The Reunion

A few years-ago, I wrote this story under the pen name MrTwisted2112. I stepped away from writing for a few years as life occurred, but recently again sat down at the keyboard to again tell a story or three. In preparation for publishing a follow-on story, I’ve edited this piece to correct several spelling and grammatic errors that occurred, when I first wrote it.

I hope you enjoy it and I look forward to soon sharing part two of Michael and Sharon’s story.

The Reunion

Michael…

He knew reunions were supposed to be happy times. A chance to meet former classmates, friends from a bygone era (that era being the late 1970’s). To catch-up on all the ‘old times’ (which he couldn’t remember anything particularly good about them), reunite with old friends (he had none that he could clearly recall), reminisce about the old school (the only high school in his hometown at the time). These thoughts ran repeatedly through Michael’s mind as he rode the elevator from his floor to the lobby of the Sheraton Executives Suites that was near the center of the city that had grown from the town he had escaped, upon graduating from Cloverville High School, in 1978. Stepping into the lobby, he followed the sounds of loud music. Personally, if he had never set foot in Cloverville, Indiana again, he felt it would have been no great loss; however, this was something he had promised his wife he would do.

As he neared the noise and commotion of the ballroom, a smile crossed his lips. Rebecca, ‘Becca as he affectionately called her, would have been right home here, she’d loved parties. Rounding a corner, he located the entrance to the cavernous ballroom with the sounds of Boston, Journey, Foreigner, and several rock groups from the late 1970’s and early 80’s pumping from it like a firehose turned on full. The double door were decorated in the colors of green and gold and four-leaf clovers were plastered everywhere. Cloverville high’s mascot was a muscular leprechaun, and the sports teams were known as the ‘Lucky Charms’. If one wasn’t familiar with these facts, you would have thought St. Patrick’s Day had been moved to October.

His grey eyes scanned the room and all around him old people — several hundred of them were laughing and seemed to be having a good time. He had acquired the knack of putting names with faces in the Navy and it had also been very useful in his second career, as an asset manager with the large investment house he had eventually became a senior partner of. He was at a loss here though, as none of these people had been important to him in high school and he didn’t recognize a single one now.

“What’s your name, champ,” asked a grinning overweight woman, sitting behind a table adorned with green and gold streamers and balloons to his left. Her hair was more salt than pepper and was worn at shoulder length. The nametag she wore on the lapel of the jacket read, “Tracy Smith” in bold type and was accompanied by a picture of a pretty, seventeen-year-old, who was about 100-pounds lighter, had long black hair and was wearing a cheerleader’s uniform.

Michael smiled warmly and said in a cheerful baritone, “Hi, Tracy. Mike Richards.” He preferred Michael but knew most people automatically used the shortened version.

Tracy carefully scanned the nametags that were laid out on the reception table before her. She repeated Mike’s name over and she followed her finger looking at the names. When she found it, she gleefully exclaimed, “Found it,” and held it up to compare the likeness on the badge to the graduate who was forty-years older that was standing before her.

“Oh, my God,” she exclaimed, “Mikey Richards! You sure have changed!”

Michael looked at the younger picture of himself and inwardly winched. He was gangly and pimple-faced, had a pronounced overbite and wore glasses. The quintessential geek. In the politically incorrect 1970’s, he had been repeatedly bullied by the jocks, laughed at and scorned by Tracy and her cheerleader friends, as well as just about everyone else in the student body.

He quickly glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed, but in the din of classic rock and the shouted conversations, no one seemed to take notice.

“Why, thank you,” he said cheerfully, pinning the nametag to the lapel of his sports coat. Adding politely, “You haven’t changed a bit.”

Tracy blushed and said, “You’re very kind,” and commenced explaining that the bar was non-host, which she was against, that there were no snacks and that you could order from the restaurant. He courteously listened and thanked her. As he moved into the room, Tracy repeated her introduction to others coming in behind him.

Parties had been ‘Becca’s thing, not his. “God, I wish you were here,” he muttered.

He had always disliked social functions, even as a naval officer. After the emancipation of being freed from Cloverville High School, he had won a full scholarship to Indiana State University. There he joined the Naval Reserve Officers Training Corps program. Blooming late, he grew an astounding amount during those four-years. He was constantly having to be resized for his uniforms and his parents complained at his requests for money to buy new clothes. The hard, physical exercise bulked his scrawny frame and better defined his features. The Navy paid for some oral surgery and contacts replaced the ‘birth control’ glasses that had adorned his face for most of his life. Even his parents didn’t recognize him at graduation. He was a completely different person.

He wove his way through the people. He was head and shoulders taller than more than 90% of them. Although he was balding, He had a striking profile and a commanding presence. The men would give a nod in greeting, but the women paid more than a casual notice. As he greeted them, he could tell they were not making any pretenses about looking him over. He could also tell they were closely examining his left hand — particularly his ring finger.

When he reached the bar, he ordered and paid for a Sam Adams, which he saw was on draft. Sadly, what he received was a glass that was more head than it was beer. As he skeptically examined it before taking a sip, a voice to his left that was a little more than merely intoxicated said loudly, “That’s bullshit! There they go again, ripping somebody else off, for their drinks!”

A late middle-aged man with wavy blond hair, a beard and mustache under a jagged nose, with a serious beer gut was leaning against the bar and was blearily looking up at him. He wore a blue jacket over a white polo shirt that seemed several sizes too small, faded blue jeans and work boots. His name badge read ‘Steve Thompson’ and was accompanied by a younger version, fully outfitted in football gear.

Instantly, a memory flashed in his brain. They were standing among lockers with teenagers standing all around. Steve Thompson was facing him, with a scowl of rage on his face. His fists were balled, and he was lunging at him. “I’m going ta fuckin’ kill you, ya little piece of shit,” he screamed.

He ducked under the swing and came up with a haymaker of his own that connected with Steve’s nose, causing blood to explode, and staggering him.

“This piece of shit place is rippin’ people off,” he pronounced drunkenly and waving a hand at the sheepish young bartender, snapping Michael back to the present. Nudging Michael’s arm declared, “Am I right?”

Michael smiled and good-heartedly said, “It’s okay,” and then exclaimed in feigned surprise, “Why Steve Thompson! How’ve you been?”

Caught completely off-guard, Steve narrowed his blood-shot eyes to get a clearer look at Michael’s face, to help with recollection. He then looked down at Michael’s name badge and then back to his face. Michael could clearly see the rusty gears turning in Steve’s mind as he tried to recall who was talking to him. Then a light bulb of recognition came on. “Holy shit, Morphydite Mike,” he exclaimed as he slapped the bar.

He stopped himself and tried to become as drunkenly serious as he could, “I’m sorry. I should’ve called you Mike.” He held out a rough hand. Michael took it and gave it a firm shake.

“No harm, no foul, Steve,” he said with a sincere smile, “Those days are long past.”

Steve blurted out, “Ain’t that the truth. I was kind of an asshole back then,” to which someone overhearing the statement further down the bar shouted, “And you still are,” which made everyone nearby burst out in raucous laughter.

Steve good-naturedly took the jibe. Swallowing most of his beer in one gulp, he looked up at Michael and said, “I haven’t seen you around town, what happened to you?”

Michael repeated the line that he had practiced when he knew this question would come up, “I served in the Navy and have done a few other things. I settled-down, out west”

At that Steve stood ramrod straight, which brought his full height to just under Michael’s chin and saluted with the wrong hand. “Thank you for your service, killing those Commies.”

Michael was about to clarify a little what his service was but Steve, leaning against the bar began ranting, “I would have gone into the service, but a football injury kept me out of it.” He then went on to check-off his list of woes that amounted to a life of wasted opportunities. All his problems were the fault of someone else.

Just then the D.J. struck up the tune, “Brickhouse,” by the Commodores, to the applause of the gathered crowd. Michael had been leaning against the bar listening to Steve’s diatribe, when just then it was interrupted by a wolf whistle from a guy standing on the other side of Steve, at the bar. Straightening, Michael turned in the direction of what had caught the guy’s attention. Wide-eyed, he recognized the goddess that had just entered the room.

Sharon…

“I can’t do this,” exclaimed Sharon into her cell phone, in the middle of a full-blown panic attack.

“Mom, you’ll be fine,” replied a female voice, “Calm down. Breath… In through your nose and out through your mouth.”

She was sitting on her king size bed, dressed in a black silk bathrobe. She closed her eyes and with the phone still pressed against her ear, followed the voice’s instructions. She inhaled several times through her nose, holding it for several seconds and then exhaling in a whoosh. She patted her chest with her free left hand, as the voice said brightly, “There, you see it works every time!”

The voice then instructed, “Mom, remember what we talked about. This is your only ‘lifeline’ call. You’re on your own after this.”

“I know what we agreed on, Sheri,” whined her mother dejectedly, “I was hoping my daughter would be more compassionate.”

“Tough love,” came Sheri’s jovial response and continued by saying, “You’ll be hot in that outfit.”

“I was wanting to speak with you about that,” said Sharon interjected, “You don’t think it too… clingy?” As she said this, she looked over at a dark-grey silk dress that was draped over the chair of the room’s desk.

“Mom, it’s a cocktail dress, not a burka. It’s supposed to be clingy,” said Sheri, laughing.

“I guess you’re right,” admitted Sharon. She then reached down to her feet and picked-up a pink and white striped shopping bag and asked, “What’s with the Soma Intimate Apparels bag,” letting it dangle from her index finger.

“Honey,” continued Sharon, almost embarrassed talking to her daughter over the phone about this, “I have underwear.” Setting the bag down, she opened it with her free hand and looked inside. She lifted out a sheer, black lace thong and strapless bra.

“What the hell is this,” she exclaimed, “A thong! They make me feel like I’m getting a wedgie.”

“Mom, you have to look nice,” said Sheri and finished by saying, “There’s no lines and you’ll feel great. I have several pairs and David loves to see me in them.”

“Well, thanks for sharing the details of your sex life,” Sharon derisively retorted.

“Oh mom, you know what I mean,” her exasperated daughter said, continued with, “You’re not some prude. You and dad had fun, real fun! You dressed sassy and sexy, and you didn’t care what anyone else, but dad thought.”

There was silence on the line for several seconds. Sharon knew that her daughter was stifling tears and they also began to well-up in her eyes as well.

“Mom,” began Sheri, “It’s time to throw away the sackcloth and ashes and begin living again.” She then asked her mom, “You remember why you’re going to this, right?”

“Yes, and your right,” admitted Sharon. Changing the subject, she asked, “Is my grandson there?”

“He is,” said Sheri. Speaking off the phone Sharon could hear her calling a little boy named Jimmy to the phone.

After several seconds there was heavy breathing into the mike and then a quizzical, “Hello.”

“Hi Jimmy, it’s Nana,” said Sharon brightly.

“Hi Nana,” was his bright response, recognizing her voice.

He then launched into a blow-by-blow account of all the things he had been doing and Sharon agreed with him on every point and exclaimed how proud she was of him. He finished by saying, “Bye Nana. Mommy and Daddy said you need to kick-butt and get laid.”

Sharon could hear his cackling laughter as the young boy ran away and an embarrassed Sheri admonished him. Sharon also began laughing. She fell back on the bed, holding her stomach with the hand still clutching the underwear and tears of mirth streamed down her cheeks. She realized it had been years since she had truly laughed this hard.

Finally, Sheri came on the phone again and said, “Sorry about that mom. I guess Jimmy has been listening to some adult conversations.”

Wiping her eyes and regaining her composure, Sharon said, “Don’t apologize, sweetie. I guess it’s true what Art Linkletter used to say, ‘Kids say the darndest things!'”

“Mom,” said Sheri, “I’ve gotta run,” then commanded by finishing, “Your doctor is ordering you to have fun. Got it.”

“I love you, honey,” said Sharon. She finished the call by saying, “Give David and Jimmy a hug for me.”

As she stood to begin getting ready for the reunion, her daughter’s statement rang in her mind like a church bell, ‘You remember why you’re going to this, right’. She was curious to see if a certain boy, who had stood up for her in school would be there.

She was Sharon O’Hara then. Terms like ‘wallflower’ or ugly duckling’ were very appropriate in describing her then. Tall and skinny, as well as shy and withdrawn, she barely spoke at all in her classes. She was raised by an alcoholic, single father. Gossip around Cloverville had it that he had beaten his wife to death, but that hadn’t been true.

Her father suffered from what would later be classified as post-traumatic stress disorder. He had served bravely in the US Army in the Korean War, becoming hooked on the bottle, to cope with the nightmares that continued to haunt him. Her mom had tried to care for him as best she could, but in her exasperation fled central Indiana, wanting a better life.

