A Lunchtime Tryst

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Amateur

Chapter One: A Message from a Previous Co-worker

I was having lunch with her for the second time in the past week. Jennifer and I had worked together at an agency for several years, and she had sent me a LinkedIn request for a recommendation. We had collaborated on a number of projects, and I was more than happy to oblige.

I considered Jennifer a consummate professional, possessing deep technical knowledge and always a consummate team player. We built great rapport from day one and quickly developed a personal connection. Despite the friendship, our interaction was confined to the work environment.

Jennifer had grown up in China and came to the states to extend her university studies. In the midst of completing her degree, she got to know one of her professors, who also had grown up in China, and they had married when she completed her degrees.

He continued to teach at the university, commuting nearly an hour every day into San Francisco to teach classes five days a week. Jennifer had gotten a job at the agency and though she’d been there for almost 10 years and she had much greater potential than what the agency could afford to her, the position afforded stability and the routine of working there had become an assumed routine.

The bond between us was one of mutual respect—personally and professionally. The personal connection was definitely there, as we often had fun bantering back and forth while working on different projects. Her no-nonsense, do-it-regardless-of-whether-you-want-to-do-so approach was an endearing trait and often gave rise to teasing by her boss and peers.

Jennifer’s upbringing in communist China had taught her to persist and exhibit a positive attitude, regardless of whether she actually wanted to do it. However, she did know her professional space, and she was willing to articulate her opinion, in a humorous, unpretentious manner, when prompted. In these instances, she did so with passion and conviction.

Jennifer was attractive, a petite five foot, three inches with straight black hair that fell below her shoulders. When I first met her she was probably in her early 30s, which made her 41 or 42 now. Her smile did not light up a room, but rather brought warmth, an experience I began to relish over time.

She didn’t dress in an ostentatious manner and rarely used perfume to accentuate her presence. There wasn’t anything overtly extraordinary about her body. Since she and her husband hadn’t conceived and she thus didn’t go through the travails of childbirth, her appearance retained an aura of youthfulness that is often lost in pregnancy.

Her breasts were shapely but not out of proportion with the rest of her body. She had a cute ass, though its proportion coincided with the rest of her body. Since she often wore baggy clothing, sexual images of her were not easily culled. It was the emotional image—or connection—that lingered in the back of my mind and guided the events that took place.

I didn’t realize the extent of the connection between Jennifer and me until my final day. I said my goodbyes to the other members of the staff, many of whom had become close friends, hugging many of them in parting. Jennifer was the last to say her farewells. We stood talking for several minutes. I wanted to give her a warm embrace in parting; however, in the awkwardness of the moment, as she seemingly didn’t know what to do either, we ended up saying goodbye without any physical contact.

Jennifer left the agency for another company a few months after I moved on. I was very pleased when I heard that she had resigned, knowing that she would flourish when presented with new challenges and opportunities.

Time flew past, and she had been at her new company for about nine years now. And despite enjoying her role and responsibilities, the company had started to flounder financially, and she decided that she should start looking at other options. As part of this process, Jennifer updated her LinkedIn profile and dropped me a note, asking me to recommend her.

After I submitted the recommendation, she sent me a follow-up email, thanking me for doing so and asked me if I would like to grab lunch with her later in the week. We had met at a small sandwich shop. Though 10 years had passed, her appearance had virtually not changed. She retained the same petite figure, yet wore the same baggy clothing that concealed the contours of her body.

Lunch gave us the chance to reconnect, and we covered the gamut in terms of topics; not just work-related but personal. Jennifer’s mother had passed away several years before, and we visited about the time she had to take away from work to attend to her funeral rites in China and the mourning she had gone through. It had been a difficult time for her, and her staid demeanor that had been engrained into her when growing up in communist China cracked for a moment as she spoke about her grief and regrets.

