Tuesday – March 25, 2014

 

I cannot understand why, at age twenty-four, I feel like an old man. I feel like life is passing me by. I know people would say, You’re young, you’ve got plenty of time. Don’t worry. That thought doesn’t help. I still feel depressed. I wonder where my life is heading and worry it is becoming stagnant. I think, Becoming stagnant, it’s already stagnant. I just want to stay in bed, wallowing in self-pity. I’m afraid I’ll grow old alone. That my work will be all I have. That’s not enough

 

These thoughts cause me to lay here, in a semi-comatose state, conflicted, debating, and struggling internally. My logical, concerned-self says, Get up, do your run, and go to work. People are depending on you. My despondent, self-deprecating side, says, Stay in bed. They can do without you for a while. They probably won’t miss you. Besides, you’re the boss. The argument continues for several more minutes and my morose side wins. I decide to stay in bed for a few more minutes.

 

To make matters worse, as I try to turn over to catch a few more minutes of sleep, I realize I have a hard-on, a damned hard-on. Just what I need when I’m alone and feeling melancholy. What a waste. I’ve been alone for a couple of months. Shit! I feel myself. I squeeze it, that feels good. I contemplate masturbating, but I’m not mentally aroused or in the mood. It’s a struggle but I finally open my eyes. Before I started arguing with myself, I had been lying here, in a stupor, dreaming, fantasizing about being a super attractive man that all women, even the most beautiful, would desire, swoon over and drop their panties for, in heartbeat. Yeah right, only in my wildest imagination. In the light-of-day I accept that my 6-foot frame and plain face would likely put me at a seven, plus or minus one or two, depending on how much a woman had to drink or how desperate she is when considering me as a possible partner.

 

I lie here a couple more minutes when I realize my erection is seriously hard, hurts a bit, and I have an overwhelming need to pee. Since I’m alone and since I’m not fantasizing about some beautiful woman, I suspect that the erection has to do with my need to urinate. I heard these erections are sometimes called “pee-ons,” but I have no idea if there is any truth to this. It’s a struggle, but I manage to get up, put on my pants, a habit I developed in the Navy. You never know when an emergency will occur on a ship – fire, man overboard, blackout, collision or other similar events, so you never go anywhere without your pants. It is difficult to get them on, even though they’re loose-fitting running pants and my jockeys are pressing me inward. I make my way to the bathroom. I lift the toilet seat and need to lean over the bowl in a ridiculous position because my erection wouldn’t go down and it hurts when I try to push it down to aim. There were occasions I wished I had this difficulty when I was with a girl, particularly in my older teen years; I wasn’t having sex in my younger teen years, except by myself. Shortly after peeing, I begin to soften. Maybe it was because I peed or I wasn’t thinking of anything arousing. I just don’t know.

 

While I do my routine morning cleansing, washing and brushing my teeth, I wonder why I feel so different today. I have this overwhelming feeling of something foreboding is about to happen. What could possibly happen in my life – it’s pretty routine and mundane. Maybe I’ll feel better after my run. I run to work every day, even when it rains. It’s just past six when I set out for work. The temperature is around 60 degrees, just perfect for running. My apartment, located on Midland Rd., Poway, CA, and my maintenance and repair company, located on Stowe Drive, are only a couple of miles apart. The distance is too short for a direct run but not too long for a walk home, which takes me about thirty minutes.

 

Running usually helps me clear my mind, but not today. I still have a gloomy feeling. When I arrive at work, just before seven, I take a shower in the bathroom attached to my personal room. This area is a small one room apartment, it has a daybed couch, a table with chairs, a recliner, a radio, a wall mounted flat-screen TV and other odds-and-ends. I rarely use the TV. On occasion, I would spend the night here. Sometimes it’s due to me getting caught up in my work and ending up just too tired to walk home.

 

I have at other times stayed because I didn’t want to be with my current female roommate. I’ve had my share of relationships. Nearly all of them ended peacefully and mutually. The women just got tired of me for various reasons: I wasn’t committed strongly to the relationship, I didn’t pay enough attention to her, I work too much, I wasn’t there when they needed me and you don’t understand me – show me a man that understands a woman and I’ll show you a man that is probably going to have a sex change. I’m not sure if women understand women. In truth, I think that I just didn’t see spending the rest of my life with any of them; they most surely felt the same way about me. Something intangible was missing and I couldn’t love them the way they deserve to be loved.

 

After showering and dressing, I settle into my recliner. I adjust my body to a comfortable position and think, Today, I’ll just meditate and reflect on my journey, that is my life and business. Maybe then I can figure out what’s bothering me? I spend about a half hour and resolve nothing.

 

I look at the digital clock, I see it’s 7:46, Tuesday, March 25, 2014. I’m ready to go to work. I leave my private room and head for the staff lounge, to get a cup of coffee. As I enter my office, I can see Helen is with several of the techs discussing today’s projects. I note that Gregg is also with them. While I transit my office, I turn on my computer. In the lounge, I make my coffee, an easy, quick task, with the single cup brewer.

 

Helen walks in. She is an attractive thirty-six-year-old, single mom, with two children — a girl and a boy. She has brown hair that hangs down just past the shoulder. Her eyes are brown with a bit of a twinkle to them. Her nose is Roman-Greek which is rather attractive on her. Her mouth is average size, not wide or narrow, with lips that accentuate her wonderful smile. She is near 5’ 9” and for a mother of two, her figure I’m sure would look good in a swim suit — a bikini or otherwise; as near as I can tell from only seeing her with her clothes on.

 

We exchange our morning greetings. Cup in hand, I start to leave the lounge for my office. Helen stops me with, “Art, is everything okay?”

 

“Sure! Why do you ask?”

 

“I don’t know. You just have a strange look.”

 

“I always look strange.”

                       

“Yeah, yeah, but today it seems stranger and there’s an unusual tone in your voice.”

 

“Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been thinking about this and that, and some personal stuff. Nothing to get worked up about. It’s just life’s dilemmas.”

 

“Well if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me.” Her tone indicates she is worried but she doesn’t push it.

 

“Thanks sis, I will if I need to.” Having Helen around is always comforting.

 

In my office, while I’m sipping my coffee, I decide to google, “peeing with an erection.” Hundreds of pages are listed. I click on images, there are hundreds of them. I spend a couple of moments looking at them and laughing inwardly, then I click on my live news app, to find out what today’s weather will be like. The program that’s on is one of the local morning shows. There’s news about the president, accidents, sports, and myriad of local events. Before the weather comes on, there’s a piece on a huge charity event that took place last night in Los Angeles. There were a lot of big-name people attending and the show is presenting clips of them on the red carpet.

 

One particular attendee attracts my attention. She’s a very beautiful woman, the kind of woman men fantasize about. Maybe I’ll dream about her tonight before I fall asleep. The reporter stops her and asked her several questions, which I don't pay any attention to. I’ve become mesmerized by her beauty, or is it something else — something I can’t define. As the camera focuses on her face, I feel a strong attraction to her; different than it’s been with other women. I’m settle on it’s her beauty. It’s strange to me that she seems so serious and doesn’t smile. Or rather, her smile seems to be forced, somewhat ingenuous. After the reporter finishes the questions, which had been answered very cordially, the woman moves on. The reporter gives a summary of the woman’s participation, during which there is a slideshow of her. She tells the audience that the woman donates significant sums to this charity and many others, as well as having an active role in several of them. She further goes on to say that the woman is a board member of this group. While I am watching, intensely at her pictures, Helen walks into the office, I look up at her, she reaches out, puts her hand under my chin, and closes my mouth. I smile.

