Ship without sails
“A ship without sails is like a woman without breasts.”
I have always been a creature of habit, fixed in my ways, trodding a well-plotted course to an expected conclusion. I waved the standards of causality and efficiency in my battle with chaos, putting each thing in its place, adopting the path of least resistance.
Then my doctor told me to start running. The young Indian in his starched white smock looked me in the eye and calmly threatened me with death.
“But,” I said, starting to enumerate the reasons why my schedule would not permit me the luxury of a morning jaunt around the block.
“You will die,” he scolded. “Do you have time for that?”
I conceded the point and stopped at the sporting goods store on my way home. I bought several smart looking shirts, loose fitting shorts, two pairs of sweats and an expensive pair of running shoes.
“Can I get you anything else?” asked the young man behind the register, smiling indecently as he tolled the sum. I could tell instinctively that this fellow would only waste the commission he was about to earn on the sale. A fool and his money, as they say.
“Maybe I could hire someone to run for me.” I said.
“When do you want me to start?” he said with a laugh, handing me the credit slip to sign.
I have always credited my success to the fact that I never allowed anyone else to run my business. I make my own decisions and I do things my way. I tied my new sneakers and started running slowly, methodically making my way around Glade’s Park.
After the first leg, I decided it was time to take a short breather and collapsed on a wooden green bench. My heart pounded like a kettle drum as I fought the fire in my lungs for a desperate gasp of air. I wondered if running wouldn’t just kill me faster than not running.
My pulse eventually slowed to the point where I could feel the cool spring breeze and I sat up, resting my forearms on my thighs. Children laughed by a small pond where they maneuvered toy boats with long sticks. A starling twittered among the buds of a soft maple.
“Hey,” a young woman said as she approached my resting place, “you have the time?” It took me a moment to realize she was speaking to me and another to look at my watch. She jogged in place while she waited for my response.
“Ten twelve,” I said.
“Thanks,” she said with a smile and dashed down the asphalt path. I watched the young fawn as she ran headlong toward a bright yellow wall of forsythias. Her lean legs moved almost effortlessly as she took her long stride, the muscles of her bare thigh stretching taut as she scarcely touched the ground and vaulted herself forward. An impetuous gust of wind followed, chasing her into the park. I felt a tingle of interest as I watched the shudders of her firm bottom underneath her tight blue satin shorts.
“Running isn’t so bad,” I mused and leaned back again. “A few more minutes.”
Finally gathering myself together, determined to go on in my quest for life, I stood up. Six pigeons waddled and cooed as they pecked the gravel near an overflowing trash can. I took a deep breath. I looked right and then left and then smiled to watch as the young woman raced back around the corner, sprinting toward me. Tightly bound full breasts still bounced slightly, enticingly fluid with the stroke of each long stride. Her golden hair streamed behind her as she ran. Seeing me, she slowed and came to a near halt, still jogging in place.
“Time?” she said, panting smoothly. The woman smiled beautifully.
“Hmm?” I asked.
“Oh,” I said, looking at my watch. “Ten eighteen.”
“Six,” she said. “All right. Thanks.”
“No problem,” I said.
“You going to run?” she asked. I shrugged my shoulders, embarrassed. “Come on,” she said, starting coyly down the narrow black path.
“Run with me.”
“I can’t,” I pleaded. “I just started. I’d hold you back.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “Sometimes I go fast and sometimes I go slow. The whole point is to keep moving. Come on. It’s more fun to run with someone.” I smiled and blushed and moved my feet. She matched my deliberate pace, stride for stride. She talked while I concentrated on breathing
“Wendy,” she replied when I managed to ask her name.
Despite my difficulty in running the mile circumference of Glade’s Park, I am not particularly out of shape. I mean, I could afford to lose a few pounds, but I’m not what you would call overweight. My lungs are burned out from a few too many years inhaling smoke, and my heart has grown rather sedentary. Wendy encouraged me through that first long mile and then took me to her apartment for a cool drink. I fell onto her sofa with a groan as she poured two tall glasses of mineral water. On the rocks.
I’ve had my share of relationships through my years, but for better or worse, I could never quite get a woman to fit into my life. I know I work too much, and I know that I’m a bit particular about exactly what happens and when. I can face the fact that I’m not the easiest person to get along with, but I’ve always believed that someday a good woman would happen along and she’d fit like the final piece in my jigsaw puzzle.
I didn’t know that woman would be Wendy as I sat in her apartment gulping down ice water, but we hit it off at once, and so while things moved quickly, it all came naturally. We had only been talking for about twenty minutes when she pulled her t-shirt over her head, exposing the sturdy white athletic bra stretched taut across her chest. My eyes probably popped out of my head as I stared at her large squashed breasts, but Wendy hardly seemed to notice. I don’t think she was trying to arouse me. We were just that comfortable together.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, reaching back to unclasp her brassiere. “I can’t stand being tied down anymore.”
