SecretofmySuccess

The Secret Of My Success

   © BlackTux

    A wise woman once said: The most interesting part of any affair is how it began. I’ll restrict my comments to that aspect of my life then if it’s all the same to you.
    There I was, another birthday looming on the horizon like a giant iceberg. I was successful in my career, single, well- respected, single, friends and family galore, and oh, did I mention single? Most of the time it had no lasting effect. I filled my time with service to others, pets as surrogate children from aardvark to zebra, work and travel. I was a creature of the new millennium, born in the 50’s bred in the 70’s, and ready to face the future, single. A woman of no small means I didn’t hate men as my feminist sisters did, I just couldn’t find one that was the right fit. The jigsaw cut in my heart that I had made for any man was angular and sharp, with little spear shaped tips at odd corners. It was not going to be an easy match. So, as the ground tipped away from me on a slippery slope toward spinster hood I decided to take inventory of the goods. I needed a plan of action and knowing your stock was the first step. I stood before my mirror puffy and pink from a morning shower. I brushed my wet hair straight back around my face, drew myself up to my nearly six- foot height and let the towel that encircled me fall to the floor at my feet. I assumed a casual stance, at least as casual as a naked person can, and stared. Mirror mirror on the wall, I am my Mother after all.
    “Gawd”, I spoke aloud, “How did this happen?” I smiled an exaggerated smile at myself, my face was broad and open in an Irish sort of way. A barmaids face from a small town pub, friendly, simple and somewhat frowzy from too many black beers.
    “Damn that potato famine”, I cursed. I lifted my breasts and let them drop, there was no bounce. Gravity is the enemy of us all.
    “Okay, I can live with that.” I ran my hands down my flanks and onto the front of my hips.
     “Not bad”, I thought. I took first my right thigh and then my left between my hands and gave them a shake like checking a watermelon. Their momentum continued after I freed them from my grip.
    “Boy”, I grimaced. I made a quarter turn to the right,
    “So far so good”, Then another fatal quarter turn to the right and I was undone. I cast a glance back over my left shoulder at my reflection and there it was, the smoking gun, the dog in the manger, the cop in the rearview mirror.
    “I have a fat ass!” It was there mocking me. My life flashed before my eyes like a passenger on a airliner as it plummets to it’s doom, except mine was a replay of my days in stretch pants and tight jeans seen in the full light of shocked expressions and snickers as innocent bystanders regarded my caboose.
     “Oh what must have gone on behind my back,” I thought grimly, “And my best friends let it go on!”
I felt betrayed like a woman who is the last to know about her husbands long standing affair with the U.P.S. girl. I sat dejectedly on the edge of the tub and spoke the words I vowed I would never say,
    “I’m going to join a gym.”

   I sat glumly in the tubular steel chair across the desk from Noah. A bright red tag bespoke his name pinned to his black T-shirt stretched over his muscular frame. The health club was on the third floor of a downtown building. The climb up three flights of stairs was enough to leave me gasping, now my personal trainer was crafting a plan to return my body to its’ flowering girlhood.
    “Why do you want to exercise?” he asked looking down at the enrollment form.
    “Because I have a fat ass.” I replied matter-of-factly. He smiled a smile with perfect teeth,
    “K”, he said and straightened his papers.
     “And what is your goal in training?”, he continued. I lowered my head to look up into his eyes,
     “Not to have a fat ass, didn’t you see what followed me in here?”