Sharon always wore second and third-hand clothing and occasionally came to school sporting a black eye or other bruises. In tenth grade, he had gone on a real bender and had beaten her severely, which had resulted in Child Protective Services and the state of Indiana stepping in. Her father had been committed to a state hospital and she had become a ward of the state. She was placed with a foster family, who did their level best to improve her standard of living, as the state looked for relatives who would be willing to take her in.

All the ‘in crowd’ of Cloverville High School knew her as ‘Skank’. A wide variety of practical jokes were played on her. They all blurred together, but one day in the spring of her senior year, just before graduation this one boy, Mike Richards stood up to Steve Thompson and his main squeeze, Tracy Smith. He told them he was tired of seeing them push her around and belittle her. Like David and Goliath, Mike stood up to the bully. When Steve swung on him, Mike had ducked and then came up and bloodied the football player’s nose, causing him to stagger back into the lockers of the school’s hallway. Up until that point in her life, it was the nicest thing that someone had ever been done for her.

She never got the chance to thank him for his bravery. School officials stepped-in and broke the fight up. Both the boys got detention and soon graduation was taking place.

She never officially graduated from Cloverville. The state had finally located relatives who could raise her and just before her eighteenth birthday, she was put on a plane bound for Los Angeles, to live with an aunt and uncle. Her diploma was subsequently mailed to her.

Being replanted in the good ground of southern California was a welcome fresh start for her. There she blossomed and thrived. Her uncle Tony was an attorney and encouraged her to pursue her education and passions. He also helped her come to grips with her tragic childhood. He shared with her about her father’s service in the Army, which helped her to see that he was as much a victim as she was.

Coming from the foster system, she wanted to help other kids and attained several degrees in child development, while she did modeling gigs to pay her college expenses. At the same time, she had fun. She loved the beach and that’s where she met a young lawyer named Edward Marsh. They hit it off and before she knew it, they were married.

Ed adored her, and she passionately loved him. He became quite successful in his practice and in his investing. This allowed her to stay at home and raise their two kids — a daughter, Sheri and son, Kevin — and continue to pursue her dreams. She started a series of non-profits and supported a wide range of other charities that helped less fortunate children and teens.

Her and Ed loved living together. As a family they traveled extensively and when the kids became old enough to survive on their own, they enjoyed a second, third and fourth honeymoon. They were the life of every party. Ed was jovial and gregarious. He always complimented her by saying she had the best genes he ever seen and like a fine wine, got better with age. California had matured this shy Midwest ugly duckling into a refined and fetching swan, who still turned heads at 58 and made women half her age green with jealousy.

She was a full head taller than Ed at 5’11” with auburn hair and jade green eyes. She wore her hair boyishly short with long bangs that she had to brush from her eyes with an elegant hand. Two rounds of golf a week and tennis on Wednesdays had left her fit and tanned. Her perfect hourglass figure was highlighted by well-defined breasts that were still defying gravity’s pull and tight buns that she knew were admired by her passersby.

Sadly, her life had changed five-years previously, when Ed was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. They made one more trip, this time a cruise to the Greek islands and the Mediterranean, before his condition and health went into a tailspin. He had passed away a little over one-year ago and despite her attempts to deny the fact, she missed him desperately. To the casual observer, she appeared to be the vivacious and sexy grandma, but if you looked closely at her eyes, you could see they were filled with a deep sadness.

A few months ago, someone on the reunion committee had been able to track her down and sent her an invitation to the event. Sheri had seen the unopened letter on her coffee table one day and asked her about it. Sharon broke her silence about her bad-old-days in high school and about what Mike Richards had done. Sheri had told she needed to go, not just should. And here she was.

With her musings done, she shook her head and heaved a loud sigh. Standing, she shed her robe. She walked over to the vanity and took a tube of lotion and rubbed her body down. She slipped on the under garments and not surprisingly, found her daughter had been right. They felt nice and walking over to the mirror she looked at herself and was impressed.

She bent over and ran her hands down her legs. They still felt satiny smooth from being shaved that morning. She pulled the thong away from her lower abdomen and examined her crotch. She kept the auburn bush of her pubic hair trimmed close to just a small tuft above her vagina, as she still loved wearing bikinis.

Letting the elastic snap back in place she took the dress off the hanger and slipped it on. Reaching behind herself with both hands she pulled up the zipper. She missed it when Ed did that and then reached down to give her ass an admiring pat, as he would have. She looked at herself in the mirror and found her daughter had again been correct. Nary a strap or panty line existed. Lastly, she stepped into her black high heels.

Walking to the vanity mirror, she applied a little make-up and lipstick. Taking a step back, she looked at herself, cupped her boobs and adjusted the neckline a little to reveal a little less cleavage. With a hand she brushed a lock of her hair out of her eyes and smiled. The reflection she saw appeared cheerful. She picked up her small purse and ensured the room’s keycard was in the front pocket. Walking to the door, she took several deep breaths and then left, boarded the elevator, and rode it down to the lobby.

When the doors opened it sounded as if the reunion was in full swing. Sharon walked across the lobby toward the noise of loud rock music and commotion of many people talking. She walked to the door of the ballroom and saw the darkened room was occupied by about 200 people, many of whom it appeared had not been treated well by their 58 years of life. The thought that crossed her mind was, “I can turn around now and be no worse the wiser.”

But her daughter’s voice screamed, ‘You remember why you’re going to this, right?’

“Hello,” said a loud voice, “What’s the name?”

Sharon blinked as she was snapped back to reality. She looked to her left. Sitting at the greeting table was an almost morbidly skinny, dirty blonde woman. Although she appeared to be smiling, it looked as if she had just eaten something extremely sour. “What’s the name,” she repeated.

“Sharon Marsh,” and then elaborated, “Sharon O’Hara Marsh,” and smiled pleasantly.

Sharon noticed the woman sitting at the table was wearing a name badge that read ‘Tonya Johnson’ and was accompanied by a picture of a petite, blonde cheerleader.

Tonya found her name tag and handed it to her. Her eyes flashed from the picture on the index card with the woman standing before her and she swallowed. She smiled and said, “Hi Sharon. It’s been ages, how have you been.”

“Very good…Tonya,” Sharon said as she leaned forward to make it look like she was following the ritual of the high school reunion. “Say, I have a favor to ask,” she said and asked, “Can you see if Mike Richards is here?”

“Why sure,” Tonya smiled nervously. With a shaking hand she thumbed through her list of names. She saw that Tracy had put a checkmark next to his name. She looked up and said, “Yep, he’s here, but I wasn’t at the table when he arrived.”

As Sharon thanked her, and she walked into the chaos of the ballroom, the Commodores hit, “Brickhouse” began playing. As Sharon scanned the dark, crowed room, behind her back, Tonya was scrambling for the cell phone in her purse. She had to tell Tracy who just arrived.

…..

Across the room Michael saw the redhead looking around the room as if she was searching for someone. People started crowding the dance floor and a cheerful looking former classmate walked up to him and asked if he would dance with her. “Sure,” he said with a smile.

As Sharon had begun walking through the ballroom, ‘Dancing Queen‘ by ABBA followed the Commodores. A short mousy guy in a dark suit came up to her and asked her to dance with him. Wanting to be cordial, she agreed. A small spotlight reflected on a disco ball overhead cast a million reflections around the dance floor. She learned three things about her dance partner — his name was Tommy Zimmerman; he was now a used car dealer and lastly, he had wandering hands.

As they danced his free hand would move from her left hip to her butt, while they talked. She laughed like a good sport the first time and took his hand and moved it back to her hip. When it happened a second time she laughed and said, “Okay Tommy, let’s play nice.” She moved his hand back to her hip and pinned it there and gave it a quick squeeze, very hard. She forced a pleasant smile and looked around the room. Several feet away was a tall, slightly balding man with rugged good looks, dancing with a woman about Tommy’s height. As the pair turned, she saw his name tag bore the name ‘Mike Richards’. Seeing that he was taller than almost everyone else in the room, she quickly memorized his appearance, so she could keep track of him.

During the same dance, Michael learned his partner’s name was Cathy Carlson. Cathy was of average height and build. She had short blonde hair and was dressed in a green skirt, white blouse, and yellow sweater to match their school’s colors. She had moved to Indianapolis after graduation and had become a schoolteacher. She was now a Principal at a Middle School. She asked what he did now, and he said he had retired from the Navy and was now living in Idaho. “Idaho, really,” exclaimed Cathy, “That’s quite a ways, away.”

Sharon danced with several other former classmates before she was finally free to approach Mike. He was standing a table near the bar sipping a beer. When he saw her, he smiled warmly and said, “How are you,” and held out his hand.

She smiled in return, blushed and said, “Hi Mike. I’m Sharon,” brushing the unruly auburn forelock from her eyes.

Michael said, “You’ve had quite a busy dance card,” to which she agreed. Just then ‘Open Arms‘ by Journey was struck up on the speakers by the D.J. Michael said, “I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a dance. Then afterwards, I’d love to buy you a drink.”

Sharon accepted, and Michael took her hand and led her out onto the crowded dance floor. As they danced, she stared intently up at him. She could hear her daughter saying, ‘You remember why you’re going to this, right?’

As they began their dance, Michael thought to himself, ‘Why in the world is Sharon Marsh here? I never realized she was part of our high school class.’ She kept looking up at him with alluring, jade green eyes that were tinged with sadness. “Sharon,” Michael asked, “You’re looking at me as if I know you.”

She blushed again and apologized, “I’m sorry. I guess after forty-years I didn’t think you’d recognize me. I was Sharon O’Hara in high school.” She continued by saying, “You stood up to some bullies for me, a couple of weeks before graduation.”

‘Oh, my God,’ he thought and said, “Wow, Sharon! It’s amazing meeting you here.”

As they slow-danced to the classic by Journey, Michael searched his memory then he remembered. Steve Thompson and Tracy Smith had been harassing one of Cloverville’s other outcasts. Steve had backed her into a corner and was verbally abusing her, unmercifully. She was a foster-kid, in the trailer park outside of town and Michael had heard that her dad had killed her mother in a drunken rage and that he regularly beat her. Sadly, she was one of the cheerleaders’ favorites targets for harassment.

Michael made the decision to put a stop to bullying and fought Steve. Much to his surprise he bested the football player, before the Vice Principal stepped in. He gladly accepted the week of detention for his act of chivalry. Unfortunately, he never saw Sharon after that, that is until today.

Michael exclaimed, “You certainly have changed,” then reddened with embarrassment, realizing what he had said.

She brightened when she saw that he recognized her. Flashing a winning smile, she replied, “Don’t worry yourself about that. Thanks for the compliment, ’cause I could say the same about you.” She then added, “You’re the reason I came to the reunion.”

Michael was stunned, “Really,” he said and asked, “Why?”

“Because no one had ever stood up for me before,” she said adding, “I wanted to thank you.”

Michael again blushed, as he replied, “You’re very welcome.”

They spent the rest of the song chatting about nothing and then returned to Michael’s table. He asked her what she would like to drink. “A chardonnay,” then indicated she would be right back, pointing that she needed to go to the lady’s room.

As Michael got her glass of wine, he wondered at the coincidence, and he also wondered if she knew who he really was. He hoped that he would have the chance to ask her. As he was sipping his beer, he saw Sharon storming out of the door to the lady’s powder room, almost knocking down a couple of ladies in the process. He could tell she was angry about something, by the look on her face and her quick, clipped steps. Exiting the restroom in her wake was a distraught Tracy Smith and another woman.

She walked up to him and snarled the question, “Do you have a car?”

Surprised at such a dramatic change in her demeanor, he replied, “Yes. Why?”

“I’m hungry. Let’s get out the hell out of here,” she spit, through gritted teeth.

She hooked her arm in his and began dragging him toward the exit. As she did so, Michael asked, “What about your wine?”

She stopped, let go of his arm, took the plastic cup of wine, and downed it in one large swallow. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand that was holding the glass and set it back down. She then looked at him, clearly still fuming and said, “Better? Good. Let’s go.”

As they were walking toward the exit, Michael shouted over the din of music, “Sharon, what happened in there that’s got you so upset.”

She looked over her shoulder at him with tears streaming down her cheeks and said loudly, “I’ll tell you in your car.”

As they approached the doors to the main lobby, Tracy Smith, still distraught was there. As they walked past, she begged, “Oh God, Sharon, please forgive me, for what I said. I didn’t know. Please!”

