The Tall Girl

This story is loosely based on my life, but is largely fiction. There is no explicit sex. If you want a stroke story, this isn't for you.

I unlocked my front door. It was all I could do to open the heavy door and close it behind me. I took three steps and sat on the floor. How had I gotten to this point?

==============

Sixteen years ago, I was a freshly discharged USAF veteran. I had served in the first Gulf war. I had saved every penny I had earned; so when I got out, I was able, with the help of the GI Bill, to finish college (I had two years of community college prior to enlistment), and then complete law school. Life was shaping up to be sweet.

It was right after I finished law school, and I had started working for a prestigious local law firm. I was well-equipped to pass the bar, and the exam was coming up in three weeks.

A couple of friends, fellow lawyers at the firm, invited me out to a local night spot. Lady lawyers, they promised. Lotsa lady lawyers and doctors and CPAs, they said. I'd get lucky for sure, they opined.

Well, they were sorta right. And therein lay the problem.

I had been at this shindig for a half hour or so when I spotted a very tall woman across the room. Someone must have read my mind; Phil, my immediate supervisor, took me by the arm and led me over to her.

"Connie," he said, "Jeff. Jeff, Connie." With that, he slapped me on the back and waked away. We both watched him, a little dumbfounded and maybe embarrassed.

I turned to look at her. After a moment, she reciprocated.

Looking into her eyes was different from my previous experiences: up close, I could see she was several inches taller than I was. I clock in at 5'10"; she must have been 6'3" at least.

I started talking, about what I don't remember, and soon we had moved to a couple of chairs and were chatting like old friends. We made small talk for half an hour; then the smoke got a little thick for my preference, and I said, "What say we bail and go somewhere a little quieter? Maybe Starbucks...?

She smiled broadly, and said, "God, thanks. I was starting to suffocate." (This was the mid 90s, before no-smoking-anywhere laws began popping up.)

We walked two blocks to the nearest beanery, and continued our previous conversations over cappuccini. I learned she was a CPA, a graduate of a blood-rival of my own alma mater, and very sensitive about her height. She had agreed to go with me for coffee, she said, because I had looked her in the eyes, and not in the chest.

We both blushed a little over that.

We wandered back to the nightclub. She intimated she would need to find her friends, as she had not driven. I took the hint: I offered to drive her home. She was a tad hesitant, but accepted.

She lived not far from my own place, in a decent condo in a decent section. I got out and moved to her side of the car, but she already had the door open. So much for chivalry, I thought.

Before she got out, I asked, "Could I get your phone number? I'd love to continue the conversation. I had a really nice evening."

She smiled, and maybe she blushed (it was rather dark, so I couldn't tell). She pulled out a card and proffered it to me. "Call me tomorrow evening," she said.

I took her hand, and on impulse I kissed it; then I took the card.

She giggled, turned to leave, and then said, "You're a sweetie," over her shoulder. She walked quickly up the walkway and into the building.

I went home feeling like things were going well.

I called her the next evening, and we chatted for over two hours. The time evaporated, such was the quality of the conversation. I learned a lot about her, and she about me, in that getting-to-know-you sort of way: place of birth, how was childhood, schools attended, interests, that sort of thing.

We agreed, before ringing off, to talk again the next evening, and the next, and to have a date the coming Friday evening.

Without spelling it all out, we had a few good weeks dating. We brushed up against intimate subjects, but never crossed an uncomfortable line. We instinctively knew and respected one another's space vis-a-vis matters of the... uh, groin? no, heart.

One Thursday evening, about six weeks into our relationship, we caught a comedy act at the Laugh Den, the local yukbucket. After the show, we shared a coffee, and a passionate-yet-innocent kiss, and went our separate ways. Dinner on Saturday evening? You betcha!

The next morning, I was clearly happy. My co-workers noticed my upbeat state of mind. Phil swung by my cube and said, "Seeing the tall gal?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

I sighed. "Yeah, Phil, we went out last night."

