A DEAR JOHN LETTER (PART 2)
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Memo: Dagny as my friend, confident and therapist, I felt a need to share what's transpired since I sent you the "Dear John Letter". Please save in my file. We can discuss when I'm in Chicago. Thanks so much. Christina 5/21/10
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One year after writing my "Dear John Letter" I had fallen in love again, this time with Rob Robertson, a senior manufacture's rep who called on my company once a month.
At least it FELT like love, minus all the pain from a year earlier.
Rob didn't know how I felt. I hoped to keep it that way. A fantasy to keep me warm and satisfied on lonely nights.
I learned long ago fantasy was my friend. Realty's fickle. Fantasy let's me stay in control.
Yes, I'm a control freak. Before you criticize, let me say it's one hell of a lot better than the alternative.
After what I had been through with John, I wasn't about to ever get out of control again.
Yeah, I still got pissed every time I had to deal with the hurt, his memory. God knows I need to forgive him.
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For the past six months Rob's called me at the office to ask if I'm free to have lunch with him, to discuss how the reps were doing, to see if I'm happy with them.
He's always been a perfect gentleman. Never said anything out of the way. I liked it at first, but lately it's become irritating.
Like what the hell's wrong with me?
I find myself wanting him to notice I'm not just nice, but hot too.
Maybe the guy's gay. Useless as hell to me in the sack, but if he is, at least I'd know it's not me.
Last time he called, it was in regard to a new promotion that would provide additional incentives to our reps nationwide.
I knew what he wanted, an additional percentage point. One I'd end up giving him before the night was over. I never said no to him anymore.
Our usual lunch wasn't going to work out this month. I suggested instead, a dinner meeting at a luxury hotel on Lake Michigan, where my company was hosting the entertainment for a mid-west football clinic.
"That would work out great. I have a room reserved there anyway. What time did you have in mind?"
I replied, "If you don't mind eating late, eight would be ideal and still give me plenty of time to return to the coaches sing-a-long. We put it on every year for the big beer bust on the final night. They count on me being there."
"Sounds wonderful Christina. If it's okay, after dinner, I'll join you. I played a little football myself in high school, I like coaches, especially when they sing and act crazy."
Laughing I asked him the name of his high school. When he told me, I gasped.
"You've heard of it I presume?" He
couldn't keep the smirk off his face.
I couldn't contain my excitement, "Of course! Who hasn't!" They are very well known and a favorite of ours. The head coach there always speaks highly of our products. We've even used him and his athletes in our ads.
"I know, Christina--I was one of them--when your company was brand new. Been awhile now . . ."
When I hung up the phone I suddenly realized Rob must be much younger than I thought. By at least ten years.
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As fate would have it, the night before the coaches clinic, John my former fiance, subject of the "Dear John Letter" left me a message that he'd be attending the clinic; that he'd like to to have a talk with me. Let me know too that he'd moved on, had a girlfriend now, but he'd always love me anyway.
Finally he asked if I'd have lunch with him, "I need closure Christina, your forgiveness. Think about it and let me know at the clinic. I will find you."
I laid my head down on my desk and cried. In my heart of hearts, I knew I needed closure too.
I took a shower and came out feeling much cleaner than I had in a long time.
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This year I had hoped John would stay away since the coach sing-a-long was my special baby, one of the few times I had fun in what had become a rat's race.
Me being single at this year's clinic laid heavy on my mind. In recent days I thought continually about the coaches, ones I'd miss if they didn't show up--guys I'd taken a special liking to--such as the head hauncho of the clinic, Coach Saladino. What a sweetheart!
Last year after the "Beer Bust" he wrote me a thank you note saying how much his coaches loved the sing-a-long--how the legendary head of the clinic told him it was the best time he'd had in years.
Coach Saladino ended his note by thanking me for the CD I'd sent him, told me he'd been playing my songs over and over again when he worked late at night in his garage on school projects.
That sounded so sexy to me. Arousing somehow. Now, I could picture him, alone once more, playing my latest. I made a note to take a pile with me for all the coaches.
Perhaps once he learned I wasn't with John anymore, he'd even call late one night, secretly masturbate on the phone, pretend he's with me, say he'd be in my area soon, ask if would I have dinner with him to discuss a business idea.
I got horny just thinking about him, guess that's why he was on my mind. Thank God for imagination, vibrators
and dirty stories.
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I removed my robe and slipped in between the sheets naked. Feeling the refreshing breeze coming in off the lake I soon threw the top sheet back so the wind could blow across my body. Before long I was hungry for a good solid fuck.
With three men bouncing around in my head, I figured I'd have me a whopper of a fantasy--get a piece of each-- John, Rob, and Coach Saladino--when I'd get tired of one, I would change toys, and conjure up another one.
Wanting to first get John out of the way, I imagined him doing his normal routine.
He was good for a warm up since he's the only man I ever really fucked. Recalling how he was when we first met, soon got me going, hard and wet.
Inserting my big dildo, I reached for my heavy duty vibrator and held it on my mound near my clit.
When I got tired of John, I moved on to Rob. Seeing him in my mind's eye got me hot and thrashing around on the cot.
I turned up the speed on my vibrator and switched to my beautiful new glass dildo. It was bigger around and a tight fit. I loved how it felt as it when in and out and the walls of my cervix clamped down around it.
It didn't take long before I was plunging it in and out faster and faster. As it steadily
drove me towards the cliff of no return, the unmistakable feeling of an approaching climax began to make itself known.
The sun was sinking into the lake. I could see it between my legs which were spread far apart, propped up high on the ledge of the old wooden screen sash. I reached over for a pillow and stuffed it under my butt for leverage. To rock back and forth.
The second time I opened my eyes and looked through my legs, I saw my new neighbor slowly and methodically raking his leaves--glancing my way as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing on my screened porch.
How I wished he would come in and take over, fill my cunt with the big cock I was sure he had. I kept moaning loader while I watched him sitting on the wall a few feet away breathing hard.
Soon his hands went down the front of his pajama pants and I clearly saw him massaging himself with vigor.
As much as I would have liked to help him out, I was going to have to save him for another day, I was too close to cumming to worry about him. For now I'd pretend he was Coach Saladino--let his sweet memory take me up that mountain and drop me off so I could fly high.
Just picturing the coaches face and body made me go at it harder and grab for my smaller dildo.
I gave it a dollop of KY Jelly and wedged it in my tiny puckered hole, while leaving the bigger one in my cunt.
I humped them both on my side with my vibrator turned high as it would go.
The sensation was so intense that if he had put down his rake and walked in at that precise moment, he could have fucked me with no resistance whatsoever.
Losing control, my moans amplified and I heard myself yelling out:
John . . . Rob . . . Coach Saladino! Oh . . . Oh . . . My God . . . Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . Ohhhhhhhhhh . . . Oh yes! Ohhhhhhhh . . . yessssssss . . .
It was all over in a minute or so and I heard a
loud rapping on my screen door and a man's voice,
"Is everything okay in there?"
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To Be Continued: Part 3
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