paige, whose lazy eyes betrayed that she'd already heard the story. Opting for straightforward escape and jolting Paige by the hand, I uneasily declared, "Let's go Wenda!" Seconds later, we were descending the steps of the brownstone. "I hate that slut," I cried. Paige smiled coyly. The night was warm and a light rain was falling, leaving the street slick and adding a hiss to the city's natural background noise as cars scurried by. "Your place or mine?" I asked. Already hailing a cab, Paige called from over her shoulder: "Mine. I need to show you something." *** Tugging at the belt of my tight-fitting denims, she whispered, "Take these off for me. I need to examine you." More robotically than I would have thought possible an hour before, I fought with the zipper as she stepped back, apparently to amplify my image. Oddly, with that rearward step, her demeanor changed to near impassivity as sandals, pants, then panties were slid off and kicked away. "The blouse and bra too," she instructed. Hesitantly complying, a moment later I stood naked before her. "Such a nice body, Jordan." "Thank you," I said gratefully. "That wasn't a compliment," she replied briskly. "Just a professional opinion. Now sit and open your legs." The polished sheet registered cool against my naked bottom as I sat, lifting, then parting my legs. "What's next, nurse?" I asked with pseudo-naïveté. Paige strode forward, carefully placing the mysterious tray on the nightstand before pulling a glass thermometer from under the towel. "Turn over onto your tummy," she said, lubricating the glass tip with KY. The goose bumps began again, as I obediently rolled over and, almost unnoticed due to the thermometer's slenderness, she inserted it into my rectum. Then, taking my wrist, and scrutinizing her watch, she acknowledged my healthy heart-rate with a nod before withdrawing the measuring instrument. "99.6, you're perfect! Let's check your breasts. I assume you do a self-exam monthly, Jordan?" I shook my head guiltily. Paige tutted. I rolled a second time, intuitively covering my nipples with my palms as a look of sympathetic admonishment crossed her face. "Shyness Jordan? A little late for that, don't you think?" Embarrassed, I let my hands drop away. "That's my good girl," she said, before systematically moving the tips of her three middle fingers over my breasts in small overlapping circles. My nipples hardened and I reached for her face but she pulled away. Looking down at me, she said, "You're a naughty patient, Jordan. Be still and let me finish." Compliantly I slid to the middle of the bed, allowing her enough space to continue her evaluation. She pressed firmly against the spongy tissue, pressuring my ribs as she varied the insistency of her finger pads, compressing here, poking there. My eyes roamed to the partially concealed tray as her stethoscope traveled about and I wondered what surprises lay hidden beneath that towel. She anticipated my question, paused, then reached over and drew the downy cover aside. I panicked. Looking up at Paige, I spoke resolutely. "An internal?" A pelvic. The idea struck me like a bolt of lightning as I locked onto the stainless steel speculum resting innocently just inches away. "Good God, Paige! Listen...we've just met, you know? I mean, I realize tonight has become a little more than special but honestly, this?" The momentum of my words betrayed my nervousness. My newly-found personal healthcare professional stood abruptly and stepped back to the doorway, displaying a sobriety in vivid contrast to my prepubescent unease. She crossed her arms over her breasts and spoke authoritatively. "You're behaving like a spoiled teenager, Jordan. Just let me complete my exam and I'll see to that creamy dessert you had with Wenda at the Christmas party. Let's be honest. Isn't it what you want?" "Wenda had no right to tell you about that," I snapped, but Paige deftly disregarded my fumbling admonishment. "And it's whipped cream, correct? It's what you came here for. We both know it. Jordan." Her practiced bearing and self-assurance transfixed me, allowing for a coveted moment to reflect before calmly nodding my faltering agreement. With that, Paige returned and planted delicate kisses on my neck and shoulders, turning the agonizingly clinical into softness, before whispering, "Just relax now, Jordan darling. You're tense, I can feel it. And let's get those legs back up where they belong." "She's so lovely," Paige murmured as her gloved fingers parted my shimmering vaginal lips, lightly tugging at the folds of soft skin. Pressing down on my mons, she commented, "This may cramp a little, you understand." With each of my arguments beaten back, I nodded guardedly. Paige fondled the speculum, rubbing it with olive oil, poured from a glass beaker. Spilling