Taking a Chance

Dear Reader, although this is a stand alone story, I suppose it could be considered a sequel, or at least a parallel story, to my earlier April Fools Contest submission "A Second Chance." I hadn't intended to write or submit this, but after numerous requests following that story to carry on or provide the "what happened" answer, I sat down and wrote this short "on demand."

This is especially different in that, like A Second Chance, it is a short story. Most of my stories take weeks or months to write, often getting re-writes when something doesn't fall into place, and, I have often been accused of not being able to give a simple yes or no answer when a few thousand words will suffice instead, so hopefully this works. Also, I believe this is the first story I've ever written from the female perspective (at least I don't remember another) so you ladies take it easy on me if I've badly flubbed what you consider would be your thoughts, or legitimate real thoughts, from a female perspective.

And, I've had several questions of "how" I came up with the idea. Real life, folks; almost every story I've ever written has a basis (somewhere) in reality. For this, upon seeing a doctor, and actually having to suck it up and ask about what's available for ED, the pharmacist was a very good-looking, similar aged (well, at least I think so -- I have a hard time thinking of myself as over 30 whereas I'm actually twice that age)(I'm sure I don't look that old -- really!), woman. There was a bit of real banter back and forth, of which she made some comments and I made some comments that I'm sure aren't normally passed between patient and pharmacist, both of us leaving with a smile on our face and a giggle. It was all in fun, nothing came of it except for the root idea of this/these stories, and as far as I know I've never seen that particular pharmacist again.

Happy reading, please vote, and of course if you haven't seen it yet, please check out the sister story "A Second Chance."

Linda stepped out of the shower, and taking the towel, rubbed her body dry and then her hair, removing most of the water. She started to reach for her panties, and then stopped, remembering that it was Sunday, a pang of longing and regret running through her mind. Tucking the towel under her arms and around her breasts she picked up her panties and bra and stepped out to her dressing room with its mirror.

~

It had been by accident that she discovered how sitting and drying her hair topless had driven her husband crazy with lust, nearly 30 years earlier. She'd gone in for her Sunday morning 'take a shower and get ready to go to church' routine and had inadvertently left her clothes in the closet. Thinking nothing of it, she wrapped the towel around herself so she wasn't entirely nude, and had stepped out to the dressing area. She sat down in her chair and grabbed her hairbrush to smooth a few of the tangles, and then had reached for her hair dryer. Raising both arms to brush and dry her hair had caused the towel to slip, dropping to her waist, leaving her bare-breasted in front of the mirror.

Her breasts had always been one of her better assets, even after 2 kids being still proud and firm. Now, with both arms lifted behind her head, she herself noticed how good they looked, and then noticed her husband in the mirror behind her. She'd seen the lust in his eyes and dropped her one arm down across her breasts to hide them in response. "We're going to be late to church," she'd said, smirking at him, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

"I don't care," he'd answered, stepping up behind her and slipping his hands under her arms to fondle her. She'd aimed the blow dryer into his face, but he twisted aside, his hands holding and fondling her breasts, her nipples responding to his caresses. She knew now they were going to be late, but continued to dry her hair, pretending his caresses were doing nothing to her when the opposite was the truth, which he knew from the way her nipples were erect. He'd nuzzled and kissed the back of her neck, moved opposite the blow dryer and kissed behind her ear, suckled her ear lobe, his hands never leaving her breasts and driving her body crazy with lust, all while she "ignored" him. He eventually moved around from behind her, insinuating himself between the dresser and her legs on his knees, and leaned in to suck on her nipples. By the time his kisses lowered across her belly, she was more than a little wet and it didn't take long for his tongue to make her cross the finish line, the hair dryer and hair brush long before relegated to the counter.

They never did make it to church that day as she'd then returned the favor of sucking her husband until he'd put his arms around her, picked her up and carried her to the bed where he'd slid inside her wetness, pummeling her with her legs wrapped around him, cumming a second time just after he did. She'd put on her robe and gone out to tell the kids they weren't going to church that day, saying that "they'd overslept," and then returned to the bedroom making sure she locked the door once again.