 

Helen comments, “That was one gorgeous woman. Who is she?”

 

“Yes, she is. Every man’s fantasy. I think the reporter said her name was, Veronica or maybe it was Victoria — Victoria Starburst or Starcluster, or something like that. I think the reporter said, she was the CEO of a very large corporation.” At this point the weather comes on and we shift our attention to it. As always, the weather in San Diego is routine and is expected to remain that way for the rest of the week.

 

I close the news app and Helen see my Google page. She burst out laughing. Puzzled, wondering if she laughing at me, I ask her, “What are you laughing at?”

 

Reigning in her laughter, she tells me, “There were several times when Josh was a toddler, he got an erection and needed to pee. I had to hold him over the bowl like in those pictures. It was the funniest thing. I can only imagine what it would be like for a grown man.” She pause, then get down to business, “Art, I need to talk to you about the lighting system upgrade we’re installing at Kyons Industrial’s learning center facility.”

 

“I thought we were all set to do it? Isn’t Tank scheduled to install it today?”

 

“Yes, I thought that maybe I should go along with him, because I think it’s a two man, or should I say, person job.”

 

Before I can reply, Gregg interrupts us. “Sorry! I heard what you guys were talking about and I’d be glad to go along with tank.”

 

“That will really be helpful. Hang on a minute.” I pick up my phone and call Tank.

 

Tank answers, “Hi boss, what can I do for you?”

 

“Gregg has offered to go along with you. Are you okay with it?”

 

“Great. I can sure use the help. With his knowledge and experience, I’m sure he’ll be able to contribute. More so if I get stuck.”

 

“Where are you?”

 

“In the shop.”

 

“Good, I’ll send him out.” I tell Gregg, “Tank is waiting for you in the shop. And Gregg, if you need to talk, remember I’m here for you.” Gregg is retired and has been mentoring me for a couple of years. He retired from the Navy and a school district. He knows his stuff. He’s my go to guy, when I’m in some sort of business trouble. He in his early seventies and quite fit.

 

“Thanks Art. I’ll keep that in mind. Don’t worry I’m fine.” I’m not sure. He doesn’t have the smile and quick wit he had before Pat passed.

 

Gregg leaves and when he’s out of earshot, Helen asks, “Do you think that’s a good idea with the way he feels. He been depressed and listless since his wife passed in January.”

 

“Actually, I think it will be good for him. He’s like me. Working on equipment is fun and relaxing. His kids have gone home. Except for his son that lives at home, the others all live out of state. Doing work, I hope, will take his mind off his loss. I think it will be therapeutic. It’s better to be around people that care about you, then alone when you’re dealing with a personal tragedy.”

 

Helen nods her agreement then starts to depart, turning back, she asks, “Do you know how Tank got his nickname?”

 

“Yes. It was his grandfather’s nickname. They named Richard, little Tank because he was so alike his grandfather. Behavior wise, not in the physical sense.”

 

“Well, how did his grandfather get the name. Who nickname someone after a fish or gas tank?” she asks, sarcastically.

 

I laugh, “Helen, they’re not name after any kind of holding tank. They’re name after the most prolific World War 2 tank. The M4 Sherman tank. Richard’s grandfather was in the war and his army bodies gave him the name. I met his grandfather once. He’s taller and about twice the size and weight of Richard. I could see why his comrades named him Tank.” Nodding her understanding she departs, with a smile on her face.

 

As she leaves, I think back to how smart, no lucky, I was to have hired her. About eighteen months ago, I determined that I needed an office manager. I didn’t need a secretary, I needed someone that could order parts, send the staff out, schedule projects and take over for me, if need be. As I went through the application, most of them were qualified as secretary but didn’t appear to have the skill to manage an office and a group of techs, except one.  Unbelievably, it was Helen Olivia Troy. On her resume, it was Helen O. Troy.

 

I remember, during her job interview, I was trying to be funny, so, I asked her, “Does the initial ‘O’ in your name stand for ‘Of’?”

 

She didn’t laugh. I guess she heard it before. Probably more times than any sane person should tolerate. She asked, “Is your name S. A. Zwyx.”

 

“That’s correct,” I replied.

 

She smiled and asked, “Does the ‘A’ stand for Asshole?”

 

I burst out laughing. “I guess I asked for that.” I mutter. I think quickly of a book I read, “Up the Organization,” in which the author says, “Every leader should have at least one person that tells him he’s full of crap,” to keep him grounded. I don’t remember his exact word, but that what I got from his writings. I wonder, if Helen might be just that person. I then asked, “Do you think you’re capable of being respectful and following orders?”

 

“Yes sir and I’m sorry about the ‘A’ comment,” she informs me.

 

Somewhat skeptical, I asked her, “Truthfully, are you?”

 

Contrite, she answers, “Well, I will be if I don’t get the job. I’ve really got to learn to keep my mouth shut.”

 

“While I really set myself up for your comment and accept that, you do know if you do something like this with a client, I will fire you.” I pause and wait a few moments, then add, “However, here I expect you to speak your mind. I need you to understand, when I say enough, that’s it, this is what we are going to do, and that you’ll do it. Do you understand?”

 

She answers solemnly, “Yes. I understand.”

 

I liked her. She appeared to have the personality that an office manager needed to deal with maintenance personnel. She would not be intimidated and would hopefully keep me from getting a big head. I didn’t think further and hired her on the spot. Helen’s performance exceeded my expectations. She’s been a most valuable employee and has become a special friend. And by special friend, I mean just that. A friend you can depend on, be there for you, and one that cares about your well-being. Helen is a true find. She is smart and quickly got a grasp of the various aspect of the business, even the technical aspects, without having any prior training. I can depend on her to run the business any time I need to leave. Helen kind of makes me feel a bit unnecessary at times. The entire staff adores her and they do what she wants them to.

 

I named my company “Pro4ms,” which means Professional Material, Money and Maintenance Management. My company’s credo is “Everything Needs Care and Maintenance,” whether it is equipment, facilities, relationships or our body. Sadly, most people don’t care or don’t know the importance of maintenance.

 

At my facility, I have another small room that has a weight machine, treadmill, stationary bike and other fitness equipment. To maintain my body’s physical fitness and a relative stress free state-of-mind, I do meditation/self-hypnosis/biofeedback (MSB), weight training, and running. I spend two days a week training in hand-to-hand combat with a couple of retired Navy seals. They kick my ass every time but it’s getting more difficult for them to do it. I’m not sure if I’m getting better or they’re getting older. Perhaps it’s a bit of both.

 

Through the use of MSB and physical exercises, such as Kegel’s, I’ve been able to control the length, as pertaining to time, of my erection before, during and after orgasm. I can actually control the onset of ejaculation. While my orgasm alone is enjoyable, it is much, much more enjoyable if it comes when the woman is having hers. I believe I can feel a woman’s virginal contractions during orgasm and I’ve mentally programmed those contractions to be one of my triggers for release.

 

After our short ad hoc meeting, Helen departs and I return to the task at hand. I start working on a planned maintenance program for a prospective client. Since I’m having difficulty gathering the necessary data, making lots of mistakes, and keystroke errors, I decide it’s time to take a break, before I get really upset and frustrated. I take a few deep breaths and calm myself down.

 

I go out into the shop and find Helen. Smiling and as warmly as I can, I explain my difficulty. I don’t want her to worry. Over the time she’s been here we’ve formed a strong personal bond. I tell her I need to take a break and would appreciate it if she only interrupted me if there is an emergency. She says, “Okay Art, I think I can handle it. I’ll take care of everything. Is there anything else I can do? You know I don’t like seeing you like this.”