several drops of liquid along the inner lips of my sex, she inserted the fearsome steel bills into the marginally cooperative channel. Were it not for her business-like calm, demonstrating she knew her way around the intimidating utensil, I might have jumped from the bed and run naked and screaming into the street. Instead, I lay there, trusting in the unknown as she efficiently locked it in place with a couple of clicks and a swift spin. In seconds, I was open. "Your pussy, so perfect," she commented, scrutinizing my sex as if it were somehow unattached to the rest of me. "Don't be afraid," she added, and with the use of a slim penlight, she caringly peered into the cavernous portal between my legs. Then, as if searching for something, she pressed down on my stomach with her fingertips before exclaiming, "At last. There she is! That's better!" She smiled as though she had just passed her clinical exam. Whites "What's better?" "Your cervix; I can see her now." Her voice displayed a childish joy and with the speculum now firmly in place, she lowered herself expertly moving her tongue over my distended clit. Her cap fell away as I moaned and awkwardly reached for her hair. "That feels good," I groaned. "Thank you, darling," she murmured, pausing between licks. "Not a compliment," I joked. "Just a professional opinion." She laughed and said, "Want to see what she looks like?" Not waiting for an answer, Paige reached for a mirror in the nightstand drawer and efficiently positioned it to reflect the yawning cavity of my cunt. "There now...isn't she pretty?" "'Pretty.' I'll give your description some thought," I answered shyly. "Nonsense, darling. Like most of us, you've probably never seen yours before." She smiled before reverting to professional mode. "Anyway, I think she's perfect. Can you see?" Hesitantly glancing between raised knees, I gazed into the mirror, spotted the little donut but abruptly averted my eyes. Paige laughed at my innocent reaction and slipped the mirror back into the drawer before returning her attentions to wet-nursing my clit, whose entirety she now lapped as a puppy might her mother's nipple. Her thumb prodded at my backside and I lifted my bottom, allowing her entry. With a firm push, she slipped it into me. Dull moans slid from my throat. I loved it, the way she handled my body, her hands never at rest, wandering from breasts to nipples, to anus, to navel to mouth. A woman's gentle forcefulness and flawless momentum came with her onslaught and I grabbed at her hair as I might a mustang's mane. Breathing heavily, I drew her closer. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of her other hand, feeling its way to the tray on the night stand, in search of something. I watched as she grasped an unusual-looking utensil brought into the bedroom with the rest, a surgical device of some kind, also stainless-steel, which I had detected and wondered about at the start. I'd never seen anything like it before. It was a long, thin steel rod at the end of which was a tiny pear-shaped orb. Without taking the slightest break from her clitoral attendings, Paige raised it with her fingers and dangled it in front of me as if to say, "See this? I'm using it on you next." She then inserted the round end of the prying stick deep into my sex until it touched the outer surface of my cervical orifice. I let out a long, low gasp. Waves of pleasure saturated my uterus and surged through my body as she ran the spherical head over the vulnerable slit. With that ominous maneuver, the dam burst and lifting my hips, I cried out to her between pounding breaths, "Paige, do it Paige, don't stop...put it in me...there, yes, put it there!" With my panting submission, she pushed the stealthy device into my tiny os, at which point I instinctively reached for her hand but stopped abruptly as spasms of pleasure resonated through my tummy and my orgasm struck in waves of trembling as my anus contracted against the base of her firmly-planted thumb. My breath came in short bursts and my breasts heaved, keeping pace with burning lungs. After that, all but essential breathing ceased and I shrieked in pleasure, my intellect momentarily becoming unglued from my body, as I drifted back from the heights to which the nurse had taken me. Still tightly gripping her hair, my insistence compelled her to struggle for consent to extract herself from my sticky clit, still engorged in confusion as the second of two intense orgasms rumbled through my body. Slowly, I opened my eyes as she lifted herself away from my steaming sex, her mouth and cheeks covered with its juices, her red lip gloss smudged over her chin, all the product of my expert clinician's efforts through a freakish hour. Moving herself to my lips, she offered a final, tarrying