The next Sunday it hadn't been inadvertent. Remembering the week previous, she'd purposely gotten up 45 minutes earlier and then "forgotten" her panties and bra. Just as the week before, his eyes had betrayed him before he got there, but the scenario, her pretending he wasn't doing anything to her, her totally "ignoring" his lust and caresses of her body, played out the same. After he'd gone down on her he'd risen up and stepped forward, straddling her seated body to press his cock between her breasts. She'd pushed them together for him, letting him fuck her titties as he loved to do, occasionally licking and sucking his cock when he stopped at the top of a thrust until with a shudder he'd erupted all across her neck and chin and breasts. She'd momentarily stepped back into the shower with him to rinse his residue from her body, and then fended off his advances with a "hurry or we're going to be late" admonition.

That he'd left her glowing that morning was apparently obvious as several women at church had commented about "how good she looked" that day. She'd smirked to herself, with an If they only knew... thought.

No matter what the rest of their week had looked like, Sunday's became their fuck day. And sitting in her chair in front of the mirror became among their favorite play stations, starting virtually every Sunday the same way. There was something about the towel, ostensibly "hiding" her assets and then falling away that drove him crazy with lust. She'd tried just going out of the bath naked a few times. She'd also gone out in panties only, or panties and bra, but there was something about the towel and having it slip away, leaving her ostensibly topless even though she was actually nude, that drove him, and moments later her, crazy. Perhaps it was the "I'm hiding my body" aspect of the towel, and then her "inadvertently" being exposed later. Although the first time really had been inadvertent, she knew week after week that this was their special time, and probably wouldn't be the only special time that day.

It wasn't always the same; sometimes they'd come back from church and she'd attack him, or he'd attack her, almost immediately. Other times perhaps they'd go to Sunday lunch and then tell the kids they were going to "take a nap" while locking the door, or perhaps they'd just go to bed earlier that night, but seldom did a Sunday go by that they didn't make love at least twice.

They'd never played this way on weekday mornings, there was always too much to do getting the kids ready for school, getting ready for work, getting lunches made -- all the everyday activities that kept them from being able to distract each other in the mornings. She always made sure that she wore her panties and bra before she started drying her hair on those days, and if she inadvertently forgot to take them into the bath, she always took time to go and get them and put them on before she started drying her hair. But, on Sunday's, she always made sure to start drying her hair wearing only a towel.

~

Stepping out to the dressing area she dropped her panties and bra into a pile before sitting down, virtually naked, in front of the mirror. She reached for her brush and dryer, watching the towel drop as it always did as soon as she raised her hands, only this time without her husband to see her, lust over her, or molest her. She imagined him standing there looking at her, longed for him to be standing there and then reaching around to hold her breasts, to tweak her nipples. Reaching over to the counter she turned the dryer off and set it and the brush down. She straightened back up, lifting her hands to her breasts, watching her finger pinching and rubbing her nipples for a moment before she closed her eyes and imagined it was her husband still with her, still pleasing her. She let her hands roam her body, find her wetness and tease her clit until, with a shudder, she came. She gradually relaxed, keeping her eyes closed, remembering how so often her husbands tongue had done what her fingers had just done; remembering how he'd sometimes picked her up and turned her around to set her on the cold tiles of the sink and vanity to fuck her standing up, or had taken her to the bed to finish her off, but most of the time, he'd finished her with his tongue before moving on to those other activities.

She'd opened her eyes to find them bleary with tears, but had dried them and her hair, gotten ready and gone to church on time. Surprisingly, she was told several times, "You look nice today, Linda," just as she had heard so many times over the years. She never understood what exactly people saw differently, but she knew she always got compliments on her looks on the mornings after they'd started the day with sex.