Her husband still taught at the university and was busier than usual, going into the city in the early canlı bahis afternoon and then returning home in the late evening. He hadn’t been able to attend the funeral with her due to his teaching commitments. In accordance with her nature to speak her mind, Jennifer told me that this had created issues with their marriage, as she had felt abandoned during the entire process, and that the fissure never healed and they had made a decision to separate six months earlier and were in the process of filing for a divorce.

When she broke down in tears when relating everything to me, I unconsciously reached out and placed my hand on the side of her arm to convey comfort. She returned the action with a warm smile. I removed my hand after a short moment, but the physical contact lingered in my fingertips.

I began to talk about my professional career and then, with some prying, about my personal life—the completion of my academic wanderings to the latest on my family. Unfortunately, despite trying for years to save our marriage, my wife and I had decided to divorce the year before.

I wanted to delve deeper, yet I decided it would disclose too much information and refrained. It was obvious that the emotional rapport from a decade before still existed, and that it was still easy for us to converse with each other and to talk about issues that we would discuss with only a few others in our lives.

Chapter Two: A Marriage Gone Awry

Her email to meet for lunch again so soon after our first reunion came as a bit of a surprise. The two of us said our goodbyes and lightly embraced in parting two days earlier. She told me that she had really enjoyed seeing me again and that our friendship meant a lot to her. I told her that we should get together again sometime and went back to the office. In her follow-up email, while she admitted that we had just met a couple days before, she indicated that she was going to be in the neighborhood of my office and thought it was a prime opportunity to take me to a new restaurant she had spoken about during lunch two days earlier.

The next day, as the morning passed, I thought about Jennifer, our emotional connection and now a growing physical attraction. What I hadn’t mentioned to Jennifer were the details that had led to the dissolution of my marriage.

My former wife felt that I never did enough and it seemed was constantly upset with me. She withheld the right to yell at me, but I had no such privileges if I disagreed with her complaints. Whenever we got into a dispute, anything but complete agreement from me would set her over the edge—and she would become sullen for several days, only speaking to me in a terse and condescending manner. I continually walked on eggshells around her. And despite trying my best to avoid setting her off, it seemed that it was virtually impossible to avoid irking or offending her on most days.

What was most frustrating is that she insisted that I had neglected her. For example, even if I had purchased a luxury item for her only a few months before, she would become indignant if I pushed back or suggested that we wait when she inquired about purchasing another one. Thankfully, I made good money, and thus I was able to come close to accommodating her lifestyle.

Of course, it was a too-way street; she complained about not getting enough of the things she wanted, yet also talked about all of the sacrifices she made by not shopping at some of the highest end stores and not purchasing all of the high-end luxury goods that some of her friends had bought. It was a conversation that I could never win.

Our life in the bedroom was never what I imagined of married sex life before our wedding. Her disinterest in sex started on our honeymoon, or actually before, and the bedroom remained a sore spot. She rarely initiated love making and spurned my advances 90 percent of the time, telling me that I really didn’t care for her and that all I wanted was sex. Orgasm was something she seldom achieved, and she had concluded that sex was simply not something that was a high priority for or of interest to her.

I had bought a couple vibrators a couple years earlier, and they had initially aroused additional sexual interest, but that only lasted for a few months. The initial excitement, which including willingness on her part to finally try different intercourse positions beyond the missionary style, had dwindled as she reverted to earlier levels of disengagement.

Until two years ago, I had remained committed to finding a way to make the bedroom experience tolerable, and her sexual rebuffs I merely took in stride, concluding that the disinterest—and even periodic disdain and ridicule—was something with which I had to accept. However, I became more and more unwilling to put myself out on the line and my sexual desire had diminished.

Fifteen months had passed since we had made love—and the times during the previous year could be easily counted on one hand. The relationship, on all levels, had begun to crumble—and it had bahis siteleri taken a toll on me. Her aversion to the bedroom created insecurity in my mind about my manhood. Even though I’d maintained my shape since college, running several miles every day, and had been described as handsome by some of my women friends, my wife’s sexual aversion, at least to me, was creating doubts about my virility. I began to wonder if I lacked sexual attraction.