kiss and I tasted myself, now a complex mixture of our two bodies. As her tongue explored my mouth, she manipulated the speculum and cervical probe, her skilled fingers disengaging them from my depths. In a moment, my body relaxed as we held each other in warm embrace. Paige remained hushed, affording me time to calm and I sensed her satisfaction over what had just occurred. Kindness beamed from her face and she whispered into my ear, "Jordan, I haven't forgotten my promise. I'm off to the kitchen now. It's time for your dessert." END Whither Away? Self-deception is the easiest kind. All done now, I think to myself, as I hang up the phone in my hotel room for the last time. The airline confirmed my reservation for an early departure, and I have a taxi on its way. My bags are packed and waiting. I've already settled my bill with the hotel, although, theoretically, I would continue to occupy the room for the remainder of the week. Call it a parting gift. This wasn't the way I expected the trip to end. We had both been to Hawaii before, on business, but never together. It was to be a celebration, an anniversary of sorts, and a new beginning. Mary and I began dating two years ago, a few months after my wife of twenty-two years decided she had extracted everything she needed from our marriage, and successfully sued for divorce. Coincidently, at about the time I became single, Mary's husband, who was into outdoor sports, undertook an outing in the Rockies, involving extreme skiing. It seems that, on his way downhill, he tried unsuccessfully to pass through a space already occupied by a large boulder. The search party took a week to find his frozen body. His penchant for risk made Mary a beautiful widow at the ripe old age of thirty-six. We worked at the same company, Mary and I, in the same department, even, but we didn't interact a lot. Business didn't require it, and up until the changes, we were both too involved in our own existing relationships to be interested in creating new ones. We did have friends in common, though, and almost immediately they began trying to bring us together. We both resisted. We were still in mourning, not ready for anything new, and even ignoring that, we were aware of company policies discouraging fraternization. It took the combined creative efforts of all of our friends, as well as a good deal of simple coincidence, to finally bring us together. So it was that, two years ago yesterday, we met in a restaurant, each in the company of another couple with whom we had been long-time, mutual friends. Those good friends hadn't planned the meeting, but weren't above taking advantage of the situation, thus we found ourselves sharing one end of the same booth. Dinner and the companionship were wonderful, and went on late into the evening. Our friends eventually begged off further "fraternization," and suggested that since I had driven in separately, and Mary and I seemed inclined to continue our conversation, I should give her a lift home. That seemed like a good idea, so we agreed. We talked long into the night, leaving only when the staff began turning chairs up on the tables around us. Finally getting the message that it was time to leave, I stood and offered her my hand. Hesitantly, she accepted it, and stood with me momentarily, as we each pondered the color of the other's eyes. Calling for the check, I was surprised to learn that the bill had already been taken care of, so I left a generous tip, and we departed. No, we didn't go to my apartment, and no, we didn't fall into bed at her house. She didn't even invite me inside, and I didn't expect it. We did share a nice first kiss (lips only!), though, and we agreed that we had a lot in common, and that we would enjoy spending more time together. I got her telephone number and promised to call in a few days. I didn't sleep well that night, my mind was racing. I hadn't felt ready to begin all over again, playing the dating game, maybe falling in love, courting, but Mary touched something deep within me. Not just in a sexual way, although I did find her to be extremely attractive, but on a more emotional level as well. By morning, I knew I couldn't wait anymore, so when I heard the alarm (I was already awake and pacing the floor) I called her immediately. "Hello?" she answered, with an audible yawn. "Hi," I said. "It's Jim. I hope you don't mind that I called so early..." "No, no," she replied sleepily. " It's all right. I wasn't actually asleep anyway. I couldn't seem to drop off last night." "I have the same problem," I responded. "My mind was in a whirl all night long, and I think it's your fault." "My fault?" she exclaimed. "How is it my fault?" "For being so beautiful, intelligent, and sweet," I stated firmly. "I couldn't sleep all night for thinking about