Anita

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A long friendship is finally fulfilled.
5.8k words
4.47
31.1k
20
8

Part 1 of the 3 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 11/26/2016
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You, dear reader, will have to make up your own mind if this is a true story or not. I can say the names are fictional.

*****

It took me over ten minutes to spot Anita in the crowd. Even though we had been friends for almost thirty years, and I had painted her portrait, I did not recognize her.

Her fellow teachers had put on a spectacular retirement Garden Party in the back yard one of the teachers. The large garden was packed with teachers, students, parents, friends and smattering of children and toddlers. An overlay of background music filled the hot late summer air.

My eye had passed over a rather tall, hot-looking fortyish woman in a white shift dress several times without a moment of recognition, even though my eyes had lingered on her for more than a few seconds. It was only when I was near her as she greeted someone that I identified Anita's voice and took a surprised harder look.

Gone was the long black hair streaked with grey done up in a bun or ponytail. She wore her hair short, cleverly styled and enhanced to a shiny deep chestnut.

The careworn expression and worry creases on her formally thin face had disappeared. She was at least ten pounds heavier than when I had last seen her some eighteen months earlier. She carried a glowing tan.

The extra weight filled out the dress nicely. The deep cut arm openings of the blinding white shift dress revealed just enough side-boob to tease. The scooped neckline and a clear absence of a bra provided a tantalizing peekaboo as she bent down to talk to the toddlers. This attractive woman caught my eye further when the wind pressed the fabric against her body to suggest she had dispensed with panties as well. She was dressed to attract the male gaze.

Her look and dress were so unlike Anita I had not even considered she could be my friend.

A few moments after I identified her voice, Anita turned in my direction. She spotted me. She rushed over giving me an uncharacteristic full body hug. Usually her hugs were the shoulder-forward kind with no torso contact.

"Michel. Michael. Michael. How are you?"

I hardly had time to reply, "Fine, thank you."

She charged on breathlessly, "We must meet up soon. I'll call you next week. Too many people here for us to chat properly. Well over a hundred Sophie told me. I'll call you." Anita turned aside in the blink of an eye and had moved on to speak to a couple standing next to us.

I was annoyed. I felt dismissed. Brushed off. I'd changed some other plans to attend Anita's retirement party. I was uncertain if I had been given a permanent brush off from this woman who had replaced the Anita I knew. I had severe doubts that I would get a call from her. I could not imagine what events could have possibly have changed her so much. This was so much more than a retirement coming out.

I returned to my apartment. Choked up. The half bottle of malt whisky failed to lift my spirits. I lingered on the fact that this fifty seven year old woman who now looked forty had no use for a seventy eight year old now acting his age. I was miserable and very sorry for myself.

I remained this way for several days. Called my far away kids and learned of the grandchildren's activities. Slowly shaking off my apathy, I started back into my usual routine. I was resigned to and saddened by the fact Anita was gone from my life.

Totally out of the blue Anita phoned the following Thursday. My elation was in total contrast to the doubt and depression I had felt. I silently apologized to Anita for doubting her.

"Michael. I'm so sorry I was so brusque with you at the party. I was worried I might say something inappropriate in front of others. That party was the closing of the middle phase of my life. I hope you can forgive me."

"Anita. Yes I was hurt. But this call makes things a lot better."

"Annie. Call me Annie now. Please."

"Whatever you say. Annie." A rebranding I thought.

"Can you come over to see me tomorrow? I'll make lunch and dinner, so come about noon. We have a lot to talk about."

"Oh, Anita - Annie you've changed beyond all recognition. I didn't recognize you at the party until I heard your voice. I'm now so curious to hear your story. Of course, I'll come over."

"That's wonderful. Tomorrow at noon? So much to tell."

"What can I bring?"

"Not much. Maybe a bottle of wine. Red French for preference. And, of course, your ears."

"Can't wait to see you and hear the full story. See you tomorrow."

Over the course of a few minutes my mood had jumped from morose to joyous.

On my way to Anita's - Annie's - house I picked up three bottles of good French wines.

The surprises started as soon as Annie opened the door. She was bare footed with brief tight shorts and a white tank top. Her tanned, smooth, shapely and firmly muscled legs begged for attention. Her nipples were just evident as they capped the contours of her breasts. She looked magnificent.