He giggled. "I bet you did," he said, and then, "Got lucky, huh?"

I was barely paying attention to him, but I focused enough to say, "Yeah, Phil, I think I've gotten real lucky."

He grinned and sauntered off. End of conversation.

Well, no.

Saturday evening, I arrived at Connie's apartment a half-hour early, as is my wont. She answered the door dressed not at all prepared for dinner. She made no move to invite me in.

"Hi," I said, warily.

"Goodbye, asshole," she seethed, and closed the door.

Well, that was different.

I knocked again. Twice, three times. The door finally opened. She was clearly crying and angry. "What do you want? I want you to go!" she spat.

"Connie," I stammered, "what did I do?"

"You told Phil you fucked me Thursday night, that's what. Lying sack of shit!"

"I did no such thing!" I protested. "Connie, listen, you know me..."

"I thought I did," she hissed. "I don't know why I don't just go lesbian. So much easier than dealing with men." She closed the door and refused to answer.

I immediately drove to Phil's house. I was ready to kill the motherfucker.

I banged on his door loudly, ready to go at it. His wife Barb answered the door. "Hi, Jeff," she said, smiling until she saw the anger etched on my face.

"Can I see Phil? Sorry, Barb, but this is big time and bad news," I said through clenched teeth.

"Uh, yeah, Jeff, come in, sit down." She ushered me in and left to get Phil. It was all I could do not to trash the living room; but Barb had had nothing to do with this.

Phil came in, looking surprised. "Hey, buddy, what's the haps?"

I grabbed him by the throat and said,"What the FUCK did you say to Connie?"

Barb was on me in a flash, pulling me back.

Phil went down in a heap, and rose to his knees. "I don't understand," he said, lamely.

"BULLSHIT!" I thundered. Everyone in the house could hear. "You told her I fucked her Thursday night. I never told you ANY SUCH THING, you bastard!"

Barb calmed down the growing crowd -- there was apparently a family party going on, thanks to my great timing -- and said, "Jeff, that's not true. You know it."

"Then why did she just throw me out of her apartment?" I spat. "Why did she name HIM as the one who lied on me?"

Barb looked at me, wide-eyed; then she looked at Phil. "What's he talking about, Phil?"

Phil looked very uncomfortable. "I didn't talk to her," he said, "I just mentioned it to a few people..." He trailed off, then began again. "Well, you said you got lucky, so I assumed..."

"ASSHOLE!" I screamed, and the assembled guests backed off. "I meant I was lucky to have met a woman like her. I never told you I fucked her. You lying weasel!"

Barb had shooed everyone out of the room. She said, "Jeff, you're too mad to be here. Please, go home. I promise I'll clean this up. Okay?" She held my gaze with soft eyes that drained the fury from me.

"Okay, Barb," I said. "Sorry about your party." I turned to leave, then turned to Phil and said, "I'm done working for you, you miserable lying prick. Consider this my notice. Effective immediately, and I want six month's severance, or I charge you with sexual harassment to the firm's partners."

It being Saturday evening, all the downtown traffic had long since died out. I went to my office and emptied my desk. I was a member of the bar, I could find work.

I drove home, downed half a bottle of Johnny Red, and passed out feeling very, very sorry for myself.

Sunday afternoon, I called my friend Walter, from law school, a couple years older and an Assistant Attorney General with the state. I asked if he could use a lightly experienced attorney with credentials. He could; I met with him Monday morning, and by Tuesday morning I was an AAG.

For a couple of months I worked to assuage the sadness. I didn't know what else to do. I knew what NOT to do: date anyone else. I was burned out.

Working for the state was really not so bad. The pay was less, by a substantial margin; but I had paid off my car early, and I kept my credit card debt near a $0 balance. (The nice, quiet severance check hadn't hurt.) In short, I wasn't hurting for money.