 

“Stop fretting. I just need a little time to clear my head. No funny remarks please.” She refrains.

 

I make my way to my personal room and call my mom, who now lives in Florida. We speak for a few minutes and I let her know that everything is okay here and that I would try to make time to get out and see her shortly. I settle back in my chair and turn on the radio, which is on the station I listen too regularly. It’s WKYJ-1776 FM and known as “The Revolution.” The morning disc jockey, Jack Daniels, hosts a show called “The Morning Shot.” Jack routinely babbles about this and that, plays music and periodically has an associate give traffic updates. I hear Jack announced that in 10 minutes he would ask the question of the day.

 

Jack states today’s the prize is super large, one of the biggest prizes he’s ever had the opportunity to award. Right on schedule Jack says, “Listen up people, here we go. Today’s prize is a real doozy. I’ll let you know all about it after we have a winner. Are you ready, the big question is,” he pauses for a long time, for effect and to raise the level of anticipation, “What is the only English word that has a, e, i, o, u and y in it, only once and in alphabetical order?” I know the answer and call. I really don’t expect to get through but Jack answers the phone. He says, “Who do I have on the line?”

 

“Arthur,” I stammer, not believing that I’m going to have an opportunity to answer the question.

                                   

Jack asks, “Art, is it okay if I call you Art?”

 

“Sure, I preferred it,” I sort of mumble in reply. I’m sort of nervous. Actually, I’m very nervous knowing I’m on the air. Sometime back, I googled, “What are the top things people fear?” All the pages I checked had fear of public speaking at one or two. Most had it at number one. Dying in one form or another was five, six or seven. So, you might surmise, I’d rather be dead than speaking on air.

 

“Okay then Art, give me the answer,” Jack kind of demands.

 

Struggling with my fear, I barely manage to squeak it out, “The word is ‘facetiously,’” and then I spelled it for clarity “f a c e t i o u s l y”

 

Stealing a line from the show “My Fair Lady,” Jack says, “By George he’s got it, he’s got it.” Continuing, Jack asks, “Hey Art, do you want to know what you won?”

 

Stammering my answering, I manage, “Are you kidding? Of course, You can bet your,” pausing and leaving out the word ass, “I do.”

 

Jack laughs and talks to the audience, “Folks, we have a gentleman on the line.” Speaking to all of us he says, “The prize is four first class airline tickets to Honolulu, Hawaii, with four rooms for a one week stay at The Enchanted Palace Hotel, a very swanky, upscale hotel on the beach and the most significant of all is $10,000 to spend.”

 

 

I think I’ve stopped breathing. I’m in mild shock.

 

Jack puts a song on for the other listeners that is also perfect and appropriate for me, “Happy Day Are Here Again.” Speaking to me off the air he confirms the number I’m calling from, just in case he losses me during transfer. He then tells me he is going to transfer me to one of the office staff who would take down my name and address, so they could send the prize. The phone goes dead, I think, OH NO! Shit, whys does this always happen to me? My fears are short lived. A young woman, she sounds young, comes on the phone and tells me her name and call back info. She takes down all the vital information and tells me that I should be receiving the prize in a few days. If I don’t get it by Friday, call her. She further informs me, that I should know the tickets and hotel vouchers are good for six months. I thank her profusely and she laughs and says good luck. Boy, how quickly a day can change from crappy too great. Sally tells me that she is going to transfer me back to Jack.

 

When Jack picks up again and he tells me we’re the on-air. “I’d like to ask you several questions about yourself, so the audience can get an idea of who won the prize.”

 

I say, “Go ahead, ask away.” I’m just slightly more relax. My breathing is almost back to normal. It gets easier the longer you talk. If they’re questions about me, I feel confident I can answer them. I should know myself, after all I’ve been with me my whole life. I seem to forget we’re on the air.

 

He asks me questions: are you single? what do you do? what do you like? And lots of other typical things people ask other people in general when they first meet. Jack has a smart remark for each of my responses. For example, “Are you currently involved or married?”

 

My reply, “Not married, not involved.”

 

Jack’s comment, “Lady’s we have a live one. I’m sorry but I can’t give out his phone number.” As he gets ready to terminate the conversation, he adds, “One more thing Art. While it’s not a requirement of the prize, I think our listeners would appreciate it if you would call us after your trip to Hawaii. I’m sure they would like you to share your adventure. Have a great trip.”

 

Although I’m high, my expectations are typical of what I’m used to, so I inform Jack, “I could probably tell you now. I’ll go to Hawaii alone and return the same way. While I’m there, I’ll take a few tours, swim and get a terrible sunburn and wish I stayed home. I’m sure I’ll enjoy spending the money and the night life.”

 

“You definitely not an optimist,” Jack quips.

 

“That’s likely true. I never figured I win a prize of any sort, let alone this one. I don’t think I’m a pessimist either, just somewhere in-between. A realist, perhaps.

 

“Art, it was fun talking to you. Regardless of what you are, I wish you really enjoy your prize. Bye for now.” I’m disconnected, so I hang up.

 

After hanging up, I figure, I’ll take a one week vacation; that’s about all I can handle. It will be good to get away for a while, both for me and the staff. I have been working steadily since I started the company. I begin to wonder what I’m going to do with the extra tickets and vouchers? I’m not in a relationship. I don’t have any close friends, mostly guys I play sports with. They’re older, married and home bodies. Occasionally, one of their wives will try to fix me up. I pounder my dilemma for a few minutes when the light bulb above my head come on. I know exact what to do and why.

 

I search out Helen and ask her to come into the office immediately, I need to talk to her. I’m sure I’m smiling like I lost my mind. Her look of “What’s up with you,” confirms it. She asked me, “What’s going on that you need me right now. You’re on a break.”

 

“What are you doing that you can’t be interrupted right now?” I chide her.

 

With a shrug of her shoulders, “Actually, nothing,” is her reply.

 

Once we’re inside my office and seated, I say, “I’m sorry. I, no we, that is, you and I, have just won four first class plane tickets to Honolulu, four rooms for one week each and $10,000 cash. I said I was sorry because while I was trying to figure out what I would do with the extra tickets and vouchers, I realize that you haven’t had a full week or two vacation since I hired you. I know you’ve taken time off, but not for more than a couple of days. Further, you’re really more than just an employee, you’re a good friend. You’ve supported me ever since you joined us. I guess this is one way, I can thank you. Therefore, I’m going to give you three of the plane tickets, three of the one week room stays at The Enchanted Palace Hotel and half of what’s left after taxes are taking out of the $10,000, so you can take your kids on a vacation to Hawaii. I’m only going to take a one week vacation. It’s about all I can handle. I’ll be stressed being away from here even though I know it will be in good hands and with dependable people.” I pause to let what I said sink in.

 

Continuing, “You and the others do the real work anyway. You’re going to be in-charge and I don’t want you calling me unless it’s life or death and I do mean life or death. You can plan your vacation sometime after I complete mine. With the caveat that I’d like you to be here for at least three weeks after I return. Keep in mind that the tickets and voucher expire in six months. Please arrange for a temporary office secretary/receptionist when you take your vacation. We’ll discuss this later when I put my plans together.”

 

The look of disbelief on her face could be a prize-winning photo by itself. She looks at me and says, “Your bull shitting me, aren’t you? Is this another one of your stupid jokes?”