"Close your mouth. Come in and give me a hug."

I handed over the bag containing the wine. She placed it on the hall table and in a flash she was giving me a deep, long full-body hug.

I could feel her breasts squashing against me and lower down her pelvis was asserting its presence against mine. I discovered for the first time this was one advantage of being the same height as Annie.

She then eased back a bit and planted a long soft and delicate kiss on my lips. Annie disengaged slightly and traced her tongue over my lips several times before darting it between them and into my surprised mouth. Her actions created an immediate warm glow in my groin.

She reengaged her hug. I took the liberty of running my hand up her back under her tank top. She gave a soft pleasure purr. As we stepped back I could see her now hard nipples pushing out the white cotton. I remembered the only other time I had tried the under-the-blouse back caress Anita almost punched me out with a supporting harangue that lasted for a full five minutes. She had changed. Big time.

"I have not seen you since your wife died. How you really doing?" She put heavy emphasis on 'really'.

She guided me to the table in the kitchen where lunch was spread out.

"Michael, tell me how you're doing?" This was more like the Anita I knew. I explained that I was pretty well over the grief but was lonely at times missing Jill's company. I think I was going on a bit when she interrupted me. I realized my verbal monologue was beginning to bore her. I stopped; after all it was her story I was interested in.

"Open the wine. Opener is in the left drawer. You choose which one." I selected the Merlot and poured two generous glasses.

It was my turn to ask the questions. "So tell me what you have been up to? I see the changes. Big changes. What brought them about? Give me the broad picture first. Then we'll get into the juicy details. For starters you once told me you'd teach until you were sixty. What changed?"

"Ok. This how it went down. On the last day of the winter term the Principle called me in. Just before Christmas. She told me I was being transferred to the position of Student Counselor at the start of the second semester in February. She tried to sell the move as a promotion. Load of BS. I was devastated. I told her that I would think about it and get back to her early in the New Year. I was really cut up."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"You were still grieving."

"True. I'm not sure I'd been much help, come to think of it."

"After I was over the initial shock. I decided to get away. I thought I could really relax at a spa over Christmas. A friend told me about this great place out in the country twenty minutes north of the city. I was lucky. They had a cancellation. I was pampered for five days."

She took a swig of wine. "You know how there are certain milestone events or moments in one's life. Mine came when I had a full body massage. The Oriental masseuse was very polite and asked me, shortly after she started and my mind was wandering, about a having a happy ending. My mind was far away thinking about my dismissal from teaching, a demotion, and responded "of course."

"The massage was only the third I have ever had. It seemed to go on forever. The masseuse was good. She reduced me to a puddle of relaxation. As she finally worked the front of my legs she moved to my thighs. She seamlessly moved from the large outside muscles to the softer flesh on the inside of the thigh and inexorably onto my labia and vagina. As I say, I was so relaxed I did not even think to stop her. She brought me to a shuddering orgasm. A happy ending. All sorts of memories I had long suppressed came flooding back to me. In that moment I made my decision to retire."

"You puzzle me Annie. For almost thirty years we have enjoyed a good platonic friendship. Whenever sex or bodily things came up you closed down the conversation immediately, but now you are talking to me like a adult in an open manner that has me, frankly, stunned, what's happened to you?"

"Well you can take some of the credit. Or blame. Whatever."

"How so?"

"About three years ago do you remember talking to me about what would I do in my retirement. Retire to something you said. You got me thinking. I eased myself out of regarding myself as only a teacher. You convinced me I could be whatever I wanted within my skill sets, my willingness to branch out and courage to take on the new. My mindset slowly but surely detached me from the singular view I was only a teacher. I permitted myself to think more broadly but had not developed enough courage to actually act on it. Does that make sense?"

"Sort of. But what have you become?"

"You are partially to blame for that too. But I'll get to that much later. Eat."

I could not help but watch Annie take a celery stick and suck up and down it length and nibble on its end. She was totally unaware of her actions.

Not all her teaching habits had disappeared as we settled into the meal. She quizzed me in the best Socratic methodology about how and what I was doing and thinking about. She grilled me throughout the meal. I tried to bounce the questions back to her, but she told me to be patient. All in good time. After the meal we took the second bottle of wine to the family room.