~

She couldn't remember the exact first time she'd seen him in the gym; she'd seen him regularly for several months now. Although she'd always kept herself in shape, it had been well over a year, nearly two, after she lost her husband before she joined the gym to give herself a better place to work out. She'd always worked the early shift so she could be home when her husband got there, which let her work out in the afternoons. But when they needed someone to take a later shift, she no longer had any reason not to. Without a husband to come home to, while others still had families to mesh times with, she agreed to change -- leaving her with the option of doing her exercise in the dark during the winter months, or joining the gym.

The gym had never been a place to "pick up" on guys, just a place to keep in shape. She'd seen multiple men checking her out over the months since she'd been there, not a one that had done anything for her, except for the one guy who had caught her attention. Doing her treadmill running gave her a lot of time to discretely observe him and everyone else in the room without staring. She'd seen him glance her way several times, but they'd never locked eyes as she had with multiple other men. There was something about him that was pleasing to her eye, although she couldn't say why if she'd been asked. The right height? The right weight? The way he'd never leered at her? Perhaps the very slight resemblance to her husband? She'd wondered who he was and, after seeing that he was almost always already there when she got there, gradually she changed her arrival time, a few minutes at a time, until she found she was arriving about when he was and leaving about when he was. Maybe nothing would ever come of it, but at least she was giving it as much opportunity as she could.

She'd glanced at the clock that morning, surprised that it had said "April 1," immediately wondering if anyone would do some type of practical joke. When she'd worked the earlier shift there had always been a couple of pranksters that would come up with some type of practical joke to liven things up. Some had been quite fun, others a real dud -- but when April 1 rolled around she was always on the lookout for whatever might be a prank.

It was early afternoon when she saw him, the man from the gym, in the line to drop off a prescription. He was just another customer, but later when her eyes traversed the room and she saw him looking at her, immediately glancing away, she knew that he'd recognized her. She didn't know who he was, but knew that as the prescriptions came up, she'd be able to figure out his name. It was just by chance as to whether it would come to her to consult on his medications, but regardless she'd be able to figure out his name. She idly wondered what his need might be; being a pharmacist you could figure out so much about someone by what drugs they were being prescribed, but you saw hundreds of people during the day, never having time to dwell on any specific patient.

She'd seen him move to Window 5, and when the "Jerry Whiteman prescription consult - Window 5" popped up next on the list, she finally put a name to the face. He was watching her fellow pharmacist as she approached, but turned to see her, a look of surprise on his face, when she'd said "Jerry Whiteman?"

She'd treated it like any prescription for any other person, but she also couldn't help wondering who the lucky girl was. Jerry was even more attractive to her up close than he had been in a mirror at the gym. He was clean-shaven, without a beard or mustache, his belly appeared firm, his skin brown from being outdoors without being overly brown from excessive exposure. She'd smiled at his look of surprise, and she'd had a hard time not laughing at his surprise in return, as she'd talked to him about a drug that was supposed to give him an erection, something that she had to admit internally, that with him, would have been nice to explore. They both knew exactly what the drug was for and, that she was talking to him about side effects, which if she hadn't done this hundreds of times in the past, would have been a bit embarrassing. She'd seen multitudes of patients that were attractive, or weren't attractive, but Jerry was the first patient that she'd ever felt a personal attraction to before a consultation. He'd laughed when she'd said that an erection lasting more than four hours was not something to fool around with, that he should be all done with fooling around by that time, and to consult a doctor -- the most unnecessary statement she'd ever made to a patient. She'd laughed in response when he said "Yeah, but wouldn't it be fun to have one last for just a little less than 4 hours sometime?" Despite that it was a medical consult, she had no doubt that he'd been flirting with her, and she had to admit, she had been with him also.