With her free hand Sharon flashed her middle finger at Tracy and said, “Fuck you and your reunion, you catty bitch!”

When they walked out the Sheraton into the chilly October night, Michael dropped her hand and put his hand on her shoulder. She was shaking like a leaf. She stopped and threw her arms around his neck and began crying. He patted her back and rubbed it, whispering in her ear that it was okay now and that they were outside.

After a couple of minutes, she released her embrace saying, “Thank you, again,” sniffling.

He removed a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and gave it to her saying, “My pleasure. My rental is this way,” pointing to the parking area to the left.

As they walked side-by-side, Sharon dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief. “Sorry about that back there. Crap like that brings out the worst of my Irish genes.”

He guided her to a black Cadillac Escalade. As he clicked the key fob to unlock it, the running boards unfolded from the lower edge of the frame beneath the doors. He led her to the passenger’s door and opened it for her. She tried to figure out how she was going to make entering the SUV work with the cocktail dress she was wearing and said, “To hell with it.”

She pulled the skirt up exposing a shapely leg to nearly her crotch and raised it to place the stiletto she was wearing on the running board. Michael then instructed her on holding the doorframe hand hold, to boost herself aboard. He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in. As he did so, Sharon said deadpan, “Evening wear and SUVs are a bad mix for dates.”

Michael laughed, realizing this was the same type of remark ‘Becca would’ve made.

Sharon commented on how roomy the vehicle was and he gave he a quick tour around it. Sharon used the seat lever to recline her seat back a little. “I prefer trucks to cars,” said Michael and finished with, “Unfortunately, this was the only truck-type vehicle the car rental had.”

Leaning on the console between the front seats, Michael asked, “What the hell happened back there?”

Tearing-up again, Sharon said, “I’m sorry. I let my emotions get the best of me.” She then told Michael about being in one of the stalls of the lady’s room. As she was doing her business, she overheard two women come in the room talking about someone, then she realized it was her they were referring to.

“What were they saying,” Michael asked.

Sharon gritted her teeth to control the anger that was rising within her. She took a deep breath and then continued describing the encounter. As she listened one lady was saying to the other, she was obviously a gold digger and was screwing some sugar daddy, who had paid a bank roll on plastic surgery for her. The other voice declared that she had Google-searched her name and saw that she had married a lawyer. The first voice then declared that lawyer must represent a bunch of drug dealers and other criminals for her to have such a lifestyle.

With tears streaming down her cheeks again, Sharon said, “After I made myself presentable, I opened the door to the stall and walked out. There stood Tonya Johnson and a short fat woman, with the name ‘Tracy Smith’ on her name tag. In that instant all the emotions from 40-years ago exploded within me.”

She went on to describe how they were standing by the sinks and their mouths dropped open, when they saw her.

“I walked over to the vanity next to them and began washing my hands. I looked in the mirror at them and calmly said, ‘Hi Tracy’. Your Google search was right, my husband was a lawyer, but he passed away last year. I’m still in contact with his firm though and they have a bunch of young attorneys who get their rocks off on cases involving slander and libel. They’ll be in contact with you. In the future I’d be very careful about what you say about people.”

She finished by saying with a voice heavy with sadness, “As the anger was building in me from the way I was treated here, I just stormed out of there and here we are.”

She put the handkerchief to her eyes, leaned forward and buried her face in her knees and wept. Michael reached across the console and began patting her back to comfort her. In the middle of her inner turmoil, she realized his rough hand was strong and felt very nice, comforting her. After a few minutes, she sat up and thanked him.

“It was my pleasure,” he said, “Dealing with obliviots can be hard sometimes.”

As Sharon dabbed at her eyes, she responded, “Obliv–whats!”

Michael smiled and slowly pronounced, “Obliviots. It stands for ‘oblivious idiots.”

He continued by explaining an obliviot is an idiot that is oblivious to the fact they are a moron, or they don’t care that they are acting like an idiot.

Sharon nodded. Brightening she said, “Obliviot. I like that term.”

Michael said, “I learned it from the commanding officer of my first ship, when I joined the Navy.”

He then went onto describe meeting ‘Captain K’, as he was called by the crew of the USS Richmond K. Turner, an old steam-powered cruiser. Captain Keith Kleindeinst had sat the newly minted Ensign Richards down for a chat. “‘Mr. Richards,’ the older officer said, ‘there are three types of sailors in the Navy — the leaders, the followers and the obliviots’.”

He elaborated, saying, “‘The leaders are the top-10% in any organization — whether they are officers or enlisted; the followers are the 75% of sailors who do their jobs and are capable of greatness to varying degrees. Lastly and sadly, there are the obliviots. They are the bottom-feeding 15% who feels life owes them everything and blames all their problems on everyone else. They fail to realize they are the problem. They are also their own solution — if they would just realize they are an idiot. Sadly, they are generally oblivious to that fact.'”

Michael finished by saying, “I’ve learned there obliviots everywhere. I saw more than a few of them, tonight.”

Sharon repeated the phrase and said, “I’ll have to remember that one.”

Michael smiled and said, “If you’re still hungry, I found a place yesterday, driving around town.”

“I’m famished,” said Sharon relaxing in the leather passenger seat of the escalade and continued, “I’d love some steak and a nice glass of wine.”

As he started the big SUV and backed it out of the parking stall, Michael said, “Let’s buckle up. This place is about ten-minutes away.”

As they drove, Sharon realized this was the first big SUV she had ever ridden in. She liked the leather seating and the commanding view of sitting up above everyone else on the road. After a couple of minutes, she said, “So you were in the Navy, what was it like?”

During the drive, he summarized his 20-year Navy career for her. He had been a surface warfare officer, having served on several frigates, destroyers, and cruisers. He had been stationed aboard a cruise and fired some of the first cruise missiles launched into Iraq, during the first Gulf War. He had finished his career commanding a high-tech guided missile destroyer.

He told her about how he had met Rebecca, when he had been stationed in Norfolk, Virginia and how she hadn’t been the typical officer’s wife. She had been her own woman and refused to fit into the template of the ‘Navy wife’.

They pulled into the parking lot of The Stables, a quaint looking English Tudor restaurant. There were only a few cars present, which was a good sign that they would be seated relatively quickly. Michael parked and said, “Hold on, I’ll help you out.”

He got out of the Escalade and walked around to the passenger door and opened it for her. He took her hand and instructed her where to place her feet onto the running board. As she was stepping down her high heels missed the running board and she dropped to the ground. In doing so, a wardrobe malfunction occurred as her dress was hiked-up by the seat. It was pulled up to her waist, exposing her legs and briefly flashing the lacey thong and everything below her waist before her heels hit the pavement. “Oh shit,” she exclaimed, as her heels hit the pavement and rolling one of her ankles. She would have stumbled to the asphalt in an embarrassing heap if Michael hadn’t caught her. Blushing, he looked away as she made herself presentable again.

When she was finished, mortified she looked-up to Michael and noticed he was blushing as well. “Like I said,” she quipped deadpan, “SUV’s and evening wear don’t go together.”

As he took her arm and they headed to the restaurant, he apologized. She replied, “Let’s see if I can get inside and seated without flashing anything else,” more than a little upset.

Hoping to lighten the mood concerning the incident he observed, “It was a nice view,” looking straight ahead and trying to maintain his composure.

She shook her head and said deadpan, “Typical sailor,” elbowing him in the ribs and began laughing. They strolled arm-in-arm toward the front door, continuing to laugh.

When they entered, Sharon noticed it was a nicely appointed eatery. The lighting was low and romantic and the aroma of good food, very inviting. She excused herself, saying she wanted to freshen up and went to the lady’s room, while Michael got their table. When she returned a few minutes later, she saw that he had gotten them a table in the back corner, near the fireplace that had a small fire crackling in the hearth. As she approached, like a gentleman, he rose and helped her into her chair. As she sat, she noticed that iced water had been brought for them. She took a long sip from her glass and then set it down.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, “I took the liberty of ordering for us. I was here last night, and they have a great filet minion. It comes with roasted veggies and red potatoes.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she replied and reaching across the table said, “Here, let’s take these stupid nametags off,” and removed his.

She held the picture up to his face and observed, “You have aged well, Mr. Richards.”

Chuckling, he said in return, “Please call me Michael,” and reaching across to her, asked, “Do you mind?’

“By all means,” she said straightening her back and leaning forward. Michael notices the action put her abundant cleavage on full display. He had to briefly reach within the shoulder of her dress and the back of his hand brushed her skin, she playfully squealed, “Oooh!”

Michael reddened, then looked at the picture and said to her, “I had completely forgotten about what had happened before in high school,” paused and handing her the nametag said with a warm smile, “I’m glad we got the opportunity to meet, again.”

Michael noticed that the ambient lighting of their little corner of the eatery was causing Sharon’s eyes to almost glow. ‘It would be very easy,’ he thought, ‘To become completely hypnotized by them’.

While they waited for their meals to arrive, they chatted about their favorite pastimes. Michaels were running, and the outdoors. Sharon shared that living in a country club allowed her to golf a couple of times a week and play tennis. “Do you golf,” she asked as she took a sip of water.

“I used to, but it’s been about ten-years, he admitted and added, “I’m probably not even in your league” causing her to smile at his self-deprecating humor.

After a few minutes their server brought a bottle of wine. Michael tested it and approved. The server poured her a glass of the deep red wine and taking a sip, Sharon found that it was an excellent vintage.

“Tell me more about Rebecca,” she asked.

He gave her a sad smile, as if she had struck a tender spot in his spirit. “She was quite a lady,” he began. He then went on to share her love for the outdoors. He described the rough spot in their relationship when she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Because of the chemo and radiation treatment, she was unable to have children.

He went on to say that after her recovery, she filled this void by working with kids through several non-profit agencies. He shared that although they traveled and had lots of fun, they had also saved their money and wisely invested it. “I surprised ‘Becca on our anniversary by giving her the deed to some land I had purchased in Idaho, as a getaway place for us. It was a couple hundred acres. Like our own little ranch”

He went onto say, “I also let her know that I was retiring from the Navy, so I could spend more time with her. She had loved the idea.”

“Why would you retire,” asked Sharon.

Michael replied, “I had had made Captain and I was the CO of my own command. It was a great ship, but the deployments were wearing on her patience. I could tell.” He went on to say, “I knew it would have killed her if I had become an Admiral, which would have forced her to really keep her mouth shut and her strong opinions to herself.”

“Like what,” inquired Sharon.

“Women on combat ships and flying jets, for one thing. She had some very politically-incorrect remarks about that,” was his reply as he took a sip of his wine.

Michael went onto say, “By that time I was doing really well financially. Several investment houses had made me some offers, and I jumped on one. I became a fund manager and financial advisor. I eventually worked my way up to a Vice President’s seat when…,” he trailed off and dropped his head briefly. Just then their orders arrived, and they ate in silence for several minutes.

After they finished their meals, Michael refreshed their wine, and he took a long sip. Sharon could see he was deeply saddened about something. She slid her hand across the table and placed it on his and gave it a gentle squeeze. Michael raised his eyes to hers and she could see they were tear-filled.

He cleared his throat and then continued, saying, “I had done quite well with the investment firm I was with — Apogee Investments in Alexandria, Virginia.”

Sharon sat up at that, recognizing the name. “I know that name,” she said, “Many of our mutual funds are with them.”

Michael blushed and said, “I know. Ed was one of my clients.”

Sharon was stunned and asked, “How so?”

Michael explained, “I advised Ed on some investment options and managed your funds. He also asked me to research several non-profits for him to support.”

Sharon was amazed at this news. “Did you and Ed ever meet… face-to-face,” she asked.

“No,” Michael replied, “All of our conversations were by email or by phone.”

Sharon aghast, stated, “He never told me. Why didn’t you tell me after we first met?”

Michael dropped his eyes and when he met her gaze again said, “I didn’t think it would have been right. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Oh, absolutely,” said Sharon, exclaiming, “You’re the reason why Ed was a success in his investing. I should be thanking you!”

Michael again blushed and said, “It wasn’t just me. Ed was a very smart guy in his own right,” and reaching for his wine glass took another sip.

“I worked with Apogee from the time I retired from the Navy in 1999 until 2005.” He took a long drink of wine and then said, “That’s when we got the news ‘Becca’s cancer had relapsed.”

“I notified my seniors I was retiring to care for her, full-time,” he took his napkin and wiped tears from his eyes before continuing and said, “She was pretty pissed-off when she heard that. She thought she was pulling me away from something that I loved. I was simply leaving something I loved, for someone I loved more.”