 

“No, I’m not bull shitting you and it’s not a joke.” I state emphatically. I then go on to tell her about the WKYJ question of the day and how I knew the answer and all that transpired.

She wrapped her arms around me, hugged me tightly and says, “If this is really true that has to be one of the nicest things anybody has ever done for me but if you’re BSing me, you’d better leave town for good.”

 

I give her the number of the young woman that is going to send me the materials. I tell her to call and ask the woman if what I just told her is true. I don’t know if she did but for the rest of the day she and I walked around in a daze. We probably should’ve gone home right then and there.

Thursday – March 27, 2014

 

Thursday morning a FedEx delivery arrives for me from station WKYJ. The package contains the airline tickets, hotel vouchers and a check for $10,000. A letter is included telling me the value of the prize the IRS put on it and I should probably contact an account to determine the amount I need to pay in taxes. The taxes come too just over $3800, which I tell my accountant to take out of my paycheck. When I cash the check, I’ll put $3800 into my personal account -- to cover for the money that is being taken out of my paycheck. I take my phone out and text Helen.

 

---- Thur, March 27, 2014 ----

 

Art

<Subject: My Office>

Be in my office after we close tonight.

11:47 a.m.

 

Helen

What for?

11:50 a.m.

 

Art

<Subject: TRY TO REMEMBER WHO’S THE BOSS>

IF I WANTED TO TELL YOU NOW OR IN TEXT I WOULD HAVE.

OCCASIONALLY I HOPE YOU’LL REMEMBER I AM THE BOSS.

JUST BE HERE.

12:00 p.m.

 

Helen

<Subject: If I must? >

Yesss sir. No need to shout. Does his Majesty want me to bring anything?

12:03 p.m.

 

Art

<Subject: You Must!>

That’s better. No. Just yourself, perhaps with a slight bit of humility. You know someday your smart mouth will get you in trouble.

12:05 p.m.

 

Shortly after five when most of the staff is gone, Helen comes bouncing into my office. I point to one of the chairs that is at the table I’m sitting at. “Okay, what do you want?” like she is bored and wants to get it over with as quickly as possible, she responds while taking her seat.

 

“Look, show a little bit of respect. I know I can’t run this business without you but piss me off enough and I might try.”

 

“Sorry, what is it you need?” trying to appear remorseful but failing miserably. I think, This woman knows me to well and what she can get away with.

 

I show her the plane tickets, the room vouches, and the 10K check. Her mouth falls open and she appears to stop breathing. “Breathe Helen, breathe,” and she does, finally.

 

“I won’t sleep with you.” Pausing for a few moments “Okay, I will sleep with you,” she says, I think half seriously. And then looking at me, she asks in a very unsure manner, “Are you really going to give me those things?”

 

“Yes I am. I will NOT sleep with you, even though you are a very beautiful, sexy woman. I can give you a myriad of reasons for why we can’t sleep together. I am not going to go into that now,” I state emphatically.

 

She frowns. I laugh. She asks, “Okay what do I have to do?”

 

“I’m going to start my vacation April 14. I’ll need you to pick me up when I return Sunday, April 20^th, sometime in the evening. I’ll take a shuttle to get to the airport the day I leave. I want you to find someone to be a secretary/receptionist, to do filing, order parts and take trouble calls, for the period that you’ll be gone. You and I can interview any candidates you come up with. I would like them here for a week or two, your choice, before you go. You can leave any time after I’ve been back for three weeks. And I think you should thank me,” I say as I hand her the tickets, room vouchers, and $3,800, her half of the amount after taxes.”

 

She looks at me, looks at tickets/vouchers, looks back at me, looks at tickets/vouches and she repeats the process several more times. Her mouth keeps opening and closing but nothing is coming out. “Helen take a deep breath,” she does, “Let it out. Do that again” and she does.

 

Finally, she regains some composure. She stands up and runs over to me, throws her arms around me, hugs me and says, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. Someday you’ll make a good boss.” She is over joyed with happiness. I feel very good about making her happy. She’s like the sister I want, not the one I got.

 

After she settles down, we go over what I want, again. This time she writes it down and says it would be a snap and not to worry when I’m gone. That she would find a good candidate for the office. She has a friend with an excellent background in secretary/receptionist services, that is currently unemployed. I ask her to bring her friend in so we can interview her together. Then I tell her to go home, which she does.

 

As she gets up to leave, she says, “I really didn’t believe you and thought that if you won something it was probably two tickets to Legoland. I want you to know this is the best place I’ve worked, even though the boss is really crazy, in a good way. But if you ever repeat that I’ll kill you.” Quickly raising up for her seat, she moves close to me then leaning over and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Thank you, Art. I really do appreciate this.”

 

Over the next couple of weeks, I make the arrangements. I book the room, schedule the flight, convert the cash to travelers’ checks and arrange for a shuttle service to pick me up at 5:15 a.m. for my 8:30 flight. While making my hotel arrangements, I also have my luggage shipped.

 

The days drag by slowly. I am really getting impatient and on my staff’s nerves. When they knew, I was within ear shot, the staff would say, “I wish he was gone already.” It is in those last few days before I am due to leave, that I become the biggest proverbial ‘pain in the ass.’ I worry about everything. Helen pulls me aside and says, “Boss get a grip or you’re going to expire before your vacation even starts.” It doesn’t help. The entire staff avoids me like I have a communicable disease and just being in my vicinity I would give it to them. If they actually have to deal with me, they tolerated me, the best they can. I literally have to corner them. When I go home that Friday evening before my flight, I think I hear the entire company staff give a collective sigh of relief. I know I have good staff, they know what they’re doing and my part-time management assistant and mentor, Gregg, said if needed, he would be there to keep things running smoothly.

Sunday – April 13, 2014

 

The morning of April 13, I get out of bed at 4:30 a.m. I have laid awake since midnight tossing and turning. I’m so nervous I can’t even get excited enough to play with myself, even though I tried several times. I’m dressed and ready to go at 4:46 a.m. My take-on luggage contains underwear, running shorts, T-shirts and miscellaneous personal items. I have this bag in case the ones I shipped get lost. The shuttle driver is here on time and I pay him up front. He makes a couple of stops but gets us to the airport by 6:30 a.m. I give him a $20 tip. He says, “Thank you, it’s not necessary.”

 

I say, “You did good, take it with my best wishes.”

 

After taking my seat, I imagine some grossly large, cigar smelling CEO that would talk endlessly about his company and his superior leadership. Or an unkempt woman, reeking of a gallon’s worth of an overpowering fragrant body wash. They would be sitting next to me eating sunflower seeds, dropping the shells all over the place and occasionally propelling one as they talked. Of course, I would get hit once or twice. What an imagination!

 

Boy, am I wrong. Standing next to my seat is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. For an instant, I think I know or recognize her. It’s fleeting, there is no way I would ever forget meeting this woman. She’s about 5 foot 8 inches tall with an absolutely perfect figure. Her glossy auburn hair is in a bun. She is dressed immaculately in a navy-blue pantsuit that accentuated her perfect figure. The navy-blue color makes her hazel eyes stand out brilliantly. I can see flexes of blue, green, red and other colors of the rainbow. Her face is square-roundish and symmetrical, with unblemished skin. I want to reach up and stroke it. Her nose is straight with the slightest upturn. It fits her face perfectly – I’ve read the shape of her face is referred to as the celestial type. She’s certainly heavenly.