you. I need to see you again. Have lunch with me?" "Um... I guess so," she agreed. "Where will we go? We don't want anyone at work to get ideas..." At that response, I knew I was headed in the right direction. "I'll find something," I said. "Don't worry about anything, it's just lunch and talk, for the moment." "For the moment? Sounds like you might have long-term plans..." she teased. "Just fantasies and hopes," I protested. "I'll call your desk at lunch, and we'll arrange where to meet. Okay?" "Okay," she agreed. "Jim," she added, hesitantly, "I really don't know you very well, but I already like you a lot. Just the same, let's not rush this, okay?" "Believe me," I said. " I feel the same way about you, and I also feel the need to proceed slowly. It's just lunch, I promise." Reassured, she agreed, and we broke the connection. The morning dragged on, until time came to make good on my pledge. It was almost as difficult to pick up the phone and dial her extension as it would have been to invite her to a motel room, but I managed. I suggested that we meet at my car, but she demurred, on grounds that we might be observed. After a short discussion, we agreed to meet at her home, a little later than we usually took our lunch hour, to avoid unwanted attention. Knowing that I would be unable to concentrate on my work afterward, I signed out for the afternoon, figuring to spend the time after lunch working on my sailboat. Leaving work behind for the day, I killed a little time shopping, and arrived at her house at the appointed time. She met me at the door, looking as radiant as I remembered her from the previous night. She smiled nervously, and invited me in. I had reservations at a nice seaside restaurant, but we never got to use them. As soon as the door closed, she moved into my arms. With both hands, she pulled me to her lips, and we began to kiss. My hands automatically began to caress her, from her shoulders to her buttocks, as she ground her pelvis against me. It wasn't possible that she could miss the pressure of my hardness against her belly. In one sense, the kiss seemed to last forever, in another, it was over in an instant. When we broke apart, we were out of breath, but unwilling to end what we had started. So much for going slow. She took my hand, wordlessly led me to her bedroom, and turned to face me with tears falling from her eyes. As she looked at me, pleading silently for me to take the lead, I tenderly took her into my arms again, and kissed her thoroughly. When we broke that second kiss, I began slowly, deliberately, undressing her, kissing each patch of perfect, delicate skin as it was exposed. Her body shook with anticipation. When I finished, and she stood before me in her naked glory, I stepped back. She was surprised, I suppose, that I didn't just strip, throw her on the bed, and ravish her. I wanted to, but instead, with a gesture, I indicated that she should undress me. It was her choice, and not an obligation. For us to go any further down this road, she had to take positive action, at least the action required to get me undressed. Understanding showed in her eyes, and almost immediately turned to gratitude. She moved quickly to disrobe me, and then pulled me toward the bed. Once there, we joined in passionate embrace, and lost count of the number of orgasms we gave to one another. Exhausted, near the end of the scheduled lunch hour, she realized that she'd be late getting back, so she called in and took the afternoon off. We never left her house that day. In fact, I stayed the night. We subsequently began seeing each other regularly and exclusively, and we enjoyed each other immensely, both in and out of bed. Three months after our first dinner together, she put her house up for rent and moved into my apartment. The arrangement worked well for us, and after much discussion, we decided to make it permanent and legal. We would be married. The decision created certain problems, not the least of which was that it could get us fired if anyone else in our company found out, and it would be difficult to conceal from the Human Resources people. After careful examination of the options we decided that I would leave the company. The decision was a sound one, based on the facts that, at that particular point, she had the higher salary, and I had the greater marketability. It took hardly any time for me to succumb to the advances of a new employer, probably because their offer was simply irresistible. Higher salary, better benefits, and a "golden parachute" as insurance against the potential for a major falling-out in the future. Yes, I was easy. My resistance crumbled, and I turned in my notice the next day. I didn't really expect to work out my notice. I had observed that, in the past, our management demonstrated