He took another sip of wine and said, “I was planning to leave anyway, because I had a surprise for her. We couldn’t have kids of our own due to the cancer.” Dabbing his eyes again with the napkin, he said, “She filled the need for kids by pouring herself into the lives of foster kids who needed love.”

He went onto describe how he set their ranch up as a care facility and summer camp. It opened just before she passed away.

He paused briefly and then said, “She’s the reason I’m here. ‘Becca knew I could wall myself off from the world and I intended to do just that, but right before she died… in a quiet moment we had together, she made me promise.”

They sat in silence for a while, just letting the hustle and noise of the other diners envelop them. Finally, Michael said, “I have some pictures of us,” as he reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone and asked, “Would like to see them?”

“Absolutely,” said Sharon.

She slid her chair around the small table to sit next to him. When she did so, he caught the sweet fragrance of some perfume she must have put on when she went to freshen up.

Accessing the phone’s photo library, he called one up and handed the phone to Sharon. It was a picture of Michael in his Navy dress white uniform. His chest was festooned with medals and ribbons, and he wore a belt with a sword on his waist. Standing next to him was Rebecca. She was a very beautiful, petite blonde with blue eyes and a wonderful tan. She was wearing a strapless, white summer dress, with white high heels.

Sharon commented, “Rebecca was very beautiful and you’re very dashing.”

Michael after taking a sip of wine stated, “Big change from the geek I was in high school,” chuckling at his self-deprecation, he said, “That was taken at my retirement ceremony.”

Flipping through the following photos were various shots of Michael and ‘Becca camping, hiking, skiing, and other outdoor activities. One that she commented on was of ‘Becca wearing Daisy Duke short-shorts and a midriff-bearing old red and black, checked flannel shirt with the sleeves cut-off. She wore a straw hat and mirrored sunglasses, worn low on her nose as she glam’ d for the camera, while she held up a large rainbow trout.

“God, she loved the outdoors,” said Michael.

Flipping to the last photo, Sharon stared at it intently. “That one was taken just before she passed away,” clearing his throat again, he said, “She called that the reason for living as long as she had’.”

The photo depicted Mike in a flannel shirt and jeans, with a cowboy hat and dusty boots. Standing next to him was a very thin Rebecca. She was wearing a long white dress and had a white scarf wrapped around her head. She appeared sick and her skin pale but wearing a smile that could drive away rain clouds. They were standing next to a large stone and ornately carved, wooden sign that read, ”Becca’s Place — The Place Where Memories Are Made’.

Michael said, “That was taken three-months before she died, right after I sprung the surprise on her that the ranch had been turned into a place where foster kids could come and have fun during the summer.

Sharon looked up to him stunned, “I know this place,” pointing at the phone’s screen and inquired, “‘Becca’s Place belongs to you?”

“Well not me,” he replied and clarified, “It belongs to the foundation I established in ‘Becca’s name, as her legacy.”

Sharon’s free hand went to her chest as she blurted, “I support ‘Becca’s Place!”

“I know,” he said again blushing, “I didn’t want to say anything that would appear… inappropriate.”

He went onto describing receiving her Christmas cards every year along with their generous donations, which contained a picture of her and Ed.”

Sharon interjected by saying, “I have my assistant do that to help keep Ed’s memory alive. He knew how much I adored foster kids, coming out of the system, myself.”

Michael drained his glass of wine and said, “When I saw you walk through the doors of the ballroom tonight, I was stunned.”

Sharon handed Michael his phone back and taking the wine bottle refilled his glass. Setting the bottle down she propped her chin on her hand and looked at him said, “What a small world we live in. Who would’ve known?”

Sharon took a sip from her glass and licked the rim with her tongue and said, “Before I share my life and photos, I want to hear about the ranch and ‘Becca’s Place.”

Michael brightened, and Sharon felt he loved talking about his wife’s legacy. He went onto describe how foster kids from around the county could come for two-weeks of outdoor adventures. Many of whom had never been outside of a big city before. During their stay they got to have all types of summer camp fun. Additionally, a counseling staff was on-hand to help with any emotional and developmental needs that might arise. He added that he wanted to instill a sense of worth into these kids, to prevent them from becoming obliviots. So ‘Becca’s Place was also a fully functioning ranch and farm. The kids were expected to help with things, like taking care of the animals, especially the horses they rode. They also helped with a variety of science projects the ranch sponsored with Idaho State University, so the kids also got a chance to receive some practical educational training.

“That is amazing,” she said shaking her head in wonder and commenting, “I would love to see it.”

“I’ve had several contributors come for a four-day weekend,” said Michael and concluded, “And they get to experience everything the kids do… even the panning for gold.”

“I’ve never been camping a day in my life,” Sharon said and remarked, “Ed’s idea of roughing it was staying at three-star hotel, instead of a five.”

Michael chuckled as he sipped his wine and said, “That’s okay, we’re not backpacking into the boonies. I’d love to have you come and experience it.”

“When the kids are there,” inquired Sharon.

“If that’s what you’d like, then absolutely,” replied Michael. Then holding up a finger as an idea struck him, said, “I have something else I’d like to bounce off of you.”

“Sure,” replied Sharon sipping her wine.

“Since you’ve got experience with non-profits, I was hoping you could provide a ‘woman’s touch’ to finding a Programs Coordinator,” adding, “I think you’d be perfect for it.”

He went onto say that the person who was in this role was wanting to step down, as she had gotten married recently and wanted to start her own family.

Sharon asked the obvious question, “Why not you?”

“Although I’m the Director, my gifting is making things run,” holding his wine glass in his hand after taking a drink, he said, “You’ve started several non-profits and from your Christmas cards I can tell you have a passion for coordinating them.”

Michael concluded by saying, “I’m not asking you to be the Programs Coordinator. I want to hire you as a consultant to find a Programs Coordinator.”

Digging in her purse and withdrawing her cell phone, she said with a warm smile, “I’ll think about it.”

For the next several minutes, it was her turn to share about her life after Cloverville High School. About going to California and living with her aunt and uncle, as well as the freedom she experienced there. She shared about going to college and doing modeling to help pay expenses.

“There was one time,” she shared with a smile, “While I was living with my relatives, I got this phone call. This guy said he had seen some on my modeling stuff and thought I could do a great photoshoot for his magazine.”

“Really,” Michael commented, “What did you say,” he asked.

“First of all, he backtracked and apologized for not introducing himself first,” Sharon commented and setting her phone on the table, said, “He said, ‘I’m Hugh Hefner and I own Playboy magazine’.”

Michael was aghast. “What did you do,” he asked.

Smiling Sharon said, “I told him he was a pervert and that if he called again, my uncle would sue him.”

Michael was impressed with her brashness and moxy. Sharon picked up her wine glass and polished it off and picked-up her phone. At the same time, Michael refilled her wine glass.

She thanked him for the refill and explained that she had just purchased the cell phone before the trip and her daughter had loaded all the pictures for her. She handed the phone to Michael and said, “Can you find the photo library and I’ll tell you about each one.”

When she handed the cell phone to him, he could tell it was a top-of-the-line model, with all the bells and whistles. She leaned close to him again as he complied with her request and opened the camera’s picture folder. Michael couldn’t tell if it was the wine (which usually didn’t affect him) or the scent of her perfume, but he was beginning to become aroused.

The first picture was the one he’d seen in the Christmas cards from her charity. It showed Ed and Sharon seated and surrounded by their children, their spouses, and a grandchild. “Ed was so proud of his family,” she said and pointing to the picture said, “This was one of his favorites.”

She pointed out each person in the photo. Sheri was their oldest, at 33 years of age. Except for hair length and style, she was the spitting image of her mother. Sharon pointed out, “She’s the reason why I’m here, for the reunion,” and quipped, “She practically kicked my ass out of the house with my suitcase and said, ‘Go have fun — that’s an order’.”

As Sharon took a drink from her wine glass Michael jokingly leaned toward her and observed, “Well, having seen your ass, she didn’t kick it very hard.”

This caused Sharon to spew red liquid from her lips as she laughed. She grabbed her napkin and began dabbing herself before the deep red liquid stained her dress. They laughed together for a bit and then Michael complimented Sharon on the likeness she shared with her daughter.

Obviously, her Irish heritage was supported by very strong genes. Sheri’s copper-colored hair was wavy, and she wore it shoulder length. Her husband Kevin was tall also, with brown hair, beard and mustache that were well-trimmed. Kevin was holding a newborn. “That’s Jimmy,” pointed out Sharon, “he’s older now, since this picture was taken soon after he was born.”

Ed Junior was 30. At the time he was dating a lovely African American girl, named Bianca. Sharon said they were married now and were working on starting a family.

Michael looked at Ed in the picture, as he had never met him. He was square-shoulder and had a burly build. He was shorter than Sharon but had excellent posture and presence. He smiled, but there was a quizzical and lost look to his eyes. Obviously, this picture had been taken after the Alzheimer’s had begun doing its dreadful damage to his mind and spirit.

“That’s a wonderful picture,” said Michael.

Flicking hair out her eyes and sniffling, she said, “Thanks.”

The following pictures were various ones of her and Ed. They did everything together — golfing, tennis, and sailing. Sharon described several photos of trips they had made to Disneyland. It was one of Ed’s favorite places to go. Tearing up again, Sharon said, “He was a big kid at heart.”

As Michael flipped to the next one, she exclaimed, “Oh God, why did she put that one in there,” as she tried to cover the phone’s screen as he held it.

It showed Sharon wearing sunglasses, in a white bikini and sporting an alluring smile standing next to Ed, who was wearing black swim trunks and grinning from ear-to-ear. They were on the deck of a cruise ship. His arm was draped around her waist, and she was hugging him.

Michael could see why ol’ Hugh wanted her to pose for him. She was quite a sight to behold. Tall, tanned and very stacked.

She chocked up briefly, took a large drink from her glass and then breathed deeply, fanned herself with her hands and then breathed several more times. “That was the last cruise we went on,” she began and continued in a voice that suggested she was struggling to maintain control of her emotions, “That was the last time Ed was truly happy.”

She went on to describe how for weeks before that, Ed whose memory was so pinpoint, other attorneys dread facing him in court, had showed signs of fading. He saw his doctor and they did their tests. She remembered being asked to go see his doctor with him, thinking it was cancer, but being horrified when they said the ‘A-word’, especially for someone as young as he was.

“I remember what he said that day, like it was yesterday,” she said and quoted, “Sharon, it’s going to be okay. I’ve worked hard to take care of you. There are people out there a lot worse off than us, so I don’t want you worrying about me. Got it.”

“Every time I wanted to break down and cry my eyes out,” she said, “In my mind I heard him saying that to me, so I would grit my teeth and carry-on.”

Draining her wine glass, she said, “That vacation was our last hoorah. After that, I was caring for him full-time; except for when I absolutely had to leave home, I was right there beside him,” using her napkin to wipe her eyes she said, “Just like our marriage vow said, ‘In sickness and in health’.”

She fell silent for several minutes with her head down and Michael patted her hand. She then raised it and with a hand, flicked her hair from her tear-stained eyes and smiled. “I’ve gone on small family trips since he’s been gone, but nothing big like coming here for the reunion,” she said.

After a moment of silence her hand moved from the phone to Michael’s knee, below the table and gave it a squeeze. She looked at him with those amazing green eyes and said, “I’m glad I did too.”

Michael looked down and then returned her gaze. Smiling he said, “So am I.”

Michael then lifted his wine glass and said, “A toast. To Ed and ‘Becca. Dearly beloved and departed, but always alive in our hearts.”

Sharon raised her glass to his and clicked it. They both then drank deeply of the wine.

They then exchanged phone numbers. Mike showed her how to use the camera on her phone to take a picture and link it to his number. His photo was a very casual profile shot. When Michael took hers — always the model — Sharon posed herself. She set both elbows on the table and rested her head on her hands as she pleasantly smiled. As he snapped the photo, he couldn’t get over how amazing she looked.

Michael paid their bill and left a very generous tip, as they had occupied the table for most of the evening. As they walked out to the Escalade, Michael placed his hand on Sharon’s shoulder and she in turn moved closer to him and hooked her arm around his waist. As they approached the big, luxury SUV, Michael took the key fob from his pocket and asked, “Want to give it a spin on the way back to the Sheraton?”

“I don’t know,” Sharon said apprehensively, “I’ve never driven a truck before.

“It’s okay,” he replied laughing, “It’s just like a car only bigger, but I have to warn you, once you’ve driven one, you’ll never drive anything else.”