In addition, I got a shitload more paid holidays and worked virtually no overtime. Well, I worked fifty hours a week, but for a lawyer, that's barely standard time.

One rainy evening I was sitting at home, the news finished, the dinner dishes placed in the dishwasher, and Pat Sajak tsk-tsking over the Bankrupt spot on the wheel, when my doorbell rang. I muted the TV and trudged over to the door.

There stood Connie, looking like a drowned rat, eyes red from what I assumed was crying. "Can we talk?" she asked.

"I think we did that a couple of months ago," I replied tartly.

"No," she protested, "really talk." I made no move. "Please? Could I come in? I'm cold."

Well, I had been in love with her, and truth to tell, I had never stopped. Besides, I'm not an asshole. I stood aside and let her enter.

I led her into the dining alcove. "Coffee?" I asked.

She smiled weakly. "Please."

I quickly brewed a double batch of espresso. I poured a couple of demi-tasses, and set hers before her. We had been making small-talk of the very small variety.

When she sipped her coffee, she said, "Mmmm, glorious." She paused, and then, "just like the times we had."

I was getting impatient. "Connie, let's cut to the chase, okay? You hate me for something I didn't do. I've moved on. Let's just be happy it's over."

A tear ran down her cheek. "No, you didn't. I just found out. You didn't betray me. I feel like such a bitch." Her breath hitched, but she did not break down.

I waited, and she continued. "Barb told me what really happened. She made Phil tell me, too."

I raised a brow. "Made him?"

She giggled nervously. "Yeah, she went Lysistrata on his ass."

After a beat, I howled with laughter, and she joined in. We laughed for over a minute, hard, side-stitching laughter.

Finally I said, "Took him that long to come around, huh?" I felt light, and free as a bird. I stood, leaned over, and kissed her. I took her face in both hands, and said, "I would NEVER betray the woman I love."

She bowed her head and wept. "I know," she said after a moment. "I just regret I didn't have the faith in you to let you explain it to me."

I sat while she composed herself. "Hungry?" I asked after a few moments.

She wiped her nose with a Kleenex and nodded.

"Pancakes and eggs?" I asked knowingly.

She looked at me and grinned, then nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, she was back from the bathroom, looking decidedly better; and I placed a short stack of buckwheats and two over-easies before her, sandwiched the way she liked, melted butter and maple syrup at the ready.

She consumed the food with abandon. "Ambrosia," she murmured, as she scooped up the last juicy morsels. She sighed contentedly and swallowed the last drops of the cappuccino I had prepared for her.

We spent the rest of the evening canoodling, and just before ten, the phone rang. "That's probably Barb," Connie opined.

I picked up the phone, smiling.

"Everything okay over there?" asked Barb, sounding quite chipper.

"Way okay," I replied with a laugh.

"Ta-ta, lovers!" she chirped and hung up.

==============

Which brings us to where we started.

It was a tough day: several anti-trust cases were coming to a head soon, and there were three death-penalty appeals which the AG's office had to handle. The responsibility for most of them landed on yours truly.

I was wiped by the time I pushed open the door, and sat down in the entranceway, as is my habit.

Three seconds later, the sounds of a stampede started, the second sweetest sound in my world. Eight little feet pounding down the hall with cries of "Daddy's home!"

Three seconds after that, I was swarmed under by four small children, four of the five lights of my life. Bringing up the rear, chuckling as she always did, was my wife of twelve years.

Connie said, uselessly as always, "Come on, guys, let Dad breathe."

I got in a few more kisses, swatted a few backsides, and stood, announcing, "Dinner in half an hour. Now I have to KISS MAMA."

As we kissed, the kids shrieked, eww, yuck, grownup stuff, and stampeded down the hall to the rumpus room.

I kissed my tall, beautiful wife; and as she lightly stroked my penis, I knew tonight would end on an even higher note, the sweetest sound in my world.

The sound of my wife launching into bliss as we made love.