an instant, almost psychotic distrust of any employee who gave notice. I wasn't disappointed. Predictably, my boss attempted to change my mind, upon hearing my announcement, but he couldn't match the offer I'd gotten. That was a good thing, because then I didn't have to make up excuses about why I needed to leave. Admitting my relationship with Mary would have killed her career. When my boss realized he was getting nowhere, his entire tone changed, as I expected. I was told to clean out my desk (under the observation of a trusted employee, of course), then I was handed an envelope containing my termination paperwork, and escorted off the premises. Everything had worked out rather well. The termination package was generous, if grudgingly given, and I conveniently had a month off before I was expected to report to my new job. Mary and I tied up a number of loose ends the first couple of weeks, and she put in for a week's vacation. We planned to fly to Hawaii, marry, and honeymoon there, then return home. I would even have a couple of days to get ready, before reporting to my new job. After an arduous flight (it's a long way from the east coast to Hawaii!) we arrived at our hotel in Waikiki, dead tired. We had barely enough energy for a short cuddle before passing out from exhaustion. We got up the next morning (yesterday) refreshed, and made sweet, happy love. We had a light breakfast, and walked in the surf. We talked about how wonderful it felt to be together, away from the crush of business. We talked about our future together. We made it all the way through lunch before things began to fall apart. We were shopping at one of the outdoor markets when Mary spotted a familiar face. It was one that I recognized, too. Michael Kellaton was a VP in the company I had just left, and for which Mary still worked. Well out of my social stratum, he was someone I knew of, but didn't know personally. I discovered, to my chagrin, that the same was not true of Mary. Before I could react, she waved at him to come join us. While he made his way over, she gave me some of the background on their relationship. Mike, it seems, was a widower, and he and his late wife had been "couples friends" with Mary and her husband for many years. He had, in fact, been responsible for Mary having her job at the company. Mike's wife was fatally injured in an automobile wreck, almost a year before Mary's husband met his untimely end, and for the sake of their friendship, the couple went to great lengths to provide the emotional support to the grieving older man. That was as much of the story as she would tell, as he joined us only a moment later. Mike was a likeable man, and he didn't recognize me (no surprise there!) so I felt there was little danger in our meeting, but I really didn't want anything distracting Mary and I from each other. Much to my irritation, however, he had no particular plans, and didn't mind at all spending the entire afternoon with us. It was a long afternoon, and before we parted company, he offered to buy us dinner. Mary accepted before I could object, and we returned to our room to change. I was not happy. On reaching our room I asked for an explanation, but she went immediately on the defensive. I could sense that there was more to the situation than met the eye, but she would say no more. Inexplicably, she insisted that I dress first, and then asked me to let her dress in private. Mystified, I complied, and when she appeared again, she looked like a million dollars. I wanted to cancel our dinner plans and spend the time alone with her, but she wouldn't hear of it. "We accepted his invitation, and now we are obligated to meet with him," she explained stiffly. Unaccustomed to this kind of behavior from her, I silently acquiesced. We met our host in the lobby, and found that he had arranged for a limousine to provide transportation to a very high-end restaurant. The meal was excellent, if somewhat subdued. I couldn't help noticing that Mike's gaze lingered on Mary long and frequently. Mary, for her part, was gorgeous, demure, and much quieter than usual. There was a dance floor, and Mike and I both had a few dances with her. Eventually the outing ended, and we again climbed into the limousine. As we arrived at the hotel, Mike suggested drinks in the hotel's lounge before turning in. I started to refuse, but again Mary beat me to the punch, accepting on our behalf. We got a nice table near the glass wall overlooking the part of the hotel grounds, which abutted the beach. The view was almost park like in the fading light, and the sound of the waves breaking came faintly through the glass. We each had several drinks on Mike's tab, and by the last drink, his glances at Mary had become an almost constant stare. Conversation had pretty much