Cheekily, she stopped and placed a hand on her hip and gave it a side-sweep, bumping him with her butt while she said, “You can take my Jag from me, when you pry the wheel from my cold dead fingers,” causing another burst of laughter, as they walked across the restaurant’s parking area.

When they got to the Caddy, Michael unlocked the doors and opened the driver’s side for her. She hiked the skirt of her dress up several inches. When Michael turned and saw this before she could say it, he repeated “SUV’s and evening wear don’t go together,” as Sharon silently nodded her head with a smirk.

He put his hands on her hips and helped her up behind the wheel. He jogged around to the passenger side, as she started the engine. As he climbed in, he started to say, ‘Okay let’s get the seats adjusted’, but only got out, “Okay…,” as the sexy sight of Sharon behind the wheel with her short skirt exposing her long, tanned legs distracted him.

She saw what he was looking at and playfully scolded, “Eyes on the road, Michael not me.”

“No problem,” he said and silently thanked God they weren’t riding in a convertible. They would likely have caused several long-haul truckers to have accidents, driving back to the hotel.

He helped her adjust her seat and she found the control for the moon roof and opened it for the drive back. It was a crisp fall night and the breeze felt nice as they drove. “This thing’s got some power,” she said and added a little more gas. As their speed picked-up, Michael could see Sharon’s nipples were hardening under the fabric of the dress.

“What do you think now,” he asked, smiling.

Keeping her left hand on the wheel, she rested her right arm on the center console and sat back in the seat. “This is nice. I think I could get used to it.”

Michael laughed and said, “Just don’t get us pulled over.”

She glanced over at him and said, “Hey, I’ve been curious about the ranch. Tell me about it.”

On the drive back to the Sheraton, he shared that the ranch and ‘Becca’s Place was about one-hour outside of Boise. It had a 5,300 square-foot, log cabin-style main house and a 2,500 square foot guest villa that was also cabin style. The camp facilities were nearby and could accommodate 200 kids at a time. The ranch boarded animals of all kinds including horses, cattle, chickens and even 10 bison. A mated pair of eagles that ‘Becca had named Zeus and Athena had a nest along the Rouge River, which bisected the property.

“Real eagles… bald eagles,” Sharon exclaimed.

Shaking his head in the affirmative, she followed with, “Wow!”

As they approached the Sheraton, they could see numerous sets of red-blue flashers and red flashing strobes. Something big had happened that had resulted in the police and fire department responding. “What the hell happened,” Sharon asked.

“I don’t know Michael responded, but it looks like half of the Cloverville police force is here and a couple of emergency response vehicles.”

They glanced at each other and said, “Obliviots,” in stereo, which resulted in another burst of laughter, as they pulled into the parking lot.

Michael advised, “We might want to pull around back. It looks like they have the main entrance blocked.”

There was a large crowd of people around the doors and the police were blocking the entrance. Emergency medical techs pushed the doors open and wheeled a woman out on a gurney, but at their distance and the crowd they couldn’t tell who.

As they slowly drove past the crowd it appeared that Sharon recognized someone and stopped. Lowering the window, she hailed, “Tommy! Tommy Zimmerman,” and waved her hand outside the window.

Michael then saw who it was, the guy who had been feeling her up, while he had danced with her. As he drew closer to the car, all Michael could see was the top of his balding head. The noise and commotion of the crowd made it hard to hear. Sharon shouted, “What’s going on?”

Tommy responded in a slurred voice, “Hi Sharon. Wow! Nice wheels.”

Sharon repeated her question and Tommy replied, “Where did you go? I was hoping for another dance. Boy, you missed the excitement! Steve Thompson got really drunk and went off on Tracy Smith. Beat the livin’ shit out of her.”

“Oh God,” Sharon exclaimed.

“Yeah,” said Tommy have trouble keeping his balance, “It took like ten guys to drag him off her. The police cleared the place.”

After a brief pause, he asked, “Hey can I have your number?”

Sharon glanced at Michael and then looked down to Tommy smiling sweetly and said, “Sure. Its 442-377-3323.”

Michael could hear Tommy repeating it numerous times.

As she began to slowly pull forward, she waved and said, “Bye, Tommy.”

Michael had a quizzical look on his face as the window rolled up and had insulated them from the noise outside. “What number was that you gave him,” he asked.

Sharon smiled and brilliantly blinked her eyes several times and said, “When I moved in with my uncle and aunt, Uncle Paul told me that when I started dating and I met a guy I didn’t like, but didn’t want to be rude, to give him that number.”

“Who’s number is it,” asked Michael.

Sharon shrugged her shoulders and said, “I don’t know. It’s my area code and spells DRP DEAD — drop dead.”

Michael wagged a finger at her and said, “You’re the clever minx, aren’t you?”

Putting a hand on her chest and pantomiming a shocked look, she exclaimed, “Well, I didn’t want to be rude, right,” causing them both to laugh again.

They found an empty spot near the rear entrance to the hotel. Parking, she turned off the SUV and gave the keys to Michael. Flashing that lovely smile again, she said, “I think I might be giving up my jag… maybe.”

Michael raised his hands in mock praise and said, “Hallelujah, another convert,” causing yet another outburst of laughter.

Michael got out and jogged around to the driver’s side. He opened the door and helped to properly extract Sharon from the vehicle. Once on the pavement she wiggled her hips and used her hands to smooth her dress. Michael took her hand and they walked side-by-side to the door, where he used his key card to open the door for her.

They avoided the lobby by using the stairs to the second floor and then went to the elevator. Sharon told him her room was on the 15^th floor then boarded it. As they rode up, Sharon commented on how a not-so nice evening had become amazing. Michael walked her to her door and there she put her arms around his neck and to his surprise and said, Thanks for the wonderful evening,” and punctuated it with a kiss.

Michael put his arms around her waist and held the kiss, allowing their tongues to parry. Sharon parted the embrace with a sweet smack and asked if they could have breakfast together in the morning. He loved the idea and asked if 9:00 am would be too early. “Let’s make it 10, if that’s okay,” said Sharon, opening her door.

Michael turned back toward the elevator as he said, “Sweet dreams.”

As he rode the elevator down six floors, he was amazed at how nice the evening had turned-out. He had been apprehensive about what the evening had held and as he opened the door to his room, he silently said thanks to ‘Becca for suggesting he come. At that, he fought a lump of emotion that started to form in his throat as he closed the door. He set his phone and wallet on the nightstand and then opened his suitcase and got out his night clothes. He undressed and folded his clothes. He stripped off his underwear and donned a pair of light grey sweatpants. Padding into the bathroom in his bare feet, he quickly washed his face and brushed his teeth.

After wiping his face with a towel, he walked into the room and put on a yellow Under-Armor tee-shirt with NAVY on the left breast and turned his laptop on, to check some email before turning-in for the night. As he was scanning Outlook, he heard his phone ring and vibrate. He got up from the desk and walked over to the nightstand, as the phone rang again.

Picking it up he saw that Sharon was calling him. As he answered the call, he thought he would hear her sweet voice thank him again for the wonderful evening.

She sounded very distraught and frightened. “Michael, can you come to my room,” she asked in a quavering voice, “I’m afraid to be alone.”

‘Oh my God’, he thought. “Sharon are you okay,” he asked.

She told him she was having a panic attack and stammered saying, “Sheri won’t let me call her, ’cause I’ve already used my lifeline call,” and finished by pleading, “Can you please come and sit with me for a while?”

“Oh God… sure,” he said, “I’m on my way.”

“Thank you,” she said through tears and hung-up.

Quickly he put on a pair of leather sandals, grabbed his key card and phone, and ran out the door. Thinking it was an emergency, he jogged to the stairs and took them two at a time, to the 15^th floor.

Sharon was waiting at the door for him, and she opened it as he had approached.

She was dressed in a black silk robe that was tied at the waist and highlighted her figure. Her appearance was completely different from almost one-hour before.

Panting Michael said, “What’s wrong, Sharon? God, you look terrible.”

“I…, I don’t… w-w-ant to be… alone,” she cried and hugged him as he got to the door.

They came into her room, and he saw it was almost the same layout as his. Her suitcase was on a stand in the closet, and he noticed the dress she had been wearing was on a hangar.

He sat her down on the bed and went to the bathroom and got her a glass of cold water. Walking back into the bedroom, he gave her the drink which accepted and sipped. Sitting down next to her, he put his hand on her shoulder and she leaned into him. She was shaking like a leaf. He patted her back and rubbed it, trying to help her calm down.

“I have these… panic attacks,” said Sharon as she dropped her head in embarrassment, “I’ve had them since Ed was going downhill with his Alzheimer’s.” She continued by mournfully wailed, “I haven’t had a full night’s since in… I don’t know how long. I know there’s medicine that will help, but I don’t want to hooked on that garbage!”

She leaned into him and sobbed uncontrollably.

“Oh my God,” said Michael, “I’m so sorry.”

After the tears passed, she sat up, wiping at her eyes and face. Her cheeks red.

“I had one earlier today and used the breathing trick Sheri taught me to get over it, but…,” she began and fell silent.

After several minutes she said, “I’ve never talked to anyone so much about Ed and me, since he passed,” looking up at Michael with those sad, green eyes she continued, “I couldn’t calm down. Thanks for coming.”

Choking back tears of his own, Michael said huskily, “No problem.”

Sharon then asked a question that caught him completely off-guard, “How do you deal with ‘Becca’s death?”

He didn’t know how to respond. He had completely immersed himself in the charity meant to keep her memory alive. If he stopped long enough to give it more than a passing thought, he knew the weight would likely crush him.

Sharon being extremely perceptive said, “You’re like me. You haven’t, have you.”

“You said one thing earlier that REALLY hit home,” he said and continued, “You said, Ed told you, ‘There are people out there a lot worse off than us, so I don’t want you worrying about me.'”

“I think we’ve both locked ourselves in a prison, denying what needs to be done,” he said, as his voice began to crack and with tears now streaming down his cheeks said, “mourn our losses.”

She hugged him again, this time very tightly and gave a mournful wail and sobbed. Michael fell back onto the bed, and she lay on top of him. They both wept deeply for their spouses.

As she wept, Sharon cried, “I’m… so angry… right now! I’m pissed-off at fucking cancer and fucking Alzheimer’s.”

As she cried, she pounded his chest with both hands and buried her face in the crook of his neck. He could feel her hot tears soaking through the fabric of the tee shirt. Although her blows weren’t painful, Michael could tell she had some strength. She was pounding the years of frustration she had suffered out.

Michael whispered, That’s… right. Get… it… out,” as he too cried — like he should have years ago.

As he did so, he felt a weight slowly being lifted from his heart. One he didn’t realize he had been carrying for so long. Afterwards they laid there just embracing and comforting each other.

Sharon stirred first. She lifted her head from Michael’s chest. Although her cheeks were tear-streaked, he could tell her countenance was different. He green eyes had lost that sense of sadness. She kissed him with a smack of their lips and said, “Thanks for letting me cry on you and for being my punching bag.” Rubbing at his chest, she said, “I hope I didn’t hurt you,” and, “I’ll pay your laundry bill,” as she rubbed the numerous tear stains.

Looking at her, he smiled and said, “I should be thanking you, for helping me grieve. I didn’t realize I had been ignoring what I needed to do, until you confronted me. Thank you,” he said and kissed her.

Michael pushed himself up onto his elbows as Sharon sat up. When she did, he noticed her robe had parted and most of her upper anatomy was exposed. The knot having worked its way loose as they had been laying together.

Michael lowered his eyes and said, “Ah, you might want to fix your robe.”

Sharon laughed and took his chin in her hands and lifted it to meet her gaze. When their eyes met, Michael again thought just how amazing they were.

“It’s okay Michael, I don’t mind,” adding in a soft, playful voice, “In fact, I want you to look at me and enjoy my body. My daughter was right. I need to throw away the sack cloth and ashes of the past and live again.”

What she said next convicted him, “I don’t think Rebecca would want you to suffer for ten-years the way you have, would she?”

With a husky voice he said, “No.”

With a pleasant smile, Sharon took her hands and pushed down the lapels of her robe and exposed her naked upper body. He skin was nicely tanned, and bikini lines were clearly outlined the circumference of her breasts, which were full and the nipples, soft and swollen. Her stomach although not completely flat was well-toned and supple. As he sat-up, Sharon took his hands in hers and commented on how strong they were and then placed them on her breasts. She then squeezed them compressing his hands into the warm flesh of her amazing anatomy. As he kneaded them gently, she smiled at him and said, “That feels nice,” and then leaned in for another kiss, this time stabbing her tongue deeply into his mouth.