All the previous times I had been with her in this room she sat opposite me. Today she sat at the other end of the short sofa, pulled her feet up and put them in my lap with her back against the padded arm. She did nothing to hide the camel toe she presented to me as her shorts rucked up. I held and started to massage her feet. She sighed, "Nice."

"I was in Paris three days after I departed the classroom. Left in a snowstorm. Landed in a three star hotel. I had a plan without any serious hope it would work out."

"Guess the first thing I did in Paris?"

"Coffee on the Champs Elysees? No clue. Tell me."

"Hired a private detective. Then had coffee on the Champs Elysees."

"What! Why on earth would you do that?"

"To find Philippe Monvert."

"Who he?"

"If you cast your mind back, way back, you'll recall I was once engaged to one Philippe Monvert. I know you remember that I was engaged to a Frenchman. I wanted to find and meet him again." She seemed very sure I'd recall him. Of course she was right.

"Did you?"

"What?"

"Find him."

"I did. Well the detective did in about ten minutes. She then prepared a dossier on him. He had just separated from his third wife."

"So..."

"Don't rush me. Philippe has a large and very successful architectural practice in Paris and owns a profitable property development company. I may not have told you he was training to be an architect thirty-five years ago when we were engaged. He's now rich although more than half his wealth goes to his wives."

"I always wondered about that engagement. What it meant to you."

"You've probably - no I would say have definitely - speculated about that. Have you? Am I right?" Something was going on here that I did not understand.

"Yes I have. A normal natural curiosity."

"Right. Good Catholic girl gets engaged in France. What did you think? Seriously. Tell me."

I paused for a moment, but was not yet certain I read the situation fully.

"To Anita I would answer something like it was your way to guarantee he would marry you. I'm not sure if I am crossing any boundaries here but to Annie I would say it was your way to justify an intimate relationship and stay somewhat within the boundaries of your religion."

"Not bad. It's precisely what I thought you'd say. Put a bit delicately though. Annie would paraphrase: permission to fuck him." Annie waggled her toes into my crotch.

"That surprised you didn't it? He taught me all the rudiments of physical congress as you might put it. My vagina and anus were sore for a week after one session. He was a great fuck."

"Anita. Sorry, Annie. All the years I have known you I have never heard you swear of cuss or use gutter words. It doesn't suit you." I was serious. I was uncertain about this new Annie.

Anita went red in the face. She exploded, "That's ripe coming from you. Are you telling me you don't use such solid Anglo-Saxon language? Are you being hypocritical?"

I started to speak, "Annie..."

She interrupted me, "Now shut up and listen. I have a story to tell you. Be quiet until I finish." I just nodded. No more words from me for a while.

"Let me take you deeper into my Paris experience. I graduated in French with an Art Major tacked on. Did my teacher's training and decided to take a gap year before starting work. Sorbonne offered post-graduate courses. I applied, accepted and was awarded some money as well."

"I arrived a bright-eyed naive American Roman Catholic virgin taking a light course load at the Sorbonne, ready for new experiences. Philippe quickly found me and seduced me. I was a willing, enthusiastic participant."

"Philippe came from a noble family. He was sophisticated about life, well read and like most Frenchmen at the time very knowledgeable about all matters sexual. He was three years older than me. Handsome and well dressed. What was there not to like? I was certainly a pushover. One who loved every moment."

"He guided me towards reading Beauvoir, Camus and Gide, and then nudged me to read Colette, Nin and Henry Miller. My French certainly improved as did my sexual horizons. We experimented with light bondage, some spanking, and a little bit of adventurous exhibitionism and then drifted into a threesome with Colette, who he later married. I started to look at his male friends with interest. He noticed and encouraged me to kiss them on the lips. They felt me up a bit, over my clothes, and I enjoyed it. I was become hooked on the sexual experience."

"Shocked yet, Michael?" I nodded. I was also become aroused as she told of her experiences.