   I climbed onto the Stairmaster like I was on the edge of a ten-meter diving board. The twin foot pads sunk to the floor. I expected the machines’ computerized voice to scream “Get off you sow you’re killing me arrrrggghhhh!” Noah punched a few buttons on the keypad and I began to climb. It in no way resembled climbing stairs unless your home has a foot of mud and molasses on each riser. All around me people were sweating at machines like it was an Indonesian Nike- factory. After five minutes I was spritzing like an Airedale thinking that the art of camouflage may be what my butt needed rather than hard work. I began to disassociate from my body to block out my anguish. I hovered over it, looking down at myself from above.
      “All I need to do is let go and enter into the light and this will all be over.” I thought calmly.
From my lofty perch I looked across the gym, over the bikes and treadmills, and climbers manned with the preening young peacocks and there I saw him. At the cluster of weights tucked in the back of the room like poor relations he sat on a padded bench. A stack of weights hung from the ends of a chrome bar like a cluster of grapes. He was gray- haired with the lined face of a world- weary man, but the body was that of a Greek-god. Shirtless and sweat- streaked he lay back and lifted the bar from the rack letting it fall swiftly to his chest before propelling it back up again. I held my breath as I was sure he would be crushed beneath it but two, three, four, finally five times he drove the bar up before letting it settle on the stand with an audible clank above the rooms din. He stood and wiped the bench dry with his towel.
     “He must be six foot six”, I said out loud. Suddenly, the machine stopped sending my feet sinking to the floor yanking me roughly back into my body.
    “That’s enough for today,” Noah’s smiling face announced.
    “Thank God”. I muttered wiping my face with a towel.
The Greek- God was up and moving now, heading for the drinking fountain. I imagined his story, back from Africa working with the Hotentots, independently wealthy he is here recovering form a bout of Rumpta-Gumpta he contracted on the dark continent.
     “There I was, in the Congo..”, I could hear him holding forth as I hung on every word. I quickly calculated an intercept course and started for the water fountain, Noah in pursuit.
    “Are you coming again tomorrow?” he called, But my mind was of a singular purpose on my quarry. I sidled up behind him as he bent over the fountain, I regarded his fanny through his black, sweat- soaked shorts. He stood and turned too quickly for me to avoid him nearly bowling me over he grabbed my upper arms to steady me.
     “Whoa”, he spoke in a low smooth voice.
     “Sorry, sorry”, I said embarrassed, pushing my cooked spinach mass of hair behind my ears. He gave a slight smile making his eyes crinkle like tissue paper.
     “I was too exhausted to move”, I gave an embarrassed laugh,” Good thing you caught me or I’d still be on the floor counting tile squares on the ceiling.”
He gave a good natured laugh that made me immediately like him. My fatigue made me reckless so I stuck out my hand.
     “I’m Shirley” The minute the words escaped my lips I cringed, “Gawd, Shurrleee!” Why wasn’t I named something like Pearl?”, I imagined myself all colored scarves and feathers looking up at him through tinted granny glasses like an erstwhile Janis.
    “God- Damn that potato famine”. He took my hand softly and said ,
    “Nice to meet you Shirley, I’m Jake Elliott.” He moved a slight way away from the drinking fountain freeing it up.
    “I haven’t seen you in here before, do you like to work out?” I moved to one side to block the view of my avrois du pois,
    “Oh yeah, when I can find the time”, I lied like a choking dog.
    “I know the feeling”, he said wiping his face with his towel, “I have an office right around the corner, I close from noon to two to force myself to work-out.” I was moving him toward my snare now.
    “And what do you do?” I asked earnestly allaying all fears that I was a lunatic stalker with my forthright manner.
“I’m a doctor”, he said matter-of- factly, then stepping back as if he expected to be assailed.
“That’s great,” I said enthusiastically, “I’ll be right over and you can euthenize me.”
He gave a small smile and waved his towel in the direction of the sweating masses in the pit.
“Those machines will kill you”, he lectured, “I avoid them like a Luddite and stick to the free weights.” I felt defeated, “He is mocking my workout, Noah, and all he stands for.” I excused my pitiful efforts,
   “It looks like those weights require coordination, balance and strength, all talents I am, sorely lacking in,” He dismissed my argument but my heart leaped,
    “I’ll be glad to show you sometime how it’s done.” he said adopting a paternal tone.
   “Deal!”, I fairly shrieked and pumped his hand sealing both the agreement and his fate.