“No,” I fought to say. “Feel free.” Wendy smiled as her breasts escaped their bonds.
“I will,” she said. “I do.”
I did my best to maintain my part in the conversation with the topless girl, even as she kneaded the shallow welts her foundation garment had dug into the fair flesh of her bosoms. I couldn’t begin to repeat the conversation, although I could probably do a fair job of drawing the exact curve of her dark nipples, even though I tried my best to avoid looking at them. Wendy treated me as though I was one of her oldest and dearest friends.
“Excuse me,” she said, reaching to the table just past me for an ash tray. “Smoke?” she said. I fought for an answer. “Live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse,” Wendy recited, pushing a cigarette between her lips and lighting it.
“Yes,” I said. Wendy handed me the pack. I leaned forward and licked her rigid nipple. “Yes.”
“Oh my,” she said with a faint laugh. “I wondered how long you were going to keep me waiting.”
We kissed and fondled, groped and stripped. I fell in love at once with Wendy’s soft firm body. I rolled on top of her, but with a shove, she rolled me over onto my back.
I’m usually, I don’t know, fairly dominant when it comes to sex. I guess I always like to be in control of the situation. After the run through the park, however, I had only scraps of strength remaining to assert myself, and I surrendered readily, if reluctantly, to Wendy’s domination. She took hold of my stiff prick and after a brief brush of the crown over her damp lips, Wendy drove my stab into her cunt, burying me in a flash down to the hilt. The sensation rushed
exquisitely through my senses, and I trembled with excitement. Wendy bit her lip with a wry smile, tossed her gold mane wild and lifted her hips to start the ride. Wendy’s silky wet pussy slid up my shaft, then down, up and then down, faster and faster in a mad gallop, but then suddenly slowed to a sweet canter.
Wendy’s tits, almost a shade too big as they hung before my hungry eyes, round creamy melons teasing my desire, shook in crazed circles, bouncing and flying, jiggles and flops. I felt the heat rise within my loins and catching a thick nipple in my mouth, I let a spurting tribute coat her hot cunt. Wendy laughed as I came, squeezing my prick with her tight pussy muscles. I shuddered and groaned.
“You’re incredible,” I said sincerely as the last shivers melted. Wendy continued to ride, flipping her hips in a steady pace, caressing my satiated stick with her soft nether lips.
I’m not old, but I’m not eighteen either, and I believed without shame that a short rest was in order. Wendy shook her head as if reading my mind. “I can’t,” I murmured. She lifted a tit to her lips and sucked a hard nipple, her ass bobbing as she drove my weary dick on.
“Come on, big boy,” she moaned sweetly, “you can’t stop now.” I took a deep breath and Wendy picked up the pace, bouncing her titties so they brushed my dry lips. “One more mile and you can choose your reward.” I began to stiffen as I let my mind roam over a feast of imagined desserts. Wendy purred with delight and rode my cock home.
“Can we run tomorrow? Can we meet for lunch? When can I see you?” I asked, anxious to pencil in our next rendezvous.
“Keep running,” she said. “I’ll be around.” A wave of panic must have crossed my face. “Call me,” she said, giving me her number.
“Tonight?” I asked.
“Whenever,” she answered.
We met in the park, from time to time. I couldn’t find a pattern to her days, no schedule which I could anticipated or follow. Some days she was there, some days she wasn’t, sometimes earlier, sometimes later. Wendy didn’t seem to really care if she ran into me, but she always seemed to enjoy herself when we were together. I called her apartment more often than I should have, but she never answered the phone anyway. One Thursday afternoon, much to my surprise, Wendy picked up the phone.
“Can you take off tomorrow?” Wendy asked. If anyone else had said such a thing, I would have laughed while rejecting the suggestion. My mind raced through the brim-packed day of meetings, conferences and inspections I had already planned.
“Yeah,” I said, shocked at myself as the words passed my lips.
“Meet me in the park,” she said and hung up the phone.
“What time?” I screamed into the buzzing phone. I dialled her number. No one answered.
I waited in the park for three hours until Wendy showed up. I had been afraid to move, afraid I would miss my chance to see her. She strolled up to the park bench, smiling almost as if she was surprised to see me.
“Come on,” she said. “I need to go shopping first.” I tripped along beside her, faithful lapdog I had become.
Wendy wore a short beige skirt and blue silk shirt. My mouth watered as I stole glances at the pretty blonde girl beside me. I strutted proudly when we walked past Bob Jenkins on the street, a shark I had been negotiating with the day before. I could feel the flash of bitter envy and I loved every minute. Wendy looked better than a deal closed under market.