 

Her lips are full -- succulent is the word that come to my mind. For a brief instant, I imagine those lips on mine and also, around me. I just sit there looking at this heavenly goddess, with my mouth open and totally mesmerized. When she has had enough, a couple of seconds of my gawking, she says sternly, “Do you mind?” I see her teeth are a snow white and of course, perfect in all respects.

 

Partially regaining my senses, I pull my legs back to the seat so she could pass. I mutter softly, “Sorry.” She moves by me with impressive grace and ease that reflects breeding and immense self-confidence. My thought processes at this time are going crazy. I wish I was her seat so she could sit on me. I thank divine providence or whoever arrange this. I think this is going to be a five-hour flight of utter bliss.

 

After we get airborne, I try to strike up a conversation I ask, “Have you been to Hawaii before?”

 

She knocks me off my cloud and crashes my dreams into oblivion. Politely, but with an air of finality and arrogance, leaving no room for doubt when she says, “If you please. I do not want to talk to you. I have work to do and prefer to be left alone. I hope you can honor my wishes.” I fully expected her to add, “You’re an absolutely hideous man. Who would want to talk to you?”

 

“I understand; six, ten,” I reply, feeling like someone had just kicked me, like I was a mongrel dog in the streets. I take out my book to read, “Fifty Shades of Grey.” I swear she gives me a look of utter disgust when she looks at the title. She probably considers me some kind of pervert for reading it. I think, Another one of those people ‘that can’t see the forest because of the trees.’ Because of my restless night, the drone of the airplane and a very comfortable seat, I fall asleep while reading.

 

About midway through the flight one of the attendants nudges me. “Sir! Could you move your legs so the lady can get by?” she asks politely.

 

A little bit begrudgingly I say, “Sure,” and pull my legs closer to the seat so “The Bitch” could get out. She had to call the flight attendant instead of just nudging me and asking. I guess she was afraid of being tainted by me. I smile at her as she goes by me to the first-class restroom. I murmur, inwardly to myself, I guess the goddess has the same body functions as the rest of us, only hers doesn’t stink. I snicker at these thoughts.

 

When she returns, I pull my feet in quickly, extend my hand in a gesture that says the path is clear. While she crosses in front of me, I look deep into her beautiful hazel eyes. I think I could look at those eyes forever. Her heated look of abhorrence could definitely melt sub-zero ice in seconds. Once I’m sure she is comfortably seated, I extend my legs again and fall asleep for the rest of the flight. As the plane prepares to land, we are given the typical landing instructions. Put chairs in the upright position, etc., etc.

 

After the plane comes to a stop at the terminal, the passengers, including me, stand up and stretch a bit as we prepare to disembark. When “Ms. Ice Maiden Bitch” stands up, I stepped back to allow her to exit before me. While this is just good manners, a gentleman allowing a woman to go first, my ulterior motive is that it gives me the opportunity to look at her ass; it is a fine, fine ass. I can feel a slight stirring in my groin. If I masturbated tonight, I know whom I would be fantasizing about.

 

Because I didn’t have any baggage to claim, I can leave the airport quickly. I hail a cab and tell the driver to take me to my hotel “The Enchanted Palace.” I was told it is one of the high-end hotels on the beach. It is a fifty-six-story edifice reflecting man’s imagination and capabilities. Walking into the hotel lobby I’m awe struck. The space is big enough for a basketball court with bleaches. The marble floor is made of intricate geometric patterns in various colors – reds, blues, black, greens, yellows. The hotel’s logo was placed in such way, that as you enter you walk across it. It is a gold crown with five spikes. Topping each spike is a jewel – a peridot, sapphire, diamond, topaz, and zircon. Below the crown are two crossed jeweled scepters. The crown and scepters are on a shield of cobalt blue. Above the crown “Enchanted” and below the scepters “Palaces” are written in old English. The outer inch or so of the shied is trimmed in gold. It’s quite impressive. There are couches, chairs and coffee table throughout the lobby for guests and visitors to relax. The check-in desk nearly covers the entire wall to the right as one enters. There are several hallways facing the entry. To the left are several gift shops. In-between the gift shops and hallways are the elevators. The walls and ceiling patterns match the floor. It is all very decadent and impressive.

 

I make my way to the check in desk and present my vouchers. The staff is friendly and treats me like royalty. It’s quite impressive. Just as I turn from the check-in desk heading to my room, in walks “Ms. I’m Beautiful and My Shit Doesn’t Stink.” She sees me, frowns and gives me a look of utter disgust and contempt. I could just imagine what she is thinking, “What is this Neanderthal doing in my hotel. He should be moved to another planet.” I get on the elevator and glanced back at her. I must admit it; she is one beautiful sight. I think about the song, from the show, “Chorus Line.” The song is based on her score card, which is rated on a scale of 1 to 10. The title, “Dance 10, Looks 3” — the original title “Tits and Ass” — so I would rate her, Looks 10, Personality 0 and I suspect I’m over rating her in the personality category.

 

 

Once I settle into my room, I take a shower and dress. Since I haven’t eaten anything all day, even on the plane, I decided to go to hotel dining room for lunch. While I am sitting there eating a cheeseburger and fries in walks, “Ms. I Own this World.” I sit there gaping at her; she has that effect on me. I wonder, “Is it just her looks or something more?” I just don’t know. As she sits down, she looks around and notices me. Her normally “stoic look changes to one of displeasure and a frown quickly forms on that beautiful face. I think, I really displease this woman. Displease is probably mild. I don’t understand it but I don’t want her to be unhappy.

 

When the waiter arrives at her table, she smiles, ingenuously but nevertheless a smile, and places her order. I don’t care whether she smiling, frowning or is just stoic, she is one beautiful woman. I laugh suddenly, thinking about the statement, “Opposites Attract.” We are certainly opposites. She is beautiful and apparently smart. Whereas, I’m not so handsome and not at all intelligent but I’m smart enough to make my way through life. You can guess, I have personal issues and don’t think much of myself, with regards to the opposite sex. This way, I don’t get disappointed when I get rejected in a relationship or when approaching a woman to start one. It’s a lot less painful.

 

I swear that when I get up to leave I can see her smile with relief. Well at least I can make her happy by not being around. Strange, that thought makes me feel good – that she’ll be happy.

 

A few hours later, I decide to do some exploring since I really have nothing else to do. I begin wandering around the business section of downtown Honolulu. I am walking past one of the major business buildings when out comes “Ms. I Am Lord-and-Master-of-the-Universe.” As soon as she sees me, her face registers utter disgust and I think I see anger. I just stand there gazing at her, noticing that my heartbeat accelerated a bit. Undoubtable, in an effort to avoid me she quickly turns and walks away. Whereas each time I see her it kind of makes my day, I suspect her seeing me ruins hers.

 

After returning to my room I change into my swimming apparel and make my way down to the hotel pool. I swim around for a while and then sit in one of lounge chairs under an umbrella and relax. About 5:30, I make my way back to my room, shower and dress. Leaving my room, I head straight for the formal restaurant. Since I have, what I think, is an abundance of money (the $3,100 I won), I order prime rib with baked potatoes. Prime rib is probably my favorite meal. I think I’m relatively easy to please in the food department. I like my food basic and simple. I’m sitting here eating peacefully when I look up and “Ms. I’m God’s Gift to Men’s Eyes” strolls in. Yes, she is a gift for some lucky, or perhaps unlucky man. Before she sits down, she looks around, sees me and instantly her face forms a look of total disdain and dread, like she’s force to sit near something that smells awful. I think for a moment she is contemplating turning around and walking out. She selects a table as far away from me as possible and seats herself so that all I can see is her back. I guess this way she doesn’t have to look at me, then she can pretend I’m not here and that way she’ll be able to enjoy her meal. I’m not sure she enjoys anything.