"Then he introduced me to The story of O. I masturbated to it in front of Philippe as I read. I loved the idea of giving myself up to pleasure. Shortly after I finished the book he told me he wanted me to serve food for five of his friends who were coming over to play poker. He gave me some clothes to wear. Although it sounds really old now, he handed me a French Maid's outfit to wear. I knew what it meant, and was strangely pleased."

"For some reason I can't quite recall, I had to return to my own small rented room before the poker game. I took the outfit with me. Just as I had finished trying it on and was admiring how sexy I looked when there was knock on the door. I covered up with a robe. My landlady held out a telegram for me. She looked deeply in my eyes. I could tell she had read it. Father was very ill - come home as soonest. Mom. My landlady asked me for two weeks rent."

Annie drank some more wine. "What could I do? I had flash of insight that I was at the edge of a sexual precipice that would not end well for me and my father had saved me, as weird as that might sound. I packed my things and caught the first plane home. I wrote to Philippe as I waited for the plane."

"There was no harm to Philippe. He moved on easily. My father recovered quite quickly. My Mom was delighted to have me home. I was evasive when talking about my Paris experience. At home I eventually put it in perspective, after a huge guilt trip in which I saw myself burning in the centre of Hell for eternity. I managed to stuff the Genie that was my need and pleasure for sexual passion back in the bottle. I admit I was scared shitless by my loss of my own identity to my passion for sex." Annie was silent for more than a few moments as her gaze drifted into the distance and back over the decades. I remained silent.

"So my passion transmuted into my teaching and love of my students. I kept my finger firmly in the spout of the Genie bottle." Annie smiled. "Of course there were a few small leaks over the decades, but nothing too serious. I matured and took control of my life."

"Perhaps you now understand why I always kept your soft flirting at bay. I developed an armor that started with a large physical personal space that only diminished with time and confidence I could handle people close to me. You and I could have easily become entangled had I let go even a bit. Almost did once after we went to the movies and there was an unexpected sex scene. On the other hand I wonder if our friendship would have lasted this long if we had in fact fucked."

Anita grinned. "But all that was then and now is now."

"My God, Annie what can I say? What I saw - or you presented to me -was Anita keeping the lid on her sexual passion? Wow. You've blown my mind. I'm having great difficulty keeping up with the changes in my perception you. But I have a question: why see him again after what you went through with Philippe? Now?"

"With my retirement, with my maturity, I needed to reexamine my passion and probable youthful indiscretion. A chancy sentimental journey with lots of unknowns. I felt ready to face down my demons. Did I have a reset mode, if I met him? I had no clue without taking action. I was hot to trot into action. I followed him for a couple of days. God, he's still handsome and lithe. Full of energy and charm. And that was before I spoke to him."

"Wow. You set yourself up well. Went in with an open frame of mind." My mild sarcasm was lost on Annie. I was bit jealous.

"On the third day I approached him as he left work at about seven thirty in the evening. I just said, 'Bon soir, Philippe.' He stopped, looked anxious for a moment. He burst out in a huge grin. "Anita!!" He grabbed me and kissed me full on the lips. He remembered me instantly. That was huge turn on for me. He remembered me, I kept thinking. He swept me off to dinner and we talked and talked until they kicked us out of the café. A replay of thirty years earlier."

Annie took a long swig of wine. She smiled to herself. "I'm not sure if it's a pheromone thing or the circumstances or our past together, but I went home with him. We fucked like bunnies for hours on end. Starting hard and fast. As you may guess I was out of training, but soon got into the action. Apart from a few flings over the ensuing years I've been celibate."

"I moved out of the hotel and in with him the following day and stayed."

"I wonder how a good Catholic girl could do that?"

"I was no longer a good Catholic girl. Simple. Let me expand that: when the system I had served faithfully decided to set me aside I felt rejected. In fact I was being rejected. I thought two can play that game and rejected my observance, although vestiges of my faith remain.."

"OK." I was not sure it was not that simple.

"So after the original fucking. What then?"

"Philippe is an aesthete. He told me that I looked worn out and need to be refurbished. He said that word -refurbished, as if I was an old building. I laughed at him. He had lunch with Colette once a month. I joined them. We laughed about old times and toyed with the idea of a replay. I met up with Colette the following week and she gave me some hints about Paris chic. She introduced me to her hairdresser and you see the result."

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