Challenges Met

"It is a matter of grave importance that fairy tales should be respected. A nation without fancy, without some romance, never did, never can, never will, hold a great place under the sun." Charles Dickens, "Frauds on the Fairies," 1 October, 1853

"There are no great men, there are only great challenges, which ordinary men like you and me are forced by circumstances to meet." U. S. Admiral Bull Halsey, The Congressional Record, 11 December, 1971

If you have good powers of observance you'll be able to figure out how these quotes, more than 100 years apart, relate to this story; and maybe something else too.

****************

On a fateful Friday, Charles Kane walked into the Rooster Bar with a scowl on his face. He had never gotten drunk in his twenty nine years, but that was likely to change tonight. He wanted to forget his wife of six years, Sugar Kane-Kowalczyk, known as Melissa Kowalczyk in business although her real name since she married Charles was Melissa Kane-Kowalczyk, but known only as "Sugar" to all of her friends.

More precisely, Charles wanted to forget – at least until he confronted her later– what Sugar was likely doing at the same time that he entered the Rooster Bar.

His first beer, not just of the night but in six or seven years, tasted as bitter as he remembered. He wondered how he could possibly get drunk drinking this horse piss given how difficult it was to get down if he let it touch his taste buds. "Maybe I should switch to something hard," he thought to himself, but he quickly nixed that idea since he needed to prolong his debauchery in order to help forget what Sugar was up to.

When halfway through his second beer at the bar his malaise wasn't dissipating, he saw a two person table open up and he shuffled over to it so as to be more inconspicuous since although he needed the noise of human activity, he didn't want human companionship, afraid that he'd ruin someone else's day with his moroseness.

Then he saw her; Norma Desmond. "What the fuck is the wife of rich attorney Joe Desmond, one of my long-time acquaintances, doing waiting tables in a bar?" he asked himself. However that question was not what disturbed him most about seeing Norma. He was disturbed because Norma was his secret crush, and had been since he met her about five years earlier. For reasons that he could not adequately explain she was his fantasy woman, the only woman besides Sugar who not only rang his chimes but played "Flight of the Bumblebee" on them. Despite his normal glibness, Charles always seemed to be tongue-tied in her presence, something that she seemed to revel in.

By profession Charles was a psychologist, with a master's in psychology from the University of Southern California. His specialty was body language, something that he had studied by observation since as early as elementary school, long before he studied it academically. He was one of the few true experts in the country on all aspects of body language including Kinesics (facial expressions and gestures), Oculesics (eye movement), Haptics (touching), and Provenics (spatial relations). His appreciative clients included law enforcement agencies, government negotiators, large corporations, and individuals with personal-relationship problems. He had a policy of not using his professional expertise in social situations and in his own personal relationships, and he had violated that policy only in the cases of his wife Sugar and Norma.

Sugar was ease to read; and that was the source of his discontent this night at the Rooster Bar. Norma, on the other hand, was one of only about half a dozen people since he started his psychology practice whose body language he could not properly read; for example, she was the only person in his experience whose eyes crinkled whether she had a joyous or fake smile. This enhanced the air of mystery surrounding her and probably intensified his lust for her.

Charles steeled himself as Norma approached his table. "Hi, Killer Kane," (her humorous nickname for him) she smilingly said, giving him a side hug in the process. "What brings you to the Rooster?"

Not wanting to reveal his reason for being there, Charles overcame his normal lack of eloquence around Norma and questioned her in return "More significantly what is a rich woman doing waiting tables at a bar?"

Norma laughed. "My brother Rick Blaine owns this fine establishment, I worked here during college to get spending money, he was two waitresses short tonight due to illness, and Joe is out of town on a trial, so I offered to help. My biological family is important to me," she chuckled.

"Wow; what a good sister; if it's not too much trouble could you bring me an order of onion rings – I promise a big tip," Charles replied with his own chuckle.

"Only if you promise not to kiss me with your onion breath," Norma giggled, pinching his cheek and then walking away.

"Shit – this thing has a mind of its own around her," Charles mumbled to himself as he tried to suppress his instant boner.

Charles was in a slightly better mood just from his quick interaction with his fantasy woman. It caused him to reflect on the peculiarity of how vastly different the only two women he had ever truly lusted after in his adult life were in physical appearance. Sugar was big, buxom, and blond whereas Norma was a petite brunette whose cup size would have been the highest grade on a High School exam. What they did have in common, however, were large (for their size) round asses and virtually perfect pelvises and thighs. He knew why he had lusted (at least until recently) after Sugar, but he was unsure why he lusted after Norma. Maybe it was the curvature of her back to her ass, the way that she flipped her hair out of her face with a quick neck movement, the power of her virtually black iris eyes, or her pheromones; mostly likely a combination of all of those.

He also briefly reflected on their different personalities. Sugar was flirtatious and mercurial. Norma was subtly sultry and straightforward.

**************

With a slightly improved mood due primarily being able to watch Norma's fine ass wiggling around the establishment and her frequent trips to his table to hastily amicably chat with him, Charles decided against getting shit-faced drunk. Although he kept ordering beers from his favorite waitress of all time, he poured most of the brew into the planter boxes containing live plants around the periphery of the bar. It was fortunate that he was not drunk, but alert, when after he had been there about ninety minutes a swarthy guy in a hoodie entered the bar, just as Norma was bringing him another stein.

Charles got off his chair just before Norma arrived and while trying not to stare at the new "customer" whispered to Norma "This is no joke. I know from his body language and his appearance that the guy in the hoodie – don't look quickly – is likely a suicide bomber. When I jump him get everyone out of here and forty feet from the entrance and call 911 for both police and EMS."

Norma's smile quickly turned to a frown. Charles didn't have to be a body language expert to note her combination of surprise, concern, and terror. "Do it," he mumbled as he squeezed her elbow.

Charles was a big, strong, quick dude. As an undergraduate his senior year he was a second team All-American lacrosse player at national champion Duke. He moved with the speed of a midfielder to a position behind the hoodie and with both of his hands squeezed the hoodie's right hand. Charles quickly determined that he was correct in believing that the actuator in the hoodie's right had was a dead man's switch so that he needed to keep his grip on it since if it was ever released the vest bomb would detonate.

As soon as the hoodie hit the floor with Charles on top of him Norma repetitively screamed "Bomber, bomber, get the hell out immediately." At first the din in the bar merely subsided. After a few seconds, and seeing Charles on top of a guy on the floor, the exodus started. Norma ran up to her brother Rick Blaine and yelled "Call the cops, bomb squad, and EMS on your way out."

The bar was cleared in less than two minutes. Norma went outside and yelled at the throng congregated near the entrance "Get forty feet away – if it blows you're not safe here."

Norma bravely ran back in to see how Charles was doing. While he had the hoodie under control for now, the guy was struggling mightily and seemed to be almost as big and strong as Charles. Even a one second slip of Charles' grip would result in his death and the bar's demise. "Norma – when the paramedics get here have them inject this guy with a knock-out drug, and have the bomb squad enter as soon as they arrive."

"Got it," Norma responded.

"Now get the hell out of here and don't come back in," Charles snarled.

Although it was probably only a few minutes, it seemed like hours to both Charles and Norma before the paramedics and the first wave of police got there. When Norma told the paramedics what Charles needed they pulled a syringe out of a kit but said "We can't do anything until the bomb squad gets here."

"It may be too late by then; my friend can only hold that guy off for so long," Norma screamed.

"Sorry, lady, we can't do it," the male paramedic said.

As Rick was trying to talk to the paramedic to convince him to help Charles, Norma snatched the syringe out of the paramedic's hand, avoided the one cop trying to stop her, and ran back into the Rooster Bar.

"Where do I inject him," she frantically asked Charles, who was sweating profusely but still maintaining control.

"Pull back his hoodie and see if there is an exposed blood vessel in his neck and inject there," Charles breathlessly responded not bothering to ask why Norma had the syringe and not a paramedic.

Norma did as asked, saw a large easily accessible blood vessel, and emptied the syringe.

"Kneel on his head for a minute or so," Charles gasped as the suicide bomber spasmed.

Norma again did as asked. Within about sixty seconds the bomber stopped moving. "Now get out and bring the bomb squad in as soon as they get here," Charles ordered. Again Norma complied.

About ten minutes later the bomb squad got there. Two suited squad members entered the bar. Charles quickly told them the situation; they confirmed that it was a dead man's switch still clamped in the bomber's right hand, and squeezed by both of Charles' hands. After a minute or two of observation they cut several wires then told Charles "You can let go now."

Charles' hands were cramped, and his entire body was soaked with sweat, but he otherwise felt great. Relief to be alive can do that, combined with a distraction so grave that he didn't have time to think about his wayward, lying wife.

When the bomb squad gave the all clear, a half dozen cops burst in, arrested the still unconscious bomber – whose vest had been removed and placed in an explosive ordinance disposal vessel – and offered to help Charles – whose knees did feel a little weak – out of the bar. When he exited an excited cheer went up through the crowd and Norma avoided the crime scene barriers and ran up to Charles and threw her 100 pound body into the arms of his 100 kilogram one, fortunately not knocking him down as she planted kiss after kiss on his sweaty face, lips, and neck. A smiling police woman gently chided "get a room" as she separated them and led them to the command vehicle on site.

As they were walking toward the command vehicle, a tall guy in a rumpled suit stepped in front of Norma and said "Sorry ma'am, but I'm going to have to arrest you for illegally administering a controlled substance."

Charles' mood suddenly went from joyful to livid. He stepped in front of the suit and stared angrily into his eyes. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Detective Harold Callahan," the suit snarled, holding up his badge.

"Well, Harold," Charles snarled, "this woman saved my life and prevented the destruction of the entire building the bar was in if not the surrounding buildings. So the only way that you're arresting her is over my dead or unconscious body – see how that plays out for your career and the image of the police department."

Just before Charles and Callahan came to blows Captain Jerome McKay intervened. "It's OK, Harry," he said to Callahan. "No one except the bomber is being arrested."

Callahan didn't like being overruled, but backed off.

The police brought Norma and Charles to headquarters in the command vehicle and then interviewed them separately for more than an hour, with D. A. Jack McCoy sitting in on Charles' interview and assistant D. A. Alexandra Borgia sitting in on Norma's. After they were there only about twenty minutes, lawyers hired by Norma's brother Rick Blaine showed up. Charles declined representation "I'm just a witness," he smiled to one attorney, while Norma allowed the other attorney to sit in only to placate her brother.

Both Norma and Charles were informed that the explosive vest that the bomber had on had enough PE-4 (the British rough equivalent to C-4) to kill everyone in the bar and bring down the entire building.

When Norma and Charles were finished with their interrogations Rick – who had been patiently waiting in the police station lobby – drove them back to their vehicles. As Rick parted from them he had tears in his eyes when he hugged his "by far the bravest member of the family" little sister. The tears were still there when he choked out to Charles "Man – if there is ever anything that you need, if it's within my power to do just ask and it's done."

"OK, comp me for my beers and onion rings tonight," Charles chuckled.

"That's a start," Rick laughed through his tears.

After Rick left Norma turned to Charles and seductively put her hand on his bare chest just below his neck. Charles did not need to be a body language expert to know what Norma had in mind.

"You know, Killer Kane; I'm really tired. But I find that fatigue is a great aphrodisiac. Let's go to my house," she said in the sultriest voice in Charles' experience.

"What about Joe?" Charles asked while trying to suppress his boner.

"He didn't just save my life and that of countless others," she snickered.

"What about Sugar?" he asked.

"Not only did she not save your life, but you were in the bar to forget about her cheating on you, so what about her?" Norma again snickered.

Charles started to say "What makes you say that?" but all he got out was "What makes..." before she put her index finger over his lips.

"Since your little friend enthusiastically salutes every time that he sees me, are you really going to turn me down when I'm motivated to give you the best fucks of your life?" she snickered once more.

Fifteen minutes later they were showering together in Norma's guest bathroom, doing more groping and spit-swapping than washing. Still not completely dry, a few minutes after that Charles was sitting on the guest room bed while Norma was positioned on Charles lap facing him with his cock buried to the hilt in her snug wet pussy as they pinched each other's nipples, smashed their lips together when they weren't screaming or moaning, and spasmodically bounced up-and-down. Norma came first with a banshee scream, shortly followed by Charles ejaculating what seemed like the largest load of his life into her restless cooch. They were both rendered near comatose, Charles falling back on the bed with his cock still ensconced in Norma's heavenly channel, and Norma's upper body smashed onto his.

Eventually the two lovers temporarily disengaged, got under the covers, and then with second and third winds that they never had before fucked once more – and then made love.

With the sun streaming through Norma's guest bedroom east-facing windows, Charles finally stirred. Norma was lying on his shoulder, and probably had been since their love-making session. His stirring caused her to open her eyes. She smiled at him. "I'll bet that I look scary – like I've been ravaged all night," she said, immediately followed by a giggle of "Oh wait – I have been."

After some playful banter Charles seriously said "You're all-time, Norma; truly all-time. I never had a better experience in my life from the time that we got into your shower until now. Is there any way that I can dump Sugar and steal you from Joe?"

"Dumping Sugar will be completely up to you. As far as stealing me from Joe is concerned, I don't think that he'd even be upset if I left him. He is so full of himself and his career that we haven't cuddled – let alone fucked – for at least a month. I really needed you last night, and if what we will have in the future is even one quarter of what we had last night, I'll be gone from him and in your bed as quickly as humanly possible, Killer," she sighed.

"You're not concerned that we're both cheaters?" Charles asked with a frown.

"What we did last night was merely thanking each other for saving each other's lives. We're not going to fuck again until we both tell our spouses that we're dumping them – that is if you want me instead of Sugar," Norma replied with a smile.

Charles smiled. "Do you think that we can consider this morning simply a continuation of our thank yous?" he devilishly inquired as he started fingering Norma's clit and sucking on her oversized pencil eraser-hard nipples on her little tits.

"I think so," Norma gurgled as she kissed Charles while simultaneously grabbing his cock.

************

Charles arrived home about 11:00 a. m. on Saturday. His mind had been clouded by many things on the drive over from Norma's house. When he reflected upon it he was still shaken by the near disaster at the Rooster Bar, but was understandably proud about how he had handled the situation. However, he didn't really reflect on it that much because his mind was filled with how awesome his dream woman, Norma Desmond, was and how she had sexually satisfied him in a manner that he didn't know was possible. These pleasant thoughts were periodically intruded upon by his upcoming confrontation with his "darling" wife, Sugar Kane-Kowalczyk.

As Charles pulled into his driveway he saw Sugar peeking through the living room window. Just then his cellphone rang, displaying on caller ID a 212 area code number and the words "Today Show." Intrigued he answered with an unimaginative "Hello."

"Hi; is this Charles Kane?" came a lilting female voice on the other end of the line.

"Yes – who's this," was Charles' reply.

"This is Lizzie Borden, executive producer of the Today Show in New York City," was the cheery response.

"How did you get my cellphone number Lizzie?"

"Why from Rick Blaine of course – he really likes you, by the way."

Charles hadn't remembered giving his cellphone number to Rick, but of course Norma had it and she might have given it to him.

"So, why the call, Lizzie?"

"I think that you can guess; we like having true American heroes on the Today Show, and we would love to have you on early next week. Our standard procedure is to provide all expenses for travel and for a stay over one or two nights; Tuesday or Wednesday would be best for us Charles."

"I don't know, Lizzie; I'm not sure that I want the exposure or hero worship..." Charles started to answer only to turn his head to see what the loud vehicle noise behind him was and notice two news trucks pulling up in front of his house, one with "CNN" on the side, and the other "ABC," and both with satellite dishes on top.

"Uh...just a second, Lizzie; I need to get inside. A couple of news trucks just pulled up. Is your correct number what's on my caller ID? I'll have to call you back."

"Yes that is the best number to reach me – please do call me back, I don't want to bug you but I will stalk you if you don't touch base," Lizzie chuckled.

"I'll call within two hours, promise," Charles replied before terminating the call and hustling into the house.