 

After completing my meal, I leave the hotel via the rear entrance that is located on the beach. I removed my shoes and socks, placing my socks inside my shoes. I carry them as I walked along the beach. I roles my pants up above my knees so that I can walk along the beach and let my feet feel the surf as it comes in along the shoreline. Dreaming, fantasizing and thinking I walk along the water’s edge for about 30 or 40 minutes in a content daze. As I neared the hotel, once again, the beautiful witch (spelled with a B) is walking toward the hotel but from the opposite direction I had come from. Instantly, when she sees me I can see anger and fury register on her face.

 

I’m about 10 feet from her when I notice in the setting evening sun that those hazel eyes are the most beautiful I have ever seen. They have sparks of blue, green, red and brown that seem to flash in the early evening light. Her eyes are mesmerizing, like the sway of a cobra ready to strike and I feel like I am the prey. They seem to pull me toward her, or is it something else. I bow, gesturing with my hand for her to go ahead to the hotel so once again I can view that beautiful ass. Huffing, she proceeds me on our way back to the hotel. Much to her dissatisfaction we both make for the elevator. I think I see a bit of relief in her when I push the second-floor button. She of course is on one of the upper floors where all the most expensive suites are. When I get off the elevator, I swear, I hear her say, “Thank God.”

 

It is right around nine o’clock when I settled into my room and watch a bit of television. Since there is nothing even marginally enjoyable to watch, I turned off the TV. I decided to read a bit. I picked up my current book, “Fifty Shades of Grey,” and started reading; it’s a shame that “The Bitch Goddess” gave me a dirty look when we were on the plane and she saw the title. For me, the heroine, Anastasia is the kind of woman I would like to meet and fall in love with. She is smart, sassy, unsure of herself, sexy, funny, and with a myriad of other charms and weaknesses that make her adorable. She’s a woman that knows what she wants and goes after it. I think, Not at all like the beautiful, ‘Bitch Goddess.’

 

It is just after 11 when I lay down to sleep. I am dog tired, because, for me it is two in the morning, Poway time. I close my eyes and fall asleep quickly. I am woken a little past midnight by a knock on the door. Who the hell could that be? I struggle out of bed wearing only my jockey shorts and T-shirt, and groggily, I make my way to the door. At the door, I ask, “Who’s there?” I hear a feminine voice say, “Just open the door.” I look through the peep hole and there she is, the bitch goddess. It takes me about a nano second to open the door. In her left hand, she has a bottle wine and two glasses. She is dressed in a beautiful black evening gown. My mouth is wide open – my jaw possibly resting on my chest. She places her right-hand flat on my chest and pushes me back into the room. As she enters the room, she closes the door with a foot. I am mesmerized, paralyzed and can’t move on my own. She puts the two glasses on the small table in the room and the bottle wine in the small room refrigerator. I just stand there watching her.

 

Coming back to me she put her hands on my hips and guided me back to the bed. Placing her hands on my shoulders she pushes me down. I sit there like a statue. I can feel my heart beating quickly and I’m having a great deal of difficulty breathing. My head feels like it’s about to explore from the pounding in my temples and head. She grasps the bottom of my T-shirt and starts pulling it up. Because my arms are hanging down, she is unable to take it off. She smiles at me and says, “Lift your arms moron.” I think, You can call me whatever you like; just don’t stop. After she takes my shirt off, she pushes me back down on the bed so that I’m lying with my feet hanging off. She signals me to move further onto the bed, which I do immediately. Moving up close between my legs, she signals me to lift my butt, which I do, again immediately. Grasping my jockey shorts by the waistband she pulls them off and then smiles.

 

I’m erect and hard, so hard in fact it hurts a bit. She takes her hand and placed it around me. Slowly she strokes me up-and-down for a few moments. The feeling is exquisite and I’m surprised I don’t explode right then and there. I don’t seem to have the self-control I have mastered. It’s all gone. Stepping back, she indicates that I should sit up – which I do. I’m still mesmerized and essentially unable to move, except at her command; “Thinking, could this really be happening.” Standing about 5 feet from me she reaches behind herself and unzips her dress. Crossing first one hand in front of her and then the other she grasps the top of the dress and then slides the straps off her shoulders. Smiling, she slowly lets the dress fall and pool around her feet. She steps out of it.

 

I look at the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. She is wearing a provocative red bra and matching panties, along with a red garter belt and black stockings. All of which are my favorites. My wildest fantasy is coming true. How could she have known? With a look of akin to a predator that has its prey corner and trapped, she reached behind and unclips her bra, then let the shoulder straps fall off. Very slowly she lowers the bra and exposed her magnificent breasts. Not too large, not too small, for me just perfect. Pausing a moment, she then hooks her fingers in the waistband of her sheer elegant panties and begins to lower them slowly, while wiggling her hips from side-to-side. Because she has worn them over her garter belt and stockings, those items remained in place. This is exactly how I would have scripted it.

 

I am still paralyzed. She smiles and asks, “You like?” My mouth is dry and I am speechless, all I can do is nod. Before me stands a true goddess. Everything about her exudes perfection. I wonder what the gods were thinking when they sent me this gift. After a short pause, she walks toward me and once again places a hand on my shoulder and pushes me down so I was lying on my back. Without any foreplay, she places herself over my erection. Reaching down she spread her sex a bit and takes my erection in hand and slowly sinks down on it. I close my eyes and relished the intense feeling. I struggle to control myself, to hold back my impending orgasm. All my past training and conditioning I have done mastering my ability to control my orgasm fail. For some reason, I lose all control. It is only a couple of up-and-down motions that drive me to one of my most intense orgasms I can ever remember having. All I can think is, “Oh, no! My one chance and I blew it.”

 

My eyes shoot open and I’m alone. I scream inwardly, “Damn it, I’m alone.” What has just happened? I reached down and feel my jockeys which are soaking wet. Hell, I just had a wet dream. A bona fide wet dream, I haven’t had a wet dream for years. Most of the time when I alone and get a bit horny, I just take things in hand and have my wet dream before I fall asleep. I get up, go to the bathroom, remove my jockeys and take a shower. Holy crap, I realize that the woman has really gotten under my skin and made an indelible impression on me. It saddens me to know that any impression I made on her would probably make her sick and wanting to go to the restroom to throw up. I get the feeling that I am probably her worst nightmare. And that each time we cross paths it gets worse for her. I have no doubts that she won’t have a wet dream about me.

Monday – April 16, 2014

 

The next morning, I wake up refreshed. Even though this is a vacation for me, I have not reached the period when I normally take a week off from exercising to allow my body to rest and rejuvenate. After putting my running gear on, I make my way down to the water’s edge. I begin running alone the edge of the beach where the surf comes in and recedes leaving soft but somewhat firm sand. I’ve been running for about 15 minutes when, you guess it, “Ms. Get Out of My Way” slowly runs past me. She turns to see whom she is passing. When she recognizes me, her face instantly changes to the expression she always gets when she sees me. She increases her pace slightly to get further ahead of me. So as not to drive her to murder I pick up my pace, just enough so I can keep myself about 25 feet behind her. I think I could run forever watching that beautiful butt of hers. It is even better in the tight shorts she’s wearing. The way her cheeks move send shivers down my spine and other places as well. I think I would’ve had an instantaneous erection if I hadn’t had tight pants on and that I’m running.