died. Swallowing the last of his drink, he stood and walked over to the glass, and stood staring out to sea. One of the glass panels was actually a sliding door, so he pushed it open, and walked across the lawn to the edge of the beach. Being ready to leave, I reached for Mary's hand, intending to tug her to her feet and lead her to our room. She pulled away, saying "We can't leave him here like that. It's rude!" Fool that I am, I gave in. Shortly after, Mike returned to the lounge and stood just inside the door, openly staring at Mary. I also looked at her, trying to understand what was happening. Her breathing became labored and her pupils dilated as she returned Mike's gaze, and her expression changed to near panic when in slow turn, she looked at me. After some time, he simply held out his hand. She looked at me once more before leaving her chair and walking over to him. As she joined him, he took her by the elbow and guided her out into the night. As they passed beyond the edge of the glass wall, I thought I saw her look back, briefly. I sat there, for maybe another hour, before I admitted to myself that they weren't coming back to the lounge. I returned to our room, undressed, and fell asleep, crying. When I awoke this morning, she was still missing. This was to have been our wedding day. I called the front desk and asked to be connected to Mike's room. She answered the phone, and on hearing her voice, I hung up. I left her return ticket on the dresser, along with my room key. My cab is here now. They have what they want; now I need to find what I want. There is someone out there for me. As the hotel diminishes behind me, I think about the past two years I've wasted. It finally hits me that not once, in that entire time, did she ever say I love you! Whither I Go I woke up early this morning and couldn't go back to sleep. I tried turning and tossing, but this didn't work. Next I tried tossing, then turning. Even with all that exercise, sleep was elusive if not forbidden. As I laid there, my mind went to and fro, forth and back, Hither, Thither, and Yon. A fairly pleasant trip, all in all. Then I began to wonder. No, no, not wander, silly. Wonder. Most of us are all too familiar with to and fro, and while we misuse forth and back a lot, few think about Hither, Thither and Yon anymore. Are they incorporated towns or are they just small communities by the roadside? Can anyone describe them? I'm sure I've been there before, but I can't think of any feature to distinguish them from any other town. I do know that Yon has a lake near it because there's a song that says, "By Yon Bonny Banks...". I think the lake is named Loch Loman. Must have been found by some early Scottish immigrants. However, I have no idea how many people live there. I used to hear, and read, the expression often, "They went Hither, thither and Yon." It doesn't seem to occur much anymore. Was their economy based on tourism? Have they fallen into decline, as many small communities have done these last few years? You know, where business drops, stores close, families leave and the settlement dwindles. That would be a shame if it happened to them. They were very popular years ago. I'm not too sure of their location, either. I do know that wherever a person is, they seem to get to Hither first; so it must be closer. However, when you get to Hither and want to go on to Thither, do you go straight ahead, or take a turn? Right or left? Is Yon even in the same county? Is there a more direct route to Yon, allowing one to skip Hither and Thither if one has urgent business there? Freeways, today, have cut off many small towns, leaving them bypassed and neglected. Do you suppose that is what happened? Is that why you seldom hear anyone say that they are going to, "Hither, Thither and Yon," anymore? Imagine my surprise when in the early part of December, in the Arizona Republic newspaper, I read an article where someone stated that some things were Hither and Yon. You have no idea how good that made me feel to know that the communities remained viable, if not prospering. I walked around with a warm glow for several days after reading that article. I did wonder, however, what about Thither? Was it still populated or had the last inhabitants pulled the proverbial plug and moved out? There was no mention of it at all in the article, so I had no idea. One question in my mind was at least partially answered. Since the quotee mentioned Hither and Yon, without mentioning Thither, I therefore drew the fairly valid conclusion that there now exists a direct connection between the two communities that had not existed heretofore. I do not have any idea if it is a temporary bypass, or detour. As you can also conclude, as I have, since the only real affirmation of the two towns is that