All of the resentment and utter lack of emotional and physical connection reached a breaking point about a year ago, when my wife told me that she wanted a divorce—that she no longer felt anything for me. The culmination left me disillusioned and uncertain of my sexual attraction and virility.

I had never cheated on my wife, relegating myself to masturbation as the alternative for sexual relief. Indeed, as she and I had met in college, my sexual experience was confined to only her. And while we had some passing sexual contact before marriage, including brief intercourse on one or two times, the sexual encounters were confined to heavy petting and dry-clothed sex, with a couple attempts at oral intercourse.

Of course, as I look back over time, I have wondered what would have happened if we had put aside our religious concerns and engaged in an active sexual relationship before marriage. Her apathy toward sex, at least with me, would have become evident, and both of us may have decided that marriage was not the right choice. Admittedly, there were indications, as she had decided after one or two times, that sucking on my cock was repulsive and regularly reminded me that my sperm was nasty, both in taste and smell, and always demanded that I wear a condom during intercourse; she didn’t want any of it in her. But that was past history that could not be undone.

Over my 15-plus years of marriage, I kept telling myself that things would improve, but they never did. Yet, even though she had made the decision to end our marriage, I still felt love for her. As a result, the conflicting feelings I felt that morning were both exciting and disconcerting.

I had never made love to any woman other than my wife, and the marriage experience had left me uncertain and lacking in confidence. The prospect of taking the emotional connection with Jennifer to new heights in the form of a tryst was exhilarating and nearly all-consuming. Regardless, I didn’t want to read too much into her actions. Perhaps she just wanted to rekindle a friendship.

Chapter Three: Lunch Reunion Turns into a Tryst

The restaurant was quaint and the tables were arranged so that we had a fair amount of privacy. Jennifer was already there when I arrived and was sitting at a table in the back. Instead of jeans or slacks and a pull-over shirt, she was wearing a skirt that cut off right above her knees and a nice blouse. She beamed a smile when she saw me and stood up to greet me, giving me a brief embrace before we both sat down. I did notice a hint of perfume on her when she did so.

After ordering our food, we recommenced our conversation from our meeting earlier in the week. As that meeting was still fresh, the conversation and interaction was much easier, and we were soon bantering back and forth as we had often done so 10 years earlier.

Ten minutes into the discussion I noted that her dress and blouse looked very nice, joking that she didn’t wear dresses regularly. I could tell the compliment pleased her, as a smile spread across her face and she thanked me for it. Jennifer continued the same vein of conversation by telling me that “I had aged well and had kept good care of my body,” indicating that her former husband didn’t maintain an exercise regimen and that his age was beginning to show. She then took the line of thought a step further, observing that my wife had been quite lucky to be married to a handsome man.

It was at that juncture that I let down my guard, confiding with her about my marriage and its demise. I couldn’t believe that I spoke it: “I still love my wife, but she concluded that she no longer felt anything for me.”

When Jennifer prodded me for reasons, I kept the details at a high level, simply noting that she had been all-too-often displeased with any number of things. I admitted that I had shortcomings and had certainly made mistakes; however, the marriage had failed and it was time to move on.

Jennifer then asked the question that brought my guard down altogether. “But things in the bedroom must have been fine,” she queried. “You’re a nice looking guy—joking that I still have all of my hair and no “spare tire” was visible (while poking me in the rib), make good money, and I am sure you were always attentive to her needs, citing what she had observed when we worked together 10 years ago.

Initially, I wanted to tell her that the bedroom things were ok; however, we had already revealed a lot more to each other than either of us planned. “Not really,” I said. “She was largely disinterested in me when it came to the bedroom.”

Surprised, bahis şirketleri Jennifer teased me and while staring at my crotch and smirking, asked “Well, is her disinterest due to an inadequacy?”

I jokingly retorted that “this is something that could be discovered only through thorough investigation.” She then indicated that “detective work can be fun.”

With the sexual tension running high, I quickly changed the topic of conversation back to her garden. Earlier, she had told me about the garden she had started growing several years before and how it gave her an emotional and physical outlet.

I paid for lunch, and we walked out to her car. The conversation about sex was still swirling in my mind, but I wasn’t sure what it all meant. Both of us seemed a bit uneasy and uncertain what to do next. I told her that it had been a lot of fun and that I probably needed to get back to the office, as I had a meeting later in the day. I bent over to give her an embrace and she reciprocated, though one much closer, tighter—and longer—than before.

When I went to release her she turned her lips and lightly kissed my cheek, causing me to blush, telling me that I was a good man and should hold my head high. Then, before I could respond, she asked if I would like to come over to her house for a few minutes to see her garden. “It is only a few minutes away,” she asserted, adding that it might be fun and that she would drive me. “Your meeting is still two and a half hours away.”

Wanting to spend more time with Jennifer, I agreed, realizing that I wasn’t sure where all of this was headed. We got into her car and headed to her house. She pulled into the garage and shut the door. er Her house was well kept, just like her desk at work. I told her that the house was quite impressive, and that she should be very proud of all of the improvements she had made to it.

Leading me from the garage to the kitchen she was self-effacing, informing me that it was not a huge house but one that served its purpose. She asked me if I wanted something to drink, and I declined, telling her that I had my fill at the restaurant. She concurred and asked me if I wanted to sit down on the couch.

After turning on some music on the stereo, she sat, taking the chair that was adjacent to the couch rather than the one on the other side of the coffee table.

Not sure what to say, as I was sitting only a few feet from someone with whom I was beginning to have intense feelings, I asked Jennifer, “So is the garden in the back, and does it come around the other side of the house?” She grinned and said “that is one place you could find it.” Glancing down at her lap, she laughingly added: “The garden I wanted to show you is only a few feet away.”

At that juncture, she got up and sat down beside me. My heart raced, and I didn’t know precisely how to react. She was smiling at me as she moved over beside me. “I am so full of desire right now,” Jennifer revealed. “I shocked myself with the candor of our bantering today. Both of us are entering territory where we’ve never been, and we have a choice. I made mine when I invited you to come over.

The intensity of the desire I have for you right now is intoxicating—and it is overwhelming me. Perhaps it is clouding my judgment, but I really don’t care. I desperately want to make passionate love to you, to experience the warmth of your embrace, and to feel you inside me. What I feel for you is difficult to explain—something that can be expressed only in a combination of all the senses.”

She continued: “I am not sure what you are thinking or feeling, though I think—or hope—there is mutual feelings—and willingness to do something we wouldn’t imagine doing under other circumstances.”

Chapter Four: The Journey to the “Garden”

Jennifer and I stared into each other’s eyes for a only a few seconds, though it seemed like an eternity, and I raised my hand to the side of her face, removing her glasses and lightly brushing my fingers across her face. I gently kissed her on the lips, and melted at the touch of my fingers on her face and lips caressing across her lips; the tension and anxiety of the moment dissipating, and she shifted her position on the couch, leaning towards me and placing her hand against my side.

It was not a powerful kiss, but rather one that grew in intensity—lasting—as it seemed—for minutes. It was passionate, both of us relishing the moment with eyes shut, not sensuous; it only involved our lips and out mouths hadn’t parted and tongues were silent observers. As we drew apart, my hand remained on her face and her hand on my side and our eyes met; she radiated an aroused smile—and I most certain mirrored her appearance.

She quipped, “I take that as a yes.” I didn’t say a word; my facial expression said everything. “Well, if we’re going to make this a memorable event, and I certainly want that to be the case, then we should relocate to the chaise,” she added.

Her living room was built as an extended sun room, and a cream colored chaise sat to one side. We stood and our lips locked in another kiss, my hand still on her cheek but the other one wrapped around her waist. She put her arms around my shoulders and pulled me into her body.

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