“White sandals,” she explained as we walked into the department store. “I realized that what I really need is a good pair of white sandals.” I nodded, my thoughts escaping for a moment as I wondered if Davis could handle the meeting with Fujitsu. “These look good,” she said, picking up a pair. A young salesgirl rushed to greet us.
“Sevens?” Wendy asked, handing the dark haired woman the leather shoe.
“Sure,” said the salesgirl. Wendy took a quick stroll around the display.
“Sandals are tricky, because they have to bite right if you’re going to walk in them. Shoes are much easier.” I nodded, hoping Millie remembered to call Franklins with our orders.
“Here you go,” said the salesgirl. Wendy took a seat and the salesgirl pulled up a short bench to sit near Wendy’s feet. The girl unfastened Wendy’s shoe and took a sandal from the box. She slipped Wendy’s toes under the white straps.
“Oh,” said the salesgirl and I looked at her curiously. Her eyes wide open, she flushed as she fumbled with the sandal. Her cheeks deepened to a dark red as the blush toyed with a frown and then a flicker of a smile as the girl looked away and then up at me and finally back to Wendy as she managed to secure the buckle.
Wendy walked over to the slanted mirror and vogued her bound foot in a variety of poses. She shook her head. “No, not quite right.” She sat down and let the salesgirl remove the shoe. They exchanged flirtatious smiles and we walked back into the sunshine.
“What was that?” I asked.
“I’m not wearing panties,” said Wendy. “I’m such a tease.”
“Wow,” I said. “But . . .”
“Excitement keeps my blood flowing,” Wendy explained. “When I do something like that, I make the world a sexier place. I’ve given her an idea, showed her what can be done, dared her even, and there’s a good chance that she’ll pass the sexiness along. Doesn’t that make you feel good, knowing that pretty thing will soon forget her panties, too?” I considered the notion and raised my eyebrows for a smile.
“Anyway,” Wendy said, “let’s get some food.”
“But what if she’d made a scene ?” I began, still shocked at her casual manner. My mind raced with all the trouble her little oversight could cause.
“I’m only going to be in town a few more days,” Wendy said. “And flashing isn’t the kind of scandal that travels.”
My heart sank as the words passed her lips. Self-contained as I prided myself on being, I had begun to hope. Wendy had seemed like the perfect woman for me, flighty and chaotic, but still undeniably perfect. Moreover, after six weeks of being involved, she had never once complained about my work, which was usually the gripe that chased my girlfriends away. Having found her, I just couldn’t let her go.
“Why are you leaving?” I asked.
“I scout talent,” she replied, munching her salad. “I never stay anywhere long. I have to go where the players are.”
“But, does this scouting pay well?”
“Not quite,” she said, laughing. “Enough to clothe and feed.”
“Then why do it?”
“Why do anything? I like to keep moving. I want to see the world, meet people, experience life.”
“Oh,” I said, playing a fork through my congealed gravy. “I hope I’ve been a good experience.”
“Come on,” she said. “We’ve enjoyed our time together. Let’s enjoy the rest.”
“I could give you a job,” I said. “We could always use someone with your energy.”
“I love you,” she said with a laugh, “but I’d go crazy in a gilded cage.”
“I’ll go crazy without you,” I said, sadly.
“Come on,” said Wendy, taking my hand. “Let’s go dancing.”
We found a crowded club and fought our way through a thick throng, a heavy haze of grey smoke, the thick scent of spilled ale. The music throbbed with a steady pulsing beat. Wendy began to wiggle her hips as we worked our way to the center of the dance floor. I looked confused, I’m sure, unused to shaking myself loose in a crowd. Wendy looked into my eyes and lifted her skirt slowly up her thighs. I shook and jumped, turned and bounced. Wendy danced so provocatively I thought they’d throw us out, but they didn’t. Worn and excited, we finally left.
I took her back to her place and devoured her, prodded her, squeezed and drank her. Wendy gave herself to me in every way I could dream to want and as the first ray of dawn kissed the windowpane, I fell into a fitful slumber, a tear tracing down my cheek.
When I awoke, Wendy was gone. I waited for an hour, but then dressed and went to the park and sat down on the bench. The birds sang and the children played and I sighed. Wendy raced around the corner.
“Time?” she asked, laughing.
“Not too late,” I said. “So, where are we going?”
“How about Dayton?” she asked. I grimaced. “They’ve got a young sculptor there some of the better galleries have been vying for.”
That afternoon, we got on the plane, and with that single step, I left my whole world behind. I made some calls and Davis has done a fine job running the business.
“Any instructions?” he asked when I talked to him last, a little nervous about some proposed acquisitions.
“Just keep moving,” I told Davis as I tickled Wendy’s bare foot. “Life’s too short to sit still.”