Front-end Web Development
Front-end Web Development I waited three days. Nothing. Finally I called her. Got her cell. Left a message. Few more days went by. Nothing. Tried her cell once more. Nothing. I gave up. Two months later, I got a handwritten note from her, in the mail, Air Mail, from Europe. So sorry Jared; been so busy; everythings been upside down; weve moved to Brussels. Rons business. Learning French! Stay in touch! Ruth. Well, shit, how could I stay in touch. Shed left no return address, no phone number, no email. I went back to having given up on her. What else could I do. Hell. She was married. None of my business anyway. Still, those few moments wed had kept gnawing at me, but they gradually grew fainter and fainter, as week after week went by. I finally settled in to that it wasnt going to happen. Ever . She was gone. We were gone. What little that wed had - Over. I kept working at the bowling alley. Dated girls. A relationship would last for a few months, sometimes a year, or a couple - two years, and then itd be done. Just run out of gas, I guess. I worked hard, though, and lived cheap. Saved my money. The owner was getting old. He wasnt pushing the place. Sold it to me for a pittance. I ginned up, started leagues, got a liquor license, ran promotions, had contests, got on the local minor league bowlers tour. Money was coming in hand over fist. I kept driving the same old shit car, kept living in the same old shit apartment. Kept having relationships, one after the other, like a serial killer, none that had any real promise to last. Didnt matter to me. Didnt care. It was what it was. No use arguing with it. Sure I missed her. But I tried to bury it, forget it, squash it. Still, though I hated to admit, she was still there in my head, always had been. Ten years went by. AMF kept sending me free tickets each year to attend their bowling show in NYC. I kept throwing them away. Finally, I thought, what the hell. It could be okay. Ill do it. So I did. Five days at a hotel and conference center on Park Ave. Cant beat that. Flew in and took cabs everywhere. I had plenty of money. On the third evening there, I skipped dinner at the hotel restaurant and went out for a stroll. It was a cool autumn night. Life was good. 7 pm, still light out, a slight breeze, and New Yorkers, tourists everywhere. So many people. Nice to visit, wouldnt want to live there, yeah, yeah. Over there by the lamp post, though, a lady, corner of Park Avenue and 59th. Sure there were hundreds of people, going here and there, by her, in front of her, behind her, near her, but I only saw her. Her. I kept staring. Didnt want to lose her. No hat, a blazer, hair down to her shoulders, reddish, brownish, no sunglasses, jeans, the blazer buttoned, but large on her. I walked closer. Id had this happen to me a half dozen times, every time, for not. Who was I fooling. Still, I walked closer. Five feet away. The woman looking at her brochure, looking about, back to her brochure. People walking by us, between her and me. Finally, our eyes met. Ruth, I said. We walked west down 59th to Central Park and began to stroll through it. We started catching up. She couldnt leave a forwarding address, due to the nature of his business which was, selling guns, internationally, to whoever would buy them, pretty much. That was also the reason theyd had to leave abruptly. They hadnt necessarily gone underground, but Ron had decided all of a sudden, for reasons he couldnt go into serious details, for everyones protection, that itd be easier and more lucrative for Ron to conduct his business in Europe. Hed been making so much money, and kept her in so comfortable a lifestyle, and had never given her any reason to think he was cheating, then - how could she argue? The Belgium thing was a lark, shed told me, just in case. Theyd really moved to an island in the Mediterranean near Greece. Things were okay for awhile, until it happened. It, being, Rons stroke; the one hed had 2 years earlier, while making, of all things, love to Ruth. Since, he understandably hadnt been doing too well. Nothing had been lost; but everything had been compromised; his speech, his ability to think, his ability to move; the man had literally become about a half of what he once was, in all ways. He required around the clock help. Which was why she was here, in New York. In their heyday, about five years earlier, Ron had bought them a long term lease on a Park Avenue apartment, the idea being that theyd visit now and then, and chill out. Ron had visited twice, in all that time, till the stroke. Ruth visited often, staying for days, sometimes weeks, enjoying the time alone, away from what used to be the craziness of being wedded to an international gun runner, to what now meant being away from a husband who had unfortunately become an invalid. She said he looked 60 and a bad 60 at that, even though he was 20 years younger. Poor Ron, I thought. Ruth seemed quite relaxed, happy even, as the sun began to set on Central Park South. It was mild, upper 50s, and shed kept her blazer jacket buttoned up, with two buttons holding the lapels fastened. As we casually walked, of course I wanted to look at her, but I didnt want to make it uncomfortable for her. She hadnt appeared to have gained any weight, At 42, she still looked lovely, beautiful even, and at times, radiant. Both her children were away at college, her husband cared for by outside help, 24, 7. Shed taken a lover, once, she told me. A young laborer who worked at their estate. Half greek, half spanish, 27. It happened about a year since Rons stroke. She was lonely, she said. They made crazy, secret love for three weeks. Then he was drafted, shipped out, and that was the last shed heard from him. She said she hardly thought about him, anymore. Did you regret it? I asked. No, no, she said. I miss him, but no, no regrets. He was a good and kind man. And beautiful. Ron was not, is not, well, he just doesnt have much kindness in him. I dont believe its his fault, but its just something that Id begun to miss, in a man, and Carlos had that to give me. It was sweet. But like all things, it ended. Her eyes were moist, and we were sitting on a park bench, as she told me these things, and not until she realized it, did she let go of my hand, And as she was saying these things, while she stared off into the distance, somewhat catatonically, to a pond some 300 yards away, I took the opportunity to look at parts of her body which wouldve been imprudent of me to gaze at before. Her blazer seemed flat, up by the top of her lapels, from there, up to her neck, which was shrouded underneath by a white cotton blouse that had one fold around her neck. Her brown plaid blazer was still somewhat flat and unremarkable, lower still, where most women of a woman her size (54, 120 pounds) would have begun to show some semblance of a bust. And then below that point, she gradually and then quite demonstrably and noticeably filled out, quite extraordinarily of course, into each lower lapel of the jacket, at which point it dawned on me, that each incredibly fulsome side of her bust was simply resting on, and supported by, each corresponding thigh. However, having been arrested at thigh level, I acquired the distinct impression, that the bulbous globe of each breasts form, having found a resting place on her thigh, then commensurately bulged outwards from there, like smushing a volleyball sized piece of pizza dough. I thought it unfortunate, for me only, that each heavily rounded mass of Ruths breastmeattitflesh, resting so wonderfully, completely, beautifully, astronomically, on each well formed toned thigh, was topped by a sort of cover, which was the lower lapel of each side of her blazer. Id sprung an erection at the discovery of these events, of her, of the obvious advent and surely visual reminder to me, of her utter hugeness, and so I quick looked away, to try and dispel, my arousal. Id remembered of course, that, when I had last seen her 10 years before, shed grown to be at least twice the already seriously buxom size shed been when in high school. And shed allowed me to become acquainted with that change, right in her own home, on the 2nd floor, while her overworking fatigued pale husband prattled loudly and vociferously on, arranging one more arms sales deal in his study on the 1st floor. But now the realization that she mightve even enlarged beyond those already platitