Encounter at the Symphony Ch. 01

Instead, they all seemed helpless to help. With them all out of touch, they continued looking at her as if there was something wrong with her for screaming at the symphony during the intermission. Yet, it didn't matter what they did or didn't do to help her, I was ready to stop the thief.

"Someone stop him. That man," she continued yelling while pointing in the air to someone long gone and who had disappeared within the crowd of spectators. "He stole my purse!"

While continuing to keep my eye on him, I waited for him to make his way to me. Sure enough, walking right towards me, and now with him almost within arm's reach, he continued moving in my direction. Not even looking behind him, disappearing in the crowd in front of me, and not running to call attention to himself, heading for the front entrance and for freedom, he moved slowly but purposefully.

When he finally neared me, I surprised him. As if I was a 6'4" locked door, ready to confront him, I stepped in front of him and blocked his escape. He had nowhere to go but through me. He had no other option but to hand me the purse.

# # #

"You took the lady's purse. Give it to me and I won't call the police," I said.

Instead of giving me the purse, his second mistake after making his first mistake by stealing the purse, he reached in his pocket and pulled a switch blade. I laughed to myself. Adept in Filipino stick fighting, Aikido, empty hand vs sword, and other Karate styles of fighting, a knife against someone who earned a black belt in martial arts is much like bringing a knife to a gunfight.

I've practiced this exact scenario many times in the dojo with my sensei. I needed to master such real-life altercations with the attacker wielding a knife, a club, and/or even a gun to earn my martial arts, black belt status. If only he knew who he had pulled a knife on, he'd drop the weapon, hand me the purse, and run.

As if I was David Carradine as a Shaolin Monk, Kwai Chang Caine, Grasshopper, in Kung Fu, trained not to even think what to do, I instinctively knew what he'd do. Instead of lunging for the knife, I quickly stepped forward, grabbed him by his wrist and, surprising him, knocked him off balance by turning him towards me. Instead of grabbing for the purse, something that he wasn't expecting me to do, I pulled him closer.

With his back to me and my arms wrapped around him, as if hugging him, I immobilized his arms. He was no longer able to use the knife to stab me. Then, with both of his forearms crossed in front of me, I pressed pressure points on each of his forearms and squeezed hard.

Applying excruciating pain, and immediately paralyzing his hands, he screamed in pain. He not only dropped the knife but also, he let go of the purse. I snatched the purse before it fell to the floor. Not even having to throw a punch or let loose a kick, the altercation was over as quickly as it began.

Realizing what was happening, as if we were in a schoolyard instead of at the symphony, the crowd parted and encircled us. When he dropped the knife and I retrieved the purse, then, I picked up the knife, folded it, and pocketed it. The crowd clapped and cheered.

Suddenly, I felt like Sean Connery in The Presidio. He confronted a bully in a bar who disrespected him by calling him Major instead of his real rank, Lt. Colonel. The man deliberately disrespected him again by calling him Major again.

He warned the man who dwarfed him in height and in weight that he could defeat him by just using his thumb. The man laughed and called his bluff. Then, as if he was Billy Jack, with his black belt in Savate, a French martial art, who told his victims where'd he'd kick them before he kicked them, Sean Connery did the same with his thumb instead of his foot.

With lightning speed, before thumbing him, he told the man where and when he was going to touch him with his thumb. Unable to do anything about the physical assault, stunned by the quickness of the violent, thumb attack, unable to stop it, the man just stood there and painfully took it. Then, after he quickly and repeatedly applied his thumb to the man's pressure points, he literally thumbed the man into submission.

# # #

The thief turned and pushed his way through the crowd. In his attempt to get away, he fell down a long flight of stairs. Then, immediately getting up, he ran for the door and disappeared in the night but without his stolen prize, the woman's purse.

"My hero," said a tall, redheaded, attractive woman who suddenly stood behind me and smiled widely. "You got my purse back. Thank you," she said when I handed her purse to her.

I returned her smile with my smile.

"You're welcome," I said. "My pleasure. I'm glad that I could be of help."

Giving me an unexpected look of interest, she eyed me as if seeing me for the first time. Her attentive look relaxed me, and her beautiful smile engaged me. As if I knew her, unlike other women who I was nervous around, there was something about her that made me feel comfortably relaxed in her presence. Perhaps, it was her fetching smile. I suddenly felt calm enough with her to talk to her.

"How did you do that," she asked? "I didn't even see you throw a punch. All that you did was grab his arms."

I smiled at her with modesty and shrugged.

"I squeezed pressure points in his forearm. Doing that is painful enough to temporarily paralyze his hands. He'll be sore for a week," I said with a laugh.

She looked at me as if not understanding the pressure points that I pushed to temporarily paralyzed his hands. I gentle too her by the wrist and gentle pushed the pressure point on her forearm.

"Ow," she said with a laugh. "I see. That would be very painful in the way that you pushed down harder on his forearms."

I grinned.

"I have a black belt in martial arts. I've practiced such a scenario in my dojo with my sensei dozens of times with men wielding a sword, a stick, a club, a knife, and/or a gun," I said. "I'm glad that I could come to your rescue by retrieving your stolen purse," I said with a little bow as if I was respectfully greeting her on a dojo mat.

# # #

Surprising myself, suddenly, I was naturally at ease talking to her and so smooth with her in engaging her to answer her questions. Usually, I'm a puddle of sweat around a beautiful woman. Yet, she made me feel special. She gave me another big smile that further relaxed me.

"Martial arts? Black belt? Interesting," she said with a little laugh.

She took a step back and looked at me as if studying me.

"You're about the same height as Steven Seagal," she said with a laugh. "You're my Steven Seagal. I love Steven Seagal," she said with a big smile and a little laugh while giving me a hug. "I've watched all of his movies," she said while taking a step back.

Seemingly, she had embarrassed herself by hugging me, but she was thrilled to have her stolen property back. She smiled at me again before asking her another question.

"Will you be my personal bodyguard for the night? Suddenly, I no longer feel safe as a woman alone without an escort," she said.

Seemingly, with her not caring that I wasn't anything like the other men in their tailored tuxedos, she looked at my blue suit and smiled.

"I'm Christina," she said holding out her gloved hand while giving me another big smile.

Not sure if I should kiss her gloved hand, I shook her gloved hand.

"And what is your name?"

I returned her smile with my smile.

"David. My name is David," I said.

She looked around the huge concert hall as if looking to see where I was sitting.

"Where are you sitting, David," she asked?

I laughed.

"I'm sitting way back there somewhere in another postal zip code," I said pointing to the distance while returning her laugh with my laugh.

She laughed again and took my arm as if suddenly, I was her escort for the night.

"Well, you're not sitting there anymore," she said with another laugh while squeezing my arm. "You must come sit with me. I have a private box and I hate sitting alone. Coming here long before my husband died three-years-ago, I love the symphony. I hated to waste the tickets, even if I had to attend alone," she said.

She paused as if rethinking what she was about to say but she said it anyway.

"It's not easy for a widowed woman to find an escort. All the women who I thought were my friends, now suspect that, I'm out to take their husbands," she said with a sad, little laugh.

I walked with her towards her box as the lights dimmed in and out to let people know that the symphony was about to begin again.

"We must celebrate this occasion with champagne," she said once we were seated in her private box.

I looked at her with a panicked expression.

"I'm sorry but I don't think that I can afford champagne," I said embarrassed while imagining her expecting me to buy a French champagne of an expensive vintage.

She laughed.

"Nonsense," she said waving her hand. "The champagne is my treat for saving my grandmother's, diamond earrings," she said opening her purse to remove diamond earrings that appeared that they were five carats each. "I removed them because they were too heavy on my ears," she said with a laugh.

# # #

Too preoccupied watching the thief, it wasn't until I sat next to her in her private box that I noticed how truly beautiful she was. Stunning with her low-cut gown, her beautiful red hair, and her bright, green eyes, she took my breath away. Deliberately trying not to look and to look away, not wanting to embarrass her and/or make her feel uncomfortable, I couldn't stop staring at her. I've never seen a woman as beautiful, never mind someone so elegant sitting next to one.

Whatever her age, something that I'd never ask, if I was to guess, I'd guess that she was in her forties. She looked ten-years younger. A natural redhead with freckles and big breasts, I not only loved redheads, but I loved women with freckles and with big breasts, too.

I had to literally control myself from staring at her long, line of sexy cleavage. As if I was an Olympic skier from Norway skiing down a mountain top while yodeling, I imagined slowly sliding my index finger down her exposed cleavage. I imagined kissing her, French kissing her, and making out with her while touching and feeling her huge breasts through her beautiful dress.

Most redheads have brown eyes. Fewer have blue eyes. A rarity in her case, she had red hair with green eyes. The combination of red hair with blue eyes is engaging. Yet, I've never met a redhead with green eyes. Especially with her wearing that dark, green, emerald gown, that color dress really showed her eyes. I loved her red hair as much as I loved her green eyes and her enormous breasts.

Interestingly enough, now that I think of it and compared to other women, perhaps because of her red hair, she reminded me of Mariette Hartley. Only, Christina was much more beautiful. She had green eyes instead of Mariette's brown eyes. With them both about 5'10" without heels and 6'1" tall with heels, Christina had much bigger breasts, at least a D cup, if not a double D cup, instead of Mariette's C cup breasts.

# # #

Ready to respond to her every whim, she waved her white, gloved hand. As if she was a magician, her manservant magically appeared with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and on a tray with two glasses and napkins, along with a plate of canapes. Something obviously allowed in a private box, her servant was at the ready to serve her whatever she wanted and needed.

He would certainly come in handy while I watched a football game and wanted a beer and snacks. Only, I wouldn't want to wear those gloves. They looked uncomfortable.

Then, unable to stop watching her, as if she was a stripper on stage about to dance around a pole to music, she ever so slowly and sexily removed her white glove that covered her hand and her forearm nearly to her elbow. I didn't think that I could become sexually excited watching a woman remove her opera gloves, but I did. When she removed her gloves, she revealed an enormous, diamond ring, her wedding band, and her gold watch. Still wearing her wedding rings even after the death of her husband three-years-ago, she must have loved him very much.

We sipped our champagne and ate our canapes while watching and listening to the rest of the symphony. As if we were old friends who finally reunited, we continued enjoying the symphony. My first time attending the symphony and my first time sitting in a private box, I couldn't believe how much better the sound of the orchestra was over sitting in the back of the concert hall. Moreover, it was even more thrilling to see the orchestra members closeup while playing their instruments.

Instead of having to squint my eyes, when sitting towards the back of the concert hall, wishing I had opera glasses, not needing them now, I could clearly see each orchestra member. As much as sitting in the box was a treat to my ears, it was a treat to my eyes, too. Hoping someone that I knew would see me and recognize me sitting there, I'll remember this experience for the rest of my life.

Enjoying the feeling of sitting in a private box, I felt like someone famous. I felt like a star. I felt like someone of some importance. I felt special. I felt rich.

# # #

After the symphony ended, and with us having a private exit that place us ahead of the large crowd, she put her gloves back on her hands and we beat the crowd to the street. Again, as if she was a stripper about to dance around a pole, as if she was putting on her white brassiere in front of me, I couldn't help myself from watching her put on her white gloves. I remembered a time when women wore white gloves back in the fifties and the early sixties.

I remembered June Cleaver, Beaver's mother, in Leave it to Beaver wearing white gloves. I remembered Lucielle Ball wearing white gloves on I Love Lucy. I remembered Donna Reed wearing white gloves on the Donna Reed show.

Unembarrassed and unashamed to admit, I remembered imagining and masturbating over June Cleaver, Lucielle Ball, and Donna Reed giving me a hand job while wearing their white gloves. Knowing that she never would, I imagined Christina giving me a hand job while wearing her white gloves. I found her white gloves to be as sexy as her long, line of exposed cleavage.

Getting up the nerve, before she disappeared forever, after enjoying her company, surprising myself by my forwardness, instead of asking her for a hand job, something that I'd never do, I asked her out for coffee. Hoping to make my move, not wanting to have any regrets, I wanted to ask for her phone number and/or her email address before she left. With me as horny as I was sexually frustrated, I imagined the unimaginable. I imagined something that would never happen, I imagined her as my lover.

"There's a Starbucks down the street. Perhaps, I could buy you a cup of coffee and a cookie or a piece of cake," I said with a little, uncomfortable laugh while hoping that she'd say yes.

With my limited income compared to her obvious wealth, I didn't have to be a psychic to know that I wasn't in her league. Nonetheless, I hoped that she may be indebted to me enough for saving her purse, to have coffee with me and give me her contact information. She was too beautiful to allow her to disappear in the night without having the hope of ever seeing her again.

Then, falling back on being too hard on myself, I doubted that she'd want to begin a relationship with me, sexual or otherwise. I figured that she'd thank me for saving her purse, saving her grandmother's earrings, and bade me her goodbye. Surprised by her negative reaction, as if I had asked her if she wanted to eat chocolate, covered bugs from a Vietnamese, street cart, she made a face and waved her gloved hand again.

"Oh, my," she said. "I never go to those places," she said with a haughty attitude. "If you please, you must come home with me. James will make us coffee," she said taking my arm. "I'd love to have you as my guest."

She took my arm and turned me to the street.

"My car is right here," she said pointing to a black Maybach illegally parked in front of the concert hall. "After we've had our coffee, and/or an aperitif, and some conversation, James will drive you home."

Befitting her being driven around in such a fine, luxurious automobile, the car was as magnificent as her. Suddenly, I felt like Peter Sellers with Shirley MacLaine as Chance the gardener in Being There when her chauffeur drove him in her silver, Cadillac limousine to her mansion. If nothing else was to happen tonight, just to be allowed to sit in her private box, driven home in her expensive car, and given entry to her imagined mansion while having coffee and/or an aperitif, would complete my night.

'Wow,' I thought! 'Someone who seldom left his house, I can't believe this is happening to me.'

To be continued...