Shauna sipped her coffee and continued raking me over the coals at my own table.                                                                     “You’ve been sweating with the guy for two weeks, and not the kind of sweating you’re hoping for I might add, and you still know practically nothing about him.” She put her cup down and waited like she had moved her Rook across the chess board cornering me.
   “I know he’s a man”, I countered, “And all men are the same, meet one you’ve met them all.”
      “This is fascinating, pray continue.”, she sat back and made a steeple of her fingers under her chin.
      “Okay”, I began, “Every man has the same history when it comes to women, everything else is window dressing.” Standing, I began to pace as I spoke,
    “He loves a woman who is unattainable, another who is a tramp, yet another who is his good friend, and yet another with whom fate deals him a cruel turn.” Maybe another who is a harridan and finally, his soul mate, the love of his life.” I know he has not reached the last stage, so the game is still afoot.” I sat back down as Shauna regarded me suspiciously.
    “I’ve been two, okay maybe three of those women before,” she opined,”But what are you going to be to get to soul-mate? “Tramp or friend.”
    “I’m not sure yet.”, I sniffed, “But I do have a new workout suit.”

I continued my workout on the Stairmaster, I was sure I had climbed the Washington Monument, The Eiffel Tower, as well as the Mount Everest several times over. As the computer had finally decided I had suffered enough and shut itself down I slowly settled to the ground on the twin foot holds. Noah, standing behind me suddenly seized both globes of my can and squeezed as if testing them for ripeness.
“Making real progress here Shirl” he said enthusiastically, relaxing his grip.
   “Uh, thanks,” I said somewhat in shock. I squeezed my cheeks together tight enough to make a diamond . Slowly I sauntered over to where Jake was working on the free-weights, he had been working with me on style and technique but I was still woefully inadequate.
   “How goes it Shirley?”, Jake asked as he wiped the bench dry.
   “I think I’ve just been molested”, I answered looking back to the scene of the crime where Noah held court with the spandex set.
    “When will you be sure if you’ve been molested or not? ”he asked without looking up from his work. I cast myself down on the bench and took the bar in my hands with a shoulder wide grip. I pushed the bar off the stands and immediately regretted it. My spaghetti thin arms let it drop unevenly where I gingerly rested it on my chest before sending it on a wobbly trip back up with a great rush of breath. Jake grabbed the bar when it reached it’s full height and settled it back on the stand.
    “Great “ he intoned, “ Maybe next week we can put some weight on the bar.”
    “I dunno about that, I don’t wanna get muscle-bound you know.” I looked up at him in mock seriousness.
    “Winners never quit and quitters never win.” he pontificated in a mock-oratorical voice.    “Back to work Muscles, don’t make me spank you.” A lightning bolt shot through my stomach, lingered there briefly before rushing up my spine, splitting in my brain and exiting both ears simultaneously.
   “Spanking!?” the word itself made me idle at a higher speed. Jake had gone on to fiddling with the bar but my eyes were riveted to him. How did he hone in on my deepest fantasy? I decided it was a cruel irony that he had no idea what it’s true meaning held for me. I lay back on the bench but my mind wandered to him in a white shirt with pirate sleeves, open to his belly showing powerful muscles and hirsute chest. Me in torn bodice and my tresses flowing in a wild wind as he tossed me across his lap. Jake’s voice jolted me back to consciousness,
“I’ve had enough for today Shirley, how about we go across the street to Reubans for some lunch?”
     “Lunch? Me? he’s asking me to lunch!”
     “Okay sure”, I said trying to sound blasé, “I gotta shower of course so I’ll meet you over there.”
   “Okay, I’ll throw on a shower myself and see you there”, He smiled. I didn’t hear him however my mind was trying to sort out the disaster that had befallen me. A lunch, with Jake Elliott, now. I’m in stupid clothes, I have no make-up, no hair dryer. I need a team of specialists just to make me remotely presentable. This was not going to be pretty.