At the same time, she let her hands drop to his thighs and slid them toward his crotch, where they brushed across his penis, under the fabric of the sweatpants. Michael moaned and dropped her breasts and broke the kiss to pant, “Hold on Popeye, your Olive Oil isn’t ready, just yet.”

Sharon caught completely off-guard, exclaimed, “What?”

Catching his breath Michael said, “That’s something ‘Becca would say every time I came home from a deployment.” He went on to describe how hot she always looked on the pier, as the ship docked. The first time it had happened was soon after they were married. When they got to their home, Michael wanted to ravage her right in the living room. “‘Becca would say, ‘Slow down, Popeye’, referring to the cartoon character,” he said and explained that she referred to herself as Olive Oil in a sexy, double entendre,” explaining she wasn’t quite ready to get it on, just yet.”

He went on to say it was their inside joke, as they always dressed as the cartoon couple for masquerades and at Halloween and finished by saying, “She was really into foreplay and loved it when I fondled her.”

“That is so sweet,” said Sharon, continuing with, “My Ed was all about business. All of our sex was hot and to the point.”

Sharon picked up one of Michael’s hands and placed it on a breast again and seductively looking at him asked, “Can you teach me some of Rebecca’s foreplay tricks?”

Michael cleared his throat at her forthrightness and then said that one of her favorite things to do was begin lovemaking by taking a shower together. “We’d use the opportunity of bathing each other to caress and fondle,” he said in a voice quivering with the excitement to come.

“That sounds wonderful,” said Sharon sliding off the bed. Standing in front of Michael she let the robe drop to the floor and he drank in the full beauty of her nakedness. She turned and walked toward the bathroom. Michael followed the motion of her elegant figure and sweetly swaying hips, accented by the tan lines she bore. He could feel himself getting very aroused.

She stopped at the door and looked over her shoulder and said seductively, “I’ll warm up the shower while you get underdressed,” and stepped into the bathroom after turning on the light.

He stood and with quivering hands stripped out of his clothes, as he heard the shower begin running. When he got to the door to the bathroom, he saw Sharon standing in the shower with water cascading down her body. Turning she saw he was erect and opened the door to invite him in, with a smile.

He stepped into the shower, and they enfolded each other in their arms.

…..

He loved this type of morning. A clear blue sky that afforded the opportunity to see for miles and miles. He was standing above the Rogue River, near an expanse of old growth Ponderosa Pine. In the distance, he could see the main house and farther in the distance the lodge for the kids of ‘Becca’s Place. Of the many sites he had scouted for camping on the ranch, this was his favorite. A fire was crackling in the fire pit and a blue enameled coffee pot steamed on the grate of the fire pit. The coffee was piping hot and strong, just the way he liked it. There was nothing better than that first cup of coffee, when you were camping. Looking around and smiling, he knew this particular spot was one of ‘Becca’s favorites as well.

Nearby was his tried and true, green, and khaki Columbia tent. The two-man backpacking shelter had been everywhere on the property. He was beginning to hear stirring coming from within. He smiled and walked over and took a set of cups from his backpack, brought them over to the fire and crouched by the fire ring. As he poured a cup of hot coffee, the flap of the tent was thrown back.

He turned to see Sharon crawling from the tent. She was naked except for his yellow Under Armor Navy tee. She exited the small tent and stood. She used the front of the tent for support as she put her feet into sandals and the thread her arms through the sleeves and pulled it down over her lovely torso. The slight chill in the air had made her nipples rock hard and they tented the front of the tee at her chest.

She looked around blearily and put her hands on her shapely hips, as she leaned left and right to stretch a few kinks out of her back. She saw him by the fire and said with a sleepy smile, “Good morning.”

He smiled and poured coffee into a tin cup and stood. He carried the coffee over to her. He presented the handle to her and warned, “Careful it’s a little hot.”

She took accepted the cup and stood on her tip toes and kissed him. She took a sip and it sounded like she had reached orgasm, “Oh God,” she moaned, “This is the best coffee ever!”

She kissed him again and then excused herself saying she needed to pee. As she walked off into the trees to the latrine, he had dug for them the previous evening, he admired the view of her gluts swaying under the hem of the shirt. “Nice view,” he called.

At the tree line she stopped and with her free hand raised the hem of the shirt to fully expose her butt and wiggled it at him before heading into cover to do her business.

Michael shook his head and laughed out loud. ‘God’, he thought, ‘She is some woman’.

He was really impressed with how she had handled being in the wilderness. She was a quick study on the basics. In just a few days she had learned to ride a horse in less than an hour, could fly fish and clean her catch, could set-up a camp site and wasn’t scared at every sound in the night. He quietly shook his head amazed at how this ‘city girl’ had taken to the frontier.

A few minutes later she returned and the view of her breasts jiggling unencumbered increased the level of excitement he was experiencing. As she approached, he stood to greet her. She stopped a few feet from him and exclaimed, “My goodness,” she exclaimed coyly, “Someone certainly is happy to see me.”

He glanced down and saw that the shorts he was wearing was tented at the crotch.

“Fortunately, we’re the only ones out here,” he said dead pan.

“You react that way to all the girls you bring camping,” she asked stepping closer and flicking the tip with her fingers and looking up into his eyes.

“Only the ones wearing just a tee shirt,” he said with a smirk and then asked, “More coffee.”

She rolled her eyes and blurted, “Typical sailor.”

He poured her another cup of the steaming brew and she sipped at it as she looked around them amazed at how beautiful this area was. Just then there was a high-pitched screech over their heads. Glancing up she saw two eagles flying high overhead, The whiteness of their feathers stood in contrast to the dawn sky.

“Oh… my… God,” she exclaimed.

Michael finished his cup of coffee and looked up, “That’s Zeus and Athena,” he said, pointing to each.

“They’re magnificent,” she said.

Michael set his cup down on a rock and moved in behind her. Sharon leaned into him as he wrapped his left arm around her to cup a breast with his hand, while his right hand slid down below her navel and played with the tuft of her pubic hair. As he nuzzled the nape of her neck with his lips he said huskily, “You’re magnificent.”

“Hmm,” Sharon moaned and slid his right hand lower to finger her clit, “That feels so good.”

He closed his eyes to fully enjoy this passionate private moment.

…..

“Huh,” he exclaimed as he opened his eyes. For a moment he was completely disoriented. He was naked and lying next to Sharon in the bed of her darkened hotel room. His right arm was wrapped around her waist and his hand was between her legs. It felt slightly moist, as the realization of the fact he was stimulating her set in.

Her auburn hair brushed his face as she turned to look over her shoulder at him. She smiled and said, “Good morning, sunshine! That feels really good.”

Coming fully awake with a yawn, Michael asked, “How did you sleep,” and kissed her shoulder, as he squeezed her tight.

Rolling 180-degrees Sharon turned to face him and snuggling close said, “I slept fabulously,” she almost shouted. Beaming an amazing smile in the low light she said, “It felt nice to wake up to someone playing with me, but we need to push the pause button. I’ve got to pee.”

Michael obliged and Sharon threw back the covers, swung her legs off the bed and stood. “Holy shit,” she immediately exclaimed, “Its freezing in here.” Michael was somewhat taken aback at her swearing but remembered what happened the previous evening when she had been wronged. He smiled at this fiery streak in her.

Sharon bouncing up and down provocatively to warm-up looked at him and said in mock anger, “What are you smirking at, mister.”

“I’m just enjoying the view,” and instructed,” Go use the head before you have an accident and then I’ll go.”

She wrapped her arms around herself briskly rubbed them with her hands to get warmer as trotted hurried into the bathroom and soon Michael heard a squeal.

Michael sat up and asked, “Sharon are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine,” came the annoyed response, “The toilet seat is ice-freaking-cold, and we left our towels on the floor and I stepped on them. I’m okay,” and then she added, “You stay right where you’re at!”

Soon he heard the toilet flush, and she came joggling back into the room. The action made her unhindered breasts bounce and sway in a very alluring motion. When she got to the bed, she almost leaped through the air. Landing next to him, she threw the covers over them and buried herself next to him, stealing as much warmth as she could.

“Jesus,” Michael exclaimed as she wiggled her butt into his lap. Although he had a high tolerance to cold, the shock of the contact with her cold skin had been alarming.

“Oooh,” she moaned in delight, “You’re NICE and warm,” punctuating the statement by rubbing her cold feet up and down his legs.

“Would you like me to call the front desk,” Michael asked, “Likely, it’s a problem with the thermostat.”

“No,” she replied, “I’m leaving this afternoon anyway to fly back to Palm Desert.”

After she was warmed, Michael excused himself in the face of her playful pout about not keeping her warm. As he padded into the bathroom, Sharon drank in the image of his strong physique in the darkness. He was well-muscled and trim, with a broad chest, slim hips and powerful legs and arms. Most of his skin was creamy pale and his arms neck and face were deeply tanned. She let her mind drift briefly back to the previous night. After they had finished toweling off from their shower, he had easily swept her off her feet in his arms and carried her to the bed.

Michael turned on the light and did his business. “Don’t piss all over the place,” came Sharon’s mischievous voice from the bedroom, “All men are alike, when it comes to hitting the target.”

At that Michael declared, “Ms. Marsh! I’ll have you know that as a US Navy Surface Warfare Officer, I ALWAYS hit my targets.” He shook his penis and wiped his hands on a towel and returned to the bedroom, leaving the light on.

As he walked back into the bedroom, Sharon stared in wonder at his appearance in the low light. Her eyes took in that muscular chest, down the faint six-pack abs to the center of her attention. ‘My goodness’, she thought, ‘He is very well-endowed’. Even flaccid, his penis was longer than the span of her hand in length. It was circumcised and swung back and forth with each step he took, in front of the large sack of his scrotum,

Michael climbed back into bed and Sharon snuggled next to him and they lay there in silence for several minutes. After that pause Michael slipped a hand around her and cupped a breast. Sharon looked over her shoulder at him and asked, “Would it be okay to use your shower?”

“Absolutely,” he answered and shared, “I was going to offer it.” He paused and then said after kissing her shoulders, “Sharon, what do you think of the idea of me flying…,”

Before he could finish, she gleefully shouted, “Absolutely,” and finished by saying, “I’d love for you to come to Palm Desert for a few days.”

She rotated to face him again and, in the low light, saw the joyful expression on his face. She then told him he could stay at her place, as she had room.

“I’d love to meet your family,” he asked.

Her smiled broadened and she again said, “Absolutely,” and punctuated it with another long and passionate kiss.

As their kiss parted, she asked, “Have you ever been to Disneyland?”

To which he replied, “No. Why?”

“Well,” she explained, “After I get back to P.D., Sheri and I are taking Jimmy to see Mickey and the gang. It would be wonderful if you could come.”

Looking at her skeptically he said, “Are you sure? I won’t be horning-in on some mother-daughter/grand-mom/grandson bonding time?”

“It will be absolutely fine,” said Sharon beaming. “Hell, they’ll be in their room, and we’ll be in ours,” she finished with a giggle.

“Well,” he said reaching over her, he turned on the light and picked-up his phone on her nightstand, “Let me call the airlines and I’ll see if there’s room on your flight and then I’ll call and make the changes to mine.”

The soft lighting illuminated them and had the effect of making Sharon’s auburn hair shimmer and the jade-green of her eyes become even more alluring. He lay back against the pillows and she told him the name of her carrier and the flight number. As he dialed the number, Sharon laid her head on his chest and toyed with his pubic hair. As he spoke with the airline, she closed her eyes and listened to his voice. She realized she loved its baritone tenor. It was comforting, commanding and strong. She imagined he must have been an amazing officer to work for. It was then that she made the decision she been pondering, since the previous evening.

After several minutes of speaking with three different customer service people, he ended the call. He then called his airline and cancelled his flight to Boise. After a few minutes he set the phone down with a smile. “I’m all set,’ he said.

She looked up at him and he could see her eyes were alight with desire. “We might not be able to sit together, but at least we’re on the same flight,” he said and leaned over to kiss her.

Afterwards, Sharon swung a leg over him, to straddle his waist and settled onto his chest. “That’s perfect,” she said and finished with, “I might even get the chance to kick your ass in a few rounds of golf,” as they laughed and then fell silent, just enjoying the presence of the other.

Michael slid his hands down her back and took the cheeks of her butt in his hands and gently squeezed them.

“Hmm,” Sharon moaned, closing her eyes, and enjoying the sensation of the massage. “Michael, you have amazing hands,” she said huskily as she gazed at him with those amazing green eyes and then leaned into kiss him, yet again.

Their tongues darted in and out of each other’s mouths, as the passionate moment endured for several minutes.