 

I continue to run, like this, behind her for another 15 minutes when I decided to return to the hotel. On the way-back, I slow my pace too normal, for me. Again, I have been on my return path for 15 minutes when she shots by me again. I consider picking up my pace as before and continuing my run beyond the time I normally do, just to watch that ass of hers, but I decide to walk back the rest of the way. When I get back to the hotel, she’s nowhere to be seen. I head back up to my room, take a shower and dress.

 

I go down to the dining room for breakfast before I’ll leave to do some more island exploring. Perhaps I’ll take one of the many tours offered. As I finish up eating my scrambled eggs and bacon in walks, “Ms. Stay Out of My Fuckin Way.” When she sees me, I get the usual reaction again, the look that says, “It’s that asshole again. Why are you punishing me?” I take my check up to the cashier and pay. I look back at her and smile, I could swear she starts to raise her hand to give me the finger but refrains because there are others are present. Sometimes I think ‘the powers-to-be’ just sit around to see what kind of mischief they can cause us. They’re probably laughing their asses off right now. Yet, I don’t understand why making that woman unhappy bothers me, even though she thinks I’m awful and looks aside, I don’t think very highly of her. I don’t understand where these emotions are coming from?

 

I make my way downtown and take one of the tours that lasted a couple of hours. It follows the coastline and hits a few of Hawaii’s major seaside attractions and out of the way beaches. The tour stops at the Arizona Battleship Memorial. I join the other tourist as we visit the Arizona’s final resting place. We’re all silent and humbled by it, as we read the post material and look at the pictures. Most of the group is made up of either older couples or honeymooners. I’m seat next to an elderly woman. I think she in her late fifties. We talk amiably during the tour. I wonder for a moment if she’s a cougar. Yeah right.

 

Walking away from the bus, I start to wander around the business section again. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know, perhaps unconsciously I am hoping to see her again. Am I drawn to her on some unconscientious level, by some mysterious force or am I just a glutton for punishment? Around noon, as I walk past the same office building she came out of yesterday, the “Wicked Witch of Beauty Land,” comes walking out. I’m delighted. I stop and hope she doesn’t look in my direction. I can’t explain it but I don’t want her to get upset. I think I have that affect her. Unfortunately, she turns in my direction and spots me. The look on her face is one of astonishment, then it changes quickly to anger and fury. I think if she had a gun she would take it out and shoot me. She appears to be pissed, beyond belief pissed. I cringe but keep on walking and make my way to an outdoor restaurant.

 

Unbelievably, I’m sitting here eating my sandwich when she walks in and sit down at a table before she realizes I am here. Her look of incongruity says it all. I fully expect her to get up and leave. Instead she gets up walks to the other side of the table so that her back is to me. I guess this way she can pretend I’m not here and enjoy her meal, as she has done before. I take a few more minutes and finish up, pay my bill, and leave. I go back to my room, put on my swimsuit and make my way to the beach for a swim and spend the afternoon in the sun. I apply sun-screen before and after a swim just as recommended by the medical community. It all relates to good health and proper body maintenance. While swimming, I think, If the ‘Bitch Goddess’ were here she would be spreading chum, hoping the sharks would get rid of me. That thought sends shivers down my spine, it causing me to make the decision to return to shore. I make my way up to the beach pavilion area and lounge around for a couple of hours until 4:30 when I decided to go back to the hotel.

 

When I got back in my room I undress and then take a shower. Boy, I think, I’m taking a lot of showers. After dressing I make my way to the hotel restaurant for dinner. It is just after six when I ordered my typical basic meal of a steak and potatoes, and iced tea for a drink. Sure, enough, I hadn’t been sitting there more than 15 minutes when the beautiful goddess decides to make her appearance.

 

It’s like in those comical movies where people are trying to get together and one walks in one door as the other walks out another door. Only in this case I know she’s trying to avoid me but fate is on my side and once again she’s confronted by my sight, which appalls her. I just smile politely and continue to eat. She takes her seat and make sure she’s not facing me. I laugh inwardly. I’m probably making her stay here miserable and for some reason that makes me laugh, for some inexplicable reason it also makes me somewhat sad. I don’t know why but I don’t want to make this woman unhappy. Even though she seems like she kind of deserves it. My feelings are very confusing when it comes to her. What the hell is happening to me. This woman has me in knots. Damn, the is confusing. I think, Oh well, you’ll be back in Poway in a couple of day and never see ‘the Bitch Princess’ again. Why is that thought depressing to me?”

 

After finishing my dinner and paying I make my way to the hotel’s beach facing patio. I find an upright lounge chair and settle in. Facing southward, I look out at the ocean. The surf is rather calm. The waves are three to five feet. There are several surfers enjoying themselves. There are a few people on the beach relaxing and swimming. One couple is making out like they’re alone. The water is a rich blue, with rainbows forming in the mist caused by the waves. The sun is setting, to my right, makes the clouds appear in a mixture of fiery reds, oranges, yellows and grays on a varying blue sky canvas. It’s a picture that only nature can paint. In this early evening light, the scene is breath taking, yet serene and comforting. It doesn’t take me long to become really lost in a super sensuous daydreaming. Here I am engulfed in my reverie, when suddenly the “Supreme Bitch Goddess,” confronts me.

 

Standing there in the most defiant stance one can imagine, she confronts me. Hand on her hips and legs spread slightly. Angrily and with a bit of fury she says, “Why the fuck are you following me?”

 

 

She’s beautiful. She takes my breath away. I stand up to face her. Perhaps fearing that I’ll need to run or protect myself. With the heels, she has on, she is almost my height. I look her in the eyes. God those eyes are beautiful and I intelligently respond, “Huh?”

 

Loud and angrily she says with venom in her voice, “You’ve been following me. Everywhere I go, you show up. What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I have half a mind to call the police.”

 

I am stunned and dumbfounded. Spontaneously, I say, “That exactly what you have, half a mind.” Then I just stand there, staring at her and drink in her beauty. Even in a nasty unbelievable situation like this, I can only focus on her beauty. I’m losing my mind. I begin to laugh.

 

“What are you laughing at you retard? Look you stupid moron don’t you understand me? I asked you why the fuck are you following me?” she demands again. It appears my laughing makes her madder, if that is even possible.

 

“Hold on a minute. You think I’m following you?” I state, with a quizzical look on my face after regaining a slight bit of reason. This woman is going to drive me crazy.

 

Sarcastically she says, “Well it appears that you might have a brain, albeit a picayune one but nevertheless a brain. Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking. Why the fuck are you following me?”

 

Irritated somewhat, spitefully I finally start putting a response together and say, “First of all, I couldn’t give a shit about you.” Mentally I note, that isn’t quite true. I find that I have a strong attraction to her. What I feel I can’t explain. Lust perhaps? However, I let my little boyish ego get in the way and behave like a petulant child. I continue, “I haven’t the slightest idea who the hell you are and frankly couldn’t care less.” I pause, thinking, that’s not entirely true. I feel a connection, like there is a strong undefinable force that is drawing me to her. Behaving stupidly and childish, I take a deep breath, then continue, “You have a personality that would cause hell to freeze over and make a pride of lions turn and run away. You’re conceited and arrogant. You make me want to take you across my knee and spank you. Somebody should. You behave like you were born with a silver spoon, not in your mouth, but up your tight ass. You’re nothing but a stupid, nasty, petulant bitch. So why don’t you climb on your broom and fly back to where you came from?”

 

I see her nose flare and her breathing becomes short and rapid. She glares at me. It appears that she is struggling with some inner conflict. Whack! She slaps my face – hard. Ow! That smarts but nothing I can’t handle. I can see the anger and contempt in her eyes. It takes all my willpower but I just stand there and smile while my cheek smarts. Unbelievably, I think, She is even more beautiful with her teeth clenched and her hazel eyes on fire with rage. So, to piss her off a bit more, I manage to laugh, then turn my face exposing my right cheek and say, “Here’s my other cheek, bi—”   Whack! Before I can finish, she slaps me again. This time with her left-hand, while she glares at me with utter disdain. Ow! Again, it really stings.

 

My irritation escalates and I very much would like to let her have it. It’s something I could never do without being truly threatened. I know I’m in no real danger of being harmed. However, I feel I need to do something. Without any real thought, on impulse, I grab her by her upper arms. For a moment, I see fear in her eyes but almost instantaneously she recovers and glares defiantly at me -- fury emanating from every pore. So, I bend down and kiss her. Possibly in astonishment and being unprepared for my kiss, she opens her mouth slightly. This gives me an opportunity to start exploring her mouth with my tongue and at the same time I wrap my arms around her and pull her close, pressing my groin into hers. Unexpectedly and much to my amazement, she begins to respond. Her tongue explores mine. She sucks in a deep breath and pushes her body in closer.

 

Whoa, whoa, I put my hands on her upper arms, stop kissing her and push her away. I think, What the hell are you doing Art? Why did I kiss her? Why did I stop kissing her? I’m emotionally conflicted, tied up mentally in knots. I look at her. Her eyes are glassy, like she has no idea where she is or what is happening. Much to my astonishment, she appears dazed and confused, not at all like the arrogant, confident, master-of-the-universe woman I’ve seen. She just stands there bewildered, mollified, all the fury gone. It’s unbelievable; surreal.

 

Still holding her at arm’s length, I look her in the eyes (those very beautiful hazel eyes that have a bewitching effect on me) and say, “Look, I am not following you or anyone else, however, if I had to follow anyone you certainly would be at the top of my list. If I were following you, you would never have seen me because I know how to keep from being seen. Further, I have no idea who you are. And while I’d like to take you to my room and screw you every which way but loose, I know that’s not going to happen.” I pause for several moments to give her the opportunity for what I said to sink it. I don’t know if it does. I then tell her, “If you want to avoid me, I will be here for at least another hour. Then I will probably stop at the hotel bar for a glass of wine, after which I will head up to my room. I’ll use the stairs from now on. You can use the elevator. If you would like to avoid me, the rest of the week, I’ll prepare an itinerary of where I will be pretty much the rest of the week. I’ll leave it at the reception desk where you can pick it up, if you want. Take a moment to think about this, most of the time that our paths crossed I had already established myself in those places. The dining room, running on the beach the beach, the small outdoor restaurant, the elevator, the hotel, the plane, just about everywhere I went, you turned up.” I attempt a bit of humor and finish with, “I suppose I could say you were stalking me. But, I know I’m not that lucky.”

 

My hands are still on her shoulders so I turn her to face the hotel. I release her and put my hand in the small of the back and very gently nudge her in the direction of the hotel. She walks toward the hotel slowly, not with the confidence she normally exudes. As she walks away, I wonder where my anger came from. It’s not like me to respond to someone like I did. I’m usually about understanding problems and normally I try to keep them from escalating, like it did. Was it her or me trying to prove something? I’m really going to have to think about it. I don’t like the way I responded, before the kiss. It was childish and ignorant behavior. I should know better. Then again, was I trying to prove something? That wouldn’t make it right either. Damn it, I’m confused? That woman is an enigma.

 

I take the deepest breath I can, repeat the process again several times, then sit back down, close my eyes and fight to push her out of my mind, it is not without some difficultly. I don’t want to have another wet dream about her, at least not out here.

 

Before I have a chance to settle in, an older woman out walking her dog, stop and says to me, “Young man, I couldn’t help observing your conversation with your girlfriend. You must have made her very mad to cause her to slap you. Maybe you should apologize.”

 

She seems like a nice person. I inform her warmly, “I don’t think you understand. I don’t even know that woman. She thought I was stalking her. I don’t know what came over me. I behaved badly and insulted her. Although, I did enjoy kissing her. Perhaps, that’s why you think she’s my girlfriend.”

 

Appearing astonished, “You two seemed so intimate. I would have sworn you were lovers. Please forgive me for intruding.”

 

“No forgiveness is necessary. I can easily see how you arrived at your conclusion, not hearing the verbal exchange clearly and only witnessing the slapping and kiss.”

 

“I’m puzzled, if you didn’t know her, why did you kiss her?”

 

“I knew I couldn’t hit her, but I need to retaliate somehow. I impulsively acted. It did have a spectacular effect.”

 

Shaking her head and I think, rolling her eyes, she says, “Young people, who can understand them. Well, I best be on my way, little Tko needs to find a place to go. It was nice talking to you. I hope things work out for you. Goodnight.”

 

When the woman leaves, I settled back and begin to reflect on where I was, where I am, metaphorically speaking, and where I want to be in the future. When I get like this, I can never figure out whether thoughts are profound or stupid?

 

That is exactly how I’m feeling right now. My thoughts are complicated and cover an extensive range of misgivings, accomplishment, failures, dreams and desires, suffice it to say I’m trying to figure out where I wanted to be in five, ten years and in the far future. I don’t come to any concrete conclusion, except, “Que Sera, Sera,” whatever will be, will be.

 

It’s not long since the older woman left and bout 30 or 40 minutes since I sent the “Bitch Goddess” back to the hotel. I hear footsteps and look up. She is coming back carrying with what looks like and turns out to be a bottle wine and a couple of glasses. Unlike my dream, she is wearing a navy pantsuit with the white blouse, that is unbutton at the neck, just above her cleavage – she is beautiful and immaculate. Not likely to be wearing a garter belt and stockings which for some unknown reason turns me on. Why am I even thinking like this? She’s a living, breathing dream. She tells me to move my butt and I do. She sits down alongside me on the lounge.

 

I look into her hazel eyes, those very beautiful eyes, I tense up and ask, “Have you come back to poison me?”

 

She laughs, a very pleasant laugh, I relax some, she smiles at me, my heart rate spikes, she muses softly, “Hmm, I really hadn’t thought of it but that might not be a bad idea.” She hands me one of the glasses she is carrying. I take it. Our hands touch for a brief instant. I feel a surge of excitement, like an electric current running through me. It’s that unknown connection I’ve been feeling.

 

Puzzled, I question her, “If you haven’t come back to poison me then why are you here?”

 

“I want to apologize. I guess sometimes I let my paranoia and ego overwhelm me. It probably doesn’t help that the business deal I’m working on is stressing me. Look me in the eyes and tell me that all of our encounters were just a matter of chance,” she directs me, matter-of-factly, as she pours some wine into each of our glasses.

 

I look into her eyes and tell her, “It really was purely accidental that I was in those places at the same time you were. Except, perhaps, when my tour finished, I walked by the business building hoping you would come out, like you did the day before, so that I might see you again. But that is the only time that one might consider it ‘not’ accidental. I can’t say that when I saw you I was disappointed. You are one magnificent woman and as far as I’m concerned you are God’s gift to man; at least appearance wise.” I give her a quick summary of how I got here. how to verify, and my website.

 

She grins and comments, “I don’t think anybody could make up a story like that.” Surprising me, she then adds, “Would you like to have sex with me?”