   I walked into Reubans like I owned the place, best to put on a brave front rather then slink in the backdoor. It was your typical 90’s Grille, lots of brass and leafy plants with yard sale junk randomly nailed to the walls. The clientele looked like a meeting of the young republicans , guys in khaki pants, blue blazers and white shirts. Women with too much make-up and silly hair pretending to be interested in the guys but failing. I saw Jake in the far back corner. He had a black sport coat over a black T. The contrast between his gray hair and the coat was striking. He waved and smiled leaving me to traverse the sea of humanity between us. The women around him took notice of him when he waved and I could feel their radar lock on me as I headed for him. Their eyes went first to him, then to the guy they were with, then again to me. I could hear their synapses firing, “Man, boy, and what is that?” They tried to rationalize my existance. “Maybe she’s rich, no, not in that get-up, maybe she’s somebody, but I don’t recognize her.” “ Maybe she’s an author, or an artist. She must be something cause she’s with the man, and I’m with the boy, I hate her.”

He greeted me warmly with a hug and a peck on the cheek quickly herding me to a small table by the streetside window. A waitress in a white shirt, green apron and loud necktie appeared and took our orders, me, a pasta salad, him a plate of spaghetti with a house salad. We made small talk about the gym, made fun of those there who could not defend themselves now, and postulated on the sexual orientation of Noah. All the while the nagging image of Jake spanking me rolled around in my brain like a BB in a box car. He certainly knew how to hit my last good nerve. The food came at last, saving me from the certain humiliation of diving across the table and begging to be his sex- slave. I regarded my salad suspiciously while Jake forged ahead thrusting a twirled mass of pasta into his mouth. He made a face of disdain for the food dropping his fork like it was suddenly five-hundred degrees.
    “The people in that kitchen should be lined up and shot.” he said to no one in particular while looking in the direction of the double doors.
   “I take it you don’t like it.” I said innocently.
   “This sauce is like lukewarm ketchup, what is there to pasta but the sauce?” “Pasta itself is like paste, it’s the sauce that brings it to life, “ I’d horsewhip the lot if I had a horse.”
I looked for a waitress to signal an impending scene but as is the case in most emergency’s, there’s never one around when you need one.
   “I would never serve a miserable excuse like this at my table.”, he swept a hand across the mess before folding his arms across his chest.
   “You cook?” I asked breathlessly knowing I’d have his seventeen children if the answer was yes.
   “I consider myself a gourmet”, he said smugly never uncrossing his arms.
   “And do you clean, sew, and do ironing?”, I continued.
   “Of course.” the confidence in his masculinity was complete.
   “Then I must ask your father for your hand immediately.” I smiled over the rim of my iced tea glass.
“Would you like to come to my place for dinner tomorrow night?”, he fired straight out of the blue.
   “Tomorrow night?” I repeated the question buying time to compose myself.
   “Yeah, it’s Saturday, I’ll cook something better then this disgrace I can promise you that.” he had a determined look about him to erase this day from his memory. “That is unless you already have plans.
    “Plans? Me, I don’t think so.”, I knew that to be a fact as I hadn’t had plans under three administrations.
   “Great, shall we say eight?”
   “We shall “, I replied and with a clink of water glasses my fate was sealed.

   “You must be crazy.”, Shauna continued her diatribe on the phone. “How do you know he’s not an ax- murderer?” “
   “Come- on Shauna”, I said calmly, “No one uses an ax anymore.”
   “Okay”, fine, but if he cuts off both your legs don’t come running to me.”
I controlled my urge for the cheap comeback,
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine” I encouraged.
   “All right then, have a good time...... Ho.” was the last word as I rested the phone in it’s cradle.