Lying in bed that night she found herself thinking about Jerry Whiteman. She never thought about patients personally, she normally thought about the drugs they had been prescribed, not the people themselves. She knew the trends of what someone was going to need just by seeing them in line; obesity was diabetes, red face was heart medications, scaly skin was some topical steroid, but thinking of specific people -- thinking about their face and especially their erection or lack of -- wasn't something that normally crossed her mind after the work day was over. But this time she wondered if he had used his Viagra, if he was perhaps pleasuring someone at that very moment. Her hands idly stroked across her body, her nipple tingling to her own touch, and she knew that she was going to pleasure herself tonight.

It had taken a while, after she lost her husband, to let herself administer to her own needs. They'd had an active sex life, accelerated by being alone again once the kids had moved out, but that had ended by the end. It had taken almost a year before she broke out her toys and pleasured herself, remembering her husband as she did; remembering his tongue, his cock, him pleasuring her with them or her toys. It had been hard that first time, after so many years with a specific man; him having learned exactly what he needed to do to please her, her knowing exactly what to do to please him. But gradually she'd recognized her wants still needed to be filled and seldom did as much as a week go by now that she didn't break out her toys and satisfy herself. Sitting up in bed she stripped off her nightie, reached over to the bedside drawer and took out her toy. She picked up her vibrator, a sleek little bullet shape, but then put it back and instead picked up her glass dildo. Tonight she knew she needed it long and slow, her vibrator would be too fast, at least by itself. She was right, she did know her own body, but she hadn't expected that her imagination was going to lock in on a man she'd never been with, imagining it was Jerry Whiteman pleasuring her that night. For the first time since she'd been alone, one orgasm wasn't enough. Her glass toy worked twice before she reached over and got her vibrator and relieved herself yet a third time.

~

I saw Jerry as soon as I walked into the gym. He was lying on the bench on his back, working a chest press. I debated momentarily saying hello and then, since there was no denying that we'd recognized each other the day before, figured there was no reason not to. "Hello Jerry Whiteman," I said, standing slightly behind his head next to the machine.

"Hello L. Rapier," he said, letting the machine down before standing to face me. He stuck out his hand and I shook it.

"I thought as many times as I've seen you here I ought to at least say hello since I know your name."

"I think you've got me at a disadvantage," he said, "as I still don't know what "L" stands for."

"Linda."

"Linda Rapier. That's a sharp name." I rolled my eyes in response, the same joke that I'd heard told to my parents as well as my brother and sisters and me over the years. "Heard that one before, huh?"

"Only about a million times since high school."

"A million times in 20 years, hey, that's what -- about a hundred times a day?" Twenty years? Only twenty years? Don't I wish, I thought.

"Well, thank you," I responded.

"Thank you?" he said quizzically. "For what?"

"High School was a lot longer than just 20 years ago," I said, mentally calculating that this year it would be 35 since I'd been in high school, "so thank you for the little lie."

"Little lie?" he repeated, a look of surprise on his face. "What I consider the hottest woman in the gym, who could easily pass for 35, is thanking me because she looks so young?"

I laughed and shook my head. "You don't give up, do you?"

"Well, have I managed to talk my way out of taking you for a late breakfast, or lunch later, or perhaps just a cup of coffee or tea?"

I was shocked, unable to say anything. Jerry Whiteman, the man who I had told myself I was just being friendly with, who I had delivered all the instructions of what to look out for as his erection was pleasuring his partner, was asking me out??? Yes, I'd masturbated last night to the thought of this man, wondering myself what he would be like, wondering myself what it would be like to have a cock in me again, one that stayed hard for multiple hours, but there was no way I wanted to be two timed -- I'd fended that off for, well, since my husband had passed.

I hadn't expected the reactions from men after he died. Not just single men, but also married men. It seemed that virtually every man that knew I was a widow suddenly imagined me as a wanton and needy slut, someone dying to jump into bed with them. I'd had a few dates, almost always with the man assuming that since we'd gone to a movie or dinner or even just for a walk in the park, that I wanted to go to bed with them. I had higher standards than that. Although admittedly I got horny, I needed sex just as much as I did when my husband was alive, I didn't just put out for a man because he had a dick and I didn't.