mention in the newspaper, the situation should be clarified. I thought, planned, plotted and pondered. Personal exploration would solve my queries once and for all. I do have a small camping trailer in my side yard. I also have a mid-sized pickup, equipped to pull the trailer. Ergo, put the two together, fill the pickup with fuel, the trailer with food and water and strike out. An exploratory expedition, as it were. Yup, that's what I'll do. I had been wanting something to do and this project would serve to keep me out of pool halls and off street corners for a while. As a widower, I live alone, much to the despair of a couple of my daughters. It's not enough that they have children of their own and even a grandchild, or two. Oh, no. Now, understand that I love them dearly but when you have a couple of middle aged, menopausal women trying to mother you, life sometimes sorta gets restrictive. I'm more the "free range" type of old bird and often rebel against the confines of mother-smothering, however good their intentions. The perfect answer to my minor family problem, to my curiosity and to my need to get away for a while, is to take a trip. That voyage, for I am planning to embark upon a sea of doubt, will certainly get me out of the neighborhood, away from routine. Now, how much to pack? Sure, I'll leave with the tank full of gas in the pickup and the tank in the trailer full of water, but how much food to take along? Will it be just a couple of hours or a couple of days? How many shirts and pants should I pack? Son of a gun, here I had hoped to just kinda hop in and go, but it may take more planning than I first thought. Oh, one other thing; I need a map. I'm not sure which direction to head off when I leave. Let's see- is it east, west north or south? If north, that will take me up to the mountain area and higher altitudes so I should make sure I have some heavy blankets and a jacket or two. If the route is to the south, it will take me to the warmer desert, so short sleeved shirts would be better. Either east or west present few problems as there are few things in both directions except jackrabbits, mesquite and snowbirds for about two states. Doggone it, why can't this trip just be a "jump in and go" type of thing? Well, first things first, as they say. Come to think of it, "they" say a lot of things, don't they? I digress once again. I looked up the address of a map store in the neighboring city and decided to go there for a good, detailed map of the area in order to find the location of my quest. The next morning, I drove to Maps Are Us and explained to the clerk what that I wanted a map, chart or plat that would show me how to get to Hither, Thither and Yon. I would even settle for the location of any one of them, thinking that once there, I could inquire the location of the others, providing I didn't find them on the way. Life is good when you have a plan. However. The clerk couldn't find any of them on his index of cities, towns communities or villages; incorporated, unincorporated, inhabited or uninhabited. Oh my. My whole scheme, dream and plan was shot down. I do believe the newspaper quoted the gentleman correctly as newspapers never lie and always report the truth, at least as they see it. We even checked the indices for the surrounding states- to no avail. I do remember mentioning something on the order of "Bah Humbug", more or less, and leaving in a high dudgeon. It was a 2004 model, extended cab, six cylinder dudgeon that had a bit of alacrity within it and a trailer hitch on the back. Ah well, I'm back where I started, wondering about the welfare of the fabled Hither, Thither and Yon. After all this, I think I'll take a nap and leave the search to a younger person who might have more energy to wonder and wander. After a refreshing nap, the thought occurred that probably the community of Yon fostered the definition of far distance by contributing the word yon-der to our language, intimating far, far away. Perhaps the trouble with my search was limiting the scope to my immediate vicinity. Perhaps I should have thought globally. Australia to Ulan Bator, Antarctica to Yemen. Oh, the thought is mind boggling. Aquavit to Vodka, Aguardiente to Tecate. It's all making me thirsty trying to comprehend the travels that might be necessary to locate these fabled locales. I might be a while investigating the cause of that craving. If you are interested, contact me and I'll give you all the notes I have accumulated on the subject. Perhaps they might save you from making some false starts and allowing you to proceed more expeditiously. Hey, if it doesn't have at least three syllables, it's hardly even a word. But that's another story. If you find it, or them, please let me know, I may go there. I could use a good vacation.