I pulled up before his house, I had followed the directions to the letter, even arrived early and drove around the block a few time to check out the back yard. I wanted to see if there were any obvious grave-shaped mounds there. I checked my look for the last time in the visor mirror. All right, ready. I stepped out onto the street and closed the door. The house was a white two story with black shutters. It sat on a hill giving it the haunted mansion look. I climbed the concrete steps to the porch & rang the bell. Quickly the door was flung open and there he was. White shirt open two buttons, black jeans and a towel draped over his shoulder. My nostrils were assailed by the delightful smells of cooking.
“Hi”, he said with a wide smile, “Come on in.”
“Hi yourself”, I replied with my own wide smile stepping over the thresh hold. “What smells so good?”
   “Shitake mushrooms being caramelized in Bougelais.” he grinned. “I hope you like em”
“Oh I’m allergic”, I said in mock seriousness, “Just kidding.” He looked relieved.
We walked into the kitchen where there was a pot steaming on every burner of the stove. He took a few pinches of some powder from a jar and tossed it into a pot like Merlin into his cauldron.
   “Drink?”, he asked revealing an unmarked bottle of pink liquid in a champagne bucket.
“It’s Mede, wine fermented with honey,” he instructed, “I make it myself.”
“Careful Shirl, you know what alcohol does to you,”, I cautioned myself. I figured I was on a slippery enough slope already without greasing it with booze.
    ” What’s it like?” I asked looking for enough data to decline.
     “It’s really sweet, try it.”
Okay what the heck, I can handle one glass as I held out my goblet.. Smiling he poured two fingers. I swirled, smelled and tasted. Man, sweet was an understatement.
    “Wow” I gasped and choked, finally managing a smile that he matched.
   “Like it?” It was the poor- mans drink in the middle ages, honey was available wild if you could handle the bees, you can make this in about a month rather then waiting for years for a good bottle of wine.”
   “Hmmmmm”, I said intelligently, “Tasty.” he refilled my glass with 3 fingers.
   “Cool”
We made small talk about the food, his cooking, the Mede, I helped him prepare dishes as we danced around the kitchen. I really began to like him more then I was prepared to. I swear that glass of Mede was regenerating itself, everytime I looked at it the thing was nearly full.
   “Phew”, I better back off or I’ll be reclining on the kitchen table singing show tunes.”
Jake stepped back from the stove and took a final survey.
    “Well, all it has to do is simmer for a while and we eat.”
   “ Nice”, I said”, “I am getting hungry”
   “Let’s sit in the living room until it’s ready”, he took me by the arm and led me to a cozy room with overstuffed chairs.
   “Can I use the bathroom first?”
    “Sure”, he popped open the door of a room in the short hallway between the kitchen and the living room. Stepping inside I looked at my face in the mirror propping both arms on the sink.
    “Steady, steady”, I looked at my reflection. I could feel the alcohol running around my body, taking every hormone I had and dragging it to my groin and away from my brain.
   “You are going to make an absolute fool of yourself if you are not very careful,” I stood straight and pointed an acusing finger.
I exited the bathroom after splashing cold water on my face and vowing to become a cloistered nun if I so much as mentioned sex. Jake was starting a fire in the fireplace, carefully moving wood around making the flames leap and crackle.
   “More Mede?” he asked sitting on the footstool. The heat from the fire hit my face making my head swim.”
   “I had better not, you have no idea the effect this has on us from the planet Schnurrrrrr.” I slurred the last word.
“Really?’, he looked amused, “I had no idea, so tell me, ‘“he set the bottle down, “Do you have sex on the planet Schnurrrrrr?”, he asked mispronouncing my home planet.
    “Well, yes,” I tried to look thoughtful, “But it is much like your Pinochole, I’m afraid you’d find it very dull.” he laughed a deep and hearty laugh and I couldn’t help but laugh with him. The drink, the fire and his warm laugh made me reckless.
   “Tell me Sir,”I looked right and left for any co-conspirators and lowered my voice. “When you said you’d spank me where you serious?” He looked a bit perplexed,
“Well, I’m not sure, have you been bad, not done your homework or left your room messy or something?”
   “All of the above”, I said standing wavering a bit as he eyed me widely.
   “Well then”, I dropped back onto the couch and lay with one arm cocked behind my neck,
    “Spank me.”
He looked away and with a small smile and slowly got to his feet. I smiled the smile of the coquette while he regarded me and then began to move his hands in the air this way and that like a man trying to figure out how to lift an octopus off a hot gridle.

He spanked me sitting on the footstool with me balancing precariously on his knees, and he made love to me on the carpet in front of the fireplace slowly and tenderly, and he fed me with over-cooked food boiled over and neglected on the stove by our carnal activities.

So that gentle reader is the finer points of my tale. I have been spanked, and loved, and fed on many occasions since then. But as they say, “The Past Is Prologue”. and the best part of any affair is how it began, unless you’re me, when the best is yet to come.

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