When their lips parted with a loud smack, Michael exclaimed, “Oh, my God! Sharon, you are some kisser. Wow!”

She smiled sweetly and kissed him all over his face. Then with a wink, she said, “I’ll be right back.”

She kissed his neck, across his shoulders and then down his chest, she slid down his body and her head disappeared beneath the bed covers. When she reached his pectorals, she veered to each side in turn to suck and nibble on his nipples. Michael laid there with his eyes closed, enjoying the experience. Her body brushed lightly against the shaft of his penis, and it began to stiffen again, with the stimulation.

As she began kissing her way back up, he opened his eyes and looked down as her tussled auburn-crowned head reappeared. When their eyes met, she smiled again and asked, “How did that feel?”

“That was amazing,” he said. Brushing a lock of red hair from her eyes he added, “You learn fast.”

She beamed and rested her chin on his chest and said sweetly, “Michael, you’re such an incredible man.”

She turned and pillowed her head on his chest for a moment and then lifted it again, to look at him and said softly, “You know, I’ve been thinking about that offer from last night.”

With his hands he began to lightly rub her shoulders and responded with a pleasant smile, “Really,” and asked, “What did you decide?”

She briefly bit her lower lip and said, “Instead of helping you find someone for the position. I’d like to interview for it.”

Michael pondered her decision briefly, rubbing his chin and then said, “Sure,” and inquired, “When would like to do that?”

Lifting herself to rub her breasts against the hair of his chest and her abdomen against his penis, she smiled provocatively and said, “Well, there’s no time like the present.”

Catching her meaning, Michael exclaimed, “Ah! I see!”

He cleared his throat theatrically and said, “Well, Ms. Marsh,” in an official tone. “Thank you for inquiring about the position of Programs Coordinator for ‘Becca’s Place.” Sharon stifled a giggle with a hand while he continued, “I’m Michael Richards, the organization’s Director,” taking his right hand from her butt, he offered it to her to shake, which she did laughing out loud.

He playfully swatted her left cheek with his opposite hand, and she exclaimed, “Hey! What was that for.”

Michael took on a mock stern countenance and corrected her, saying, “Now, Ms. Marsh. We do need to behave ourselves with a small degree of decorum,” and continued by saying, “Now, I’m sure you’ll do very well on this interview, but I need to inform you that this is merely an informal conversation. The Board of Directors will want to conduct a more formal version, soon.”

He continued by saying as he massaged her butt, “This interview will consist of answering a few entendre-laced questions and that will be followed by a practical exam to determine your compatibility, as we’ll be working quite closely together.”

At the mention of the interview style, Sharon flashed a sexy smile and whispered seductively, “Just so you know, double-entendres make me very horny!”

Michael raised his eyebrows and exclaimed, “Really! We’ll have to note that in your records.”

Continuing he said, “This interview should last about an hour…”

To which Sharon interrupted, “Or two or three. You know, we have until 5 pm for the flight to P.D.,” to which Michael swatted her again, to her protest.

“Please, no interruptions, Ms. Marsh,” corrected Michael and continued with, “Since this interview is as informal as you can get, you can also be as frank as you like.”

“Really,” Sharon said smiling wickedly.

“Yes, Ms. Marsh,” said Michael and finishing his introduction said, “I’m a sailor and I’ve heard it all.”

Smirking, Sharon said, “You mean I can say words like fuck. As in, ‘I need you to fuck me with that big dick of yours, ’cause I’m so horny?'”

“Why yes,” said Michael, smiling and pinching her ass, to her laughing protest.

Sharon climbed off him and snuggled close to his side. As she shifted her position, he kept his hand in contact with her seat, enjoying the feel of her firm gluts. Sharon gave an approving coo, saying, “That’s much better,” liking the feel of his strong hand on her ass. It would slide from cheek to cheek and occasionally slip between the lobes and brush the mound of her vagina.

After this romantic pause, Michael looked over at her and asked, “Why do you want this position, Ms. Marsh?”

Smiling pleasantly while she scratched his chest lightly with her fingernails, Sharon said, “For a while I’ve been wanting a change of pace,” and letting her hand glide down to his abdomen, continued with, “A friend mentioned this position and I thought everything about it would be fabulous.”

“Nice response,” said Michael with a warm smile.

Looking at him with those amazing eyes of hers, Sharon asked, “Has anyone ever told you, you have a very commanding voice,” and finished it by adding, “I find that very sexy in a director.”

Michael grinned and said, “Why thank you,” and leaning over, kissed her. Their tongues briefly dueling.

Breaking it with a smack and with his right hand he took one of her breasts in his hand and with the thumb began brushing it across the nipple, Michael said, “Let’s continue with the interview, shall we,” and asked, “Ms. Marsh, what are you passionate about?”

“Ooh, that’s a good one,” exclaimed Sharon. She looked up to the ceiling and thought for a bit. A wicked smile crossed her lips and then looking back at him said sweetly, “I’m passionate about my family, friend and the kids under my care. I’m a product of the foster care system, so I know what many of these kids have gone through. If I’m selected as the Program Coordinator for ‘Becca’s Place, I will treat these kids like my kids.”

As she said this her hand moved from his abdomen and with a finger began tracing circles around his nipples and said matter-of-factly, “Since you said I can speak frankly, if anyone were to mess with them, a fucking, angry mother grizzly would seem like the fairy godmother, by comparison,” and batted her eyes a few times.

“Good answer,” Michael said and in conspiratorial aside motion said, “Don’t say that part to the board, if they ask you that,” causing both to laugh.

“My God,” exclaimed Michael gazing at her amazed and observed, “You’re fiery, aren’t you?”

“Ah, hello,” said Sharon, taking a hand from under the covers to point at her hair and exclaimed, “I’m a redhead AND I’m Irish!”

Michael smiled as she got serious and said, “I really mean it. I know what some of these kids have gone through and I love each one of them, like I do my own kids and now a grandchild as well.”

As she said this Michael made a connection to when they were in high school. Sharon had worn used and mis-matched clothing, making her the target of a lot of ridicule. He had gotten fed up with it when Steve Thompson had threatened her.

Snapping himself back to the present, Michael asked, “What experience do you bring to this position,” as he shifted his hand down to her lower abdomen and began to finger the tuft of pubic hair. She placed her hand on his and guided it a little lower to her clit. Sharon briefly closed her eyes and moaned, as a wave of warm pleasure swept through her being.

Opening them, she looked at Michael with a smile and said, “I have several years’ experience running non-profits, as well as serving on numerous boards of directors. Two of which I’m the chairperson.”

Shifting from the small button of flesh, Michael’s fingers traced along the lips of her womanhood, and he felt the moisture, as the inner lips of her labia were beginning to blossom at the stimulation. He then asked, “Do you have experience in the outdoors?”

Leaning forward to kiss him deeply, Sharon broke the embrace and said, “None, but I have a very good friend who can teach me the ropes.”

Michael shook his head with a broad smile and exclaimed, “Oh! Really.”

Nodding emphatically, Sharon rubbed his chest with the nails of one of her hands as he slipped a finger into her, causing her to coo again.

“What assets do you bring to this position, Ms. Marsh,” he asked, as her breathing started to increase.

Winking at him and saying, “You’ll really like this one,” Sharon again straddled him, giving his exploring fingers better access to her. She then leaned forward and placed her hands on the headboard to support herself, she then allowed her breasts to dangle before his face and said lustily, “Besides being quite wealthy, I have a couple of rather large assets that I think will interest you.”

Michael withdrew his finger from her and took a breast in each hand, kneading the soft, ample, and firm flesh. His took a nipple into his mouth and sucked it. Running his tongue around the dark brown areole, he then softly bit the hard nipple, causing her to moan again in pleasure. He buried his face in her cleavage and then switched to the other breast.

After several minutes of this stimulation, he looked up into her eyes and said with a smile, “You’re right, Ms. Marsh. Those are quite considerable assets.”

She chuckled wickedly and with her right hand, traced it down his chest and along the ripples of his abdomen. She briefly felt around until she found the head of his penis and with her index finger, she traced its length. It began to pulse and stiffen. She grasped it gently and began stroking it. While she did this, she said seductively, “Mr. Director, it appears your organization has some considerable assets as well.”

Michael cleared his throat, to battle the wave of pleasure he felt at this stimulation. “Why, yes we do,” he said with a smile and continued with, “And before we get to the compatibility portion of the interview, do you have any questions or special requests?”

She slid off him and laid beside him and Michael felt the heat of passion radiating from her. They turned and faced each other as she continued to stroke him sweetly and slowly. “Mr. Richards,” she began, “I just wanted to say you’re the reason why I came to this reunion.”

She went onto detail how she clearly remembered the brave action he performed on her behalf in high school and what it meant to her. She stopped stroking him and placed her hand on his butt. “I had hoped that this experience would help me deal with the gaping hole that has existed in my spirit, since Ed passed,” and looking at him with those amazing jade green eyes, she smiled and said huskily, “And it has.”

Pulling him close and hugging him, she purred, “More than I could have ever imagined.” Looking directly into his eyes, she continued by saying, “You did that. You helped me feel alive again.”

She briefly teared-up as she stated, “I loved my Ed with all my heart. We had fire, but we lacked passion. Before last night I had never experienced that, but when you sat on the bench in the shower, hooked my leg over your shoulder to pleasure me…” And paused briefly to find the words, then said, “It was fantastic!”

Lightly kissing his lips, she gazed at him longingly and whispered softly, “Before we make love, would you please use your tongue on me, again?”

“Absolutely,” he said huskily and instructed, “Lay back and just enjoy it.”

She positioned herself on her back and Michael kissed his way down the front of her anatomy. As his head dipped below the covers into the darkness, he smelled the scent of their combined musk and felt the warmth their bodies had produced. Sharon was beginning to sweat, and each kiss tasted savory. He paused at her breasts and kissed, nibbled, and sucked them. While he did this, he traced a hand down to her crotch and began playing with her clit. He felt the rate of her breathing begin to increase. Sharon’s hands found his head and with her fingernails, began massaging his scalp, as he heard her moan.

He progressed lower and stopping at her navel, where he slid his tongue into it and around it’s periphery.

As Michael slowly progressed to his destination, Sharon spread her well-toned legs to accommodate him. Her eyes were closed, as she was enjoying the fire that was slowly building within her lower abdomen and she wanted to revel in every second of the experience.

Michael knew he was nearing his goal, when he felt the tuft of her pubic hair tickle his chin. With his teeth his nipped at the soft skin of her tummy and pubis. He then switched to kissing and gently licking with the tip of his tongue. At that Sharon let out a slightly louder moan.

He veered off course slightly to enhance the sensation she was feeling. He avoided her nether regions and then began kissing down one inner thigh to the knee and then back up. Tracing a path with his lips, he let them brush the nub of her clit and then proceeded down the other leg. This sent waves of electric pleasure through Sharon’s body. As he kissed her, she felt the stubble of his beard rub again and it excited her even more.

Being trapped under the covers, Michael began sweating himself, as he too was becoming excited. He knew enough about female anatomy to know where he was and as he explored with his tongue, he found the waiting lips of Sharon’s vulva. They were warm, swollen, and wet with her juices. The lips of her inner labia had fully blossomed, and he traced his tongue along their length.

Sharon groaned with pleasure and held his head in place. Before inserting his tongue into her sweet depths, he concentrated on her clit for a few minutes, which caused her body to quake and a soft moans escaped her lips as she bit them in delight. After that he stiffened his tongue and slid it in and out her for several minutes. He set a sweet rhythm of stab, wiggle, pull out and lick. Slowly increasing the intensity.

Even with being out of regular lovemaking practice, Michael knew the coos and moans he heard, told him the anticipation was building within Sharon. The smell of her excitement was making it hard to stop and was intoxicating him as well. The smells, the heat and the passion began to almost consume him. He felt his body begin to quiver in the anticipation of what was soon to come.

Learning the fine art of oral stimulation was one of the favorite things ‘Becca had taught him. She wanted to ensure she was well-lubricated to accommodate him. Sharon tasted so good, and it brought back memories of him enjoying ‘Becca’s sweet treasures. As he licked and sucked, he moaned that he so enjoyed at how she tasted.

Just then Sharon pulled off the cover from his head. He half expected a cloud of steam to rise and to see her looking at him with smoke coming out of her ears. He looked up from her and saw that she was flush. Her cheeks were rosy, and her skin sheened with perspiration. Looking at her Michael was reminded of ‘Becca during their lovemaking. At a certain point in their foreplay, she would take command of the moment and say to him, “I need you now,” and he knew that she was ready to accept him.

She may have been petite, but she had taught him just how to excite her, so that when the time came, she was fully able to accept all of him.

Sharon patted his cheek and asked, “Ground control to Captain Richards, are you there?”

Blinking, he pushed up from her and asked, “Is something wrong? Were you not enjoying it?”

Sharon smiled and said, “You were getting my rocks OFF, but I think you were getting a wee bit carried away.”

He sat in a pool of bed coverings and Sharon moved to straddle him, draping her arms over his shoulders. Even with the room cool, her body glistened with sweat. She looked him in the eyes and asked, “Honey, did you know you were calling me ‘Becca?”

Michael jumped as if he had been poked by a cattle prod. He was stunned and at this realization he dropped his head and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I…,” and his voice just trailed off into silence, as he wept.

With her hand under his chin, she lifted his head, so they could see eye-to-eye. With the curled index finger of her other hands, she wiped his tears and said softly, “It’s okay.”

She then embraced him and hugged him more tightly than she ever had before. She embraced him in silence for several minutes and then relaxed her hold.

Looking at him again she said, “I noticed that you had this faraway look on your face last night as well, when you swept me off my feet and carried me her to the bed to make love.”

After a pause, she asked, “Were you fantasizing about ‘Becca?”

He dropped his head again and then shook it in the affirmative and whispered, “Can you forgive me?”

“Oh God,” exclaimed Sharon, “What is there to forgive! You’re human. You’ve been without intimate contact with the one you loved for nearly ten-years.”

She took a breath and said, “I feel honored that you would consider me her equal,” and lifting his head again she said, “But I’m not her. I can never be her,” then said, “And I won’t compete with her, ’cause that’s not fair to either of us.”

Tears welled in his eyes and Sharon brought his head to her shoulder and rubbed his back, as he finished the last steps of his mourning process. He embraced her as he cried and held her close. After several minutes he released her, heaving a sigh of relief, said with a husky voice, “Sharon, I know I’ve already said this about a million times, but you’re an amazing woman. Thank you, for what you’ve done for me.”

Sharon beamed and said, “That very nice and that deserves a big kiss.” Leaning down they kissed deeply, their tongues again dueling. As they did so, Michael dropped a hand between her legs and slipped two fingers into her. Her position was ideal for him to thrust them deeply into her, to her moaning delight.

Parting the embrace with a sweet smack, Sharon said, “For the compatibility portion of the interview, we need something that’s going to keep your mind focused, Mr. Director.”

Assuming his officious tone again, Michael replied while he fingered her, “Excellent, Ms. Marsh. This will help to demonstrate how you would overcome a potential problem.”

Sharon stepped off the bed and padded over to the dresser and picked-up her handbag. Opening it, she searched for something and exclaimed, “Bingo,” when she found it. Turning she held it out so Michael could see it and said, “This is my all-time favorite perfume. It’s called Knowing, by Estee’ Lauder,” and assuming a regal stance with one hand on her bare hip proclaimed, “Because I am, all-knowing,” to which Michal laughed uproariously.

She held the small crystal bottle up and it had a gold-colored cap and contained a honey gold colored liquid. She removed the cap and with the aerosol pump, spritzed the fragrance on her buns, her lower abdomen and then applied several liberal sprays to her breasts. As she did this, Michael immediately recognized the aroma of the perfume he had detected on her from the previous night.

Snapping the cap back of the bottle and setting it on the dresser, Sharon said, “Now I don’t normally wear this much, but I think it will help to solve the problem.”

She walked back over to the bed and turned to display that wonderful tush to Michael. Wiggling her hips, she said over her shoulder, “Mr. Richards. Breathe.”

Michal leaned toward her, and the wonderful fragrance of the perfume again began titillating his nose. He inhaled and exhaled.

“And again,” instructed Sharon, to which he complied.

“And one more time,” she instructed, to which he obeyed.

She turned and hiked a leg and set her foot next to him in a very provocative pose. Looking at him and commanded, “Come here, Mr. Director.”

As he complied, she placed a hand on his head and pushed it to her lower abdomen, with his nose almost touching her clit. She issued the same command and he willingly followed the instructions.

Tilting his head up to meet her gaze Sharon said, “Mr. Director, you follow instructions, very well,” and smiling sweetly said, “We need to do it one more time.”

She climbed on the bed and sat on her knees in front of him and motioned him closer. As he did, she reached out and taking his head in her hands, buried it between her breasts and issued the same set of instructions.

With the task completed, she pushed him away from her and asked, “Does that help focus your attention?”

Michael could only respond with, “Holy shit,” while he shook his head with his eyes wide.

Chuckling, Sharon said, “Yeah, I figured it would.”

Looking at her he asked, “That’s the only perfume you use?”

“Uh-huh,” Sharon shook her head in the affirmative as she swept a lock of red head from her eyes that had fallen there, during the demonstration.

Smiling, Michael asked, “Do you do this for all the sailors that cross your door?”

Following the playful pillow talk, she said, “Only the one that I want to fuck my brains out,” and continued by saying, “Now about that compatibility portion of the interview. I think Olive Oil is ready to play if Popeye is.”

Pulling the bed covers from his lap and peeking inside, Sharon said, “Let’s see that big boy.”

Michael rose to his knees before her, exposing his enlarged penis. It was at half-mast. When she saw it Sharon exclaimed, “That thing is freaking HUGE.”

Looking up at him she asked, “Just curious, has it always been this big?”

Michael nodded and said, “I guess I started developing faster in some areas over others when I hit puberty. I used to be very self-conscious about it then and the boys in my gym class picked up on it. Steve Thompson and his ilk started calling me, ‘Morphydite.”

Sharon shook her head and muttered, “Obliviots.”

She reached out with one hand and began gentling stroking it, while the other began fondling his scrotum and gingerly playing with his balls.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” and breaking her gaze from his stiffening penis to his face, asked, “How did ‘Becca react when she saw it?”

Placing a tender hand on Sharon’s shoulder he chuckled and said, “On our honeymoon, it scared the crap out of her, when I dropped my skivvies, my underwear.”

Thinking back on the moment he observed, “Once she was over the initial shock, she became mesmerized by it.”

He went onto share that ‘Becca was afraid she couldn’t take it on the first night, so she stroked him to climax and then, the next day they hit a drugstore to buy a bottle of lubricant to assist. After that they began to explore foreplay and she fell in love with it and found that Michael was a natural.

“You are an expert at ‘tickling a fancy’ as they say,” observed Sharon.

“Well, I’ve never given this type of oral presentation before, Mr.Director, but I’m willing to learn,” she said looking up at him with a sexy smile.

“It’s very easy,” Michael said. He moved closer to her, so his erection pointed directly into her face. It’s head almost brushing her nose. Sharon exclaimed, “Shit, that thing is big,” with eyes wide.

Smiling Michael instructed her to open her mouth and run her tongue around the head. She readily complied with her eyes closed. He then instructed her to run her lips along the length of the shaft, while the thumb she used to hold it in place stimulated the underside of the crown. All the while complimenting her on her technique.

Sitting back on her knees, she looked up at him smiling and asked, “What’s next?”

Michael instructed her to think of his penis as a tootsie roll pop, from their childhood. He said, “Open your lips and let me slide into your mouth.” He took her head in his hands and instructed her to let his penis slide in and out across the surface of her tongue, much like she was sucking on a popsicle.

Then he began to gently stroke in and out of her mouth and enjoyed the sensation. As he did, Sharon tasted a savory saltiness. She felt the firm flesh under the soft sleeve of skin pulsing, as blood filled it, to rock hardness. Michael sighed, “Oh, Sharon. You do that so well,” as he continued his slow short strokes, ensuring that he didn’t gag her.

Looking up at his with those alluring eyes after several minutes, she slid Michael out her mouth and caressed her cheek with his penis. She then said, “I think Popeye is ready for some fun.”

She stacked up several of the pillows and laid back on them and opened her arms to accept him, spreading her legs wide. Michael positioned himself above her and holding his erection in one hand began to rub it against her vaginal slit. Leaning forward and gently thrusting, he easily penetrated her and released himself as Sharon hooked her feet over his hips. She used her hands to rubs his sides, chest, and abdomen, as he began settling into her.

Looking up at him, she smirked and said, “I guess what you said is right, Mr. Naval Surface Warfare Officer. You do hit your bulls’ eye.”

Thrusting deeply into her caused her to take a quick intake of air, he joked, “I bet you say that to all the sailors.”

She hooked her hands around her neck and shaking her head no, said with a smile, “Only the ones I hope will fuck me silly,” and pulled him down to kiss.

After several minutes of spit-swapping he pushed up and said, “Well then, let’s see if I can make your wish come true,” and he went to work slowly increasing his pace.

To Sharon, the intercourse seemed to go on for a wonderful eternity. The sensation of him thrusting in and out of her was again stoking that fire within her. It slowly spread throughout her body in waves of pleasure, building and growing stronger. The sweet pressure was slowly building as she felt herself becoming hotter and her breathing quickened to gasps.

To Michael, she appeared enraptured. Her eyes were closed, and she was peacefully smiling. Every so often she would turn her hear and exhibit a soft moan. He smiled and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of wonderfully penetrating her depths, as a warmth slowly began to fill him. He opened his eyes to look down on her and for a moment thought he saw ‘Becca beneath him.

He thought to himself, ‘I refuse to live in the past. ‘Becca, I loved you with all of my heart, but I know you would want me to live and I’m living for Sharon,’ and with his face set in a determined smile and breathing the wonderful scent of her perfume, thrusted forcefully with his hips, driving his entire length into her.

The motion struck Sharon like a bolt of lightning. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped, “Oh God!”

She looked up at Michael and saw he was sweating and beginning to breath hard from his work, as he increased the rhythm of his thrusts. “How… does… it… feel,” he asked.

As she pulled herself up to kiss him, she breathlessly exclaimed, “Don’t… stop!”

As they kissed, their breath chugged from their nostrils in quick bursts and as it parted, Sharon felt a ball of fire within her explode, causing her to arch her back and loudly moan, as she reached climax.

She collapsed back onto the bed and moaned, as Michael increased his pace and with each thrust of his pelvis, felt as if a spring within his gut was winding tighter. Suddenly, Sharon threw her legs around his waist and squeezed tight and shouted, “Oh, yes! Oh… Yes! Oh, YES,” as a second orgasm slammed into her. Almost simultaneously, Michael felt intense waves of euphoria wash through him, as his groin tightened and pulsed. With one last titanic thrust he tensed and grunting, he too climaxed.

After he was fully spent, his body relaxed, and he collapsed onto Sharon gasping for breath, resting on his elbows. He felt as if he had run a marathon. Michael slipped out of her and rolled onto the bed, to lay beside her. “Damn, that was amazing,” he exclaimed, “Nothing like last night.”

Sharon pushed up onto an elbow next to him and quipped, “I don’t know. I kind of liked being swept off my feet and carried off to bed. Ed never did that.”

She leaned over to kiss him and after their embrace parted, asked, “How did I do on the compatibility portion of the interview, Mr. Director? Inquiring minds, want to know.”

Scratching his chin and acting like he had to think about it, he said, “I think we can work together.”

Sharon shook her head and laughed said, “That’s all I get? Thanks-a-lot,” pounding, playfully on his chest.

…..

Sharon was nervous. This had been her first real job interview, in practically forever. She was attired in a dark blue skirt and matching jacket, with a light blue blouse and black heels. She was sitting on a leather sofa, next to Michael, in the modestly appointed offices of ‘Becca’s Place.

Uncrossing her legs and then re-crossing them in the opposite fashion, she leaned over to Michael and whispered, “Does it usually take this long?”

He looked at her, smiling and said, “It’ll be fine,” as he patted her tanned knee.

She sheepishly smiled and then reached into her purse and removed her compact, popped it open and checked her hair and make-up in its tiny mirror.

She thought the interview had gone very well. Michael had introduced her to the members of the board of directors and then stepped-out of the conference room, quietly closing the door as he did. The six members present for the interview (four men and two women) were quite cordial. Michael had briefed her on who the likely interviewers would be, but that cordiality masked their seriousness. They weren’t out to make her fail the interview; they were ensuring that the right candidate was selected. They reviewed each of her qualifications and asked her to summarize each of her current responsibilities. She fielded each of these questions with ease and provided affidavits, financial statements of her organizations and several letters of reference.

It wasn’t a Spanish inquisition, but the level of stress it induced in her, sure made it feel like one. After an hour and a half, she was blessedly excused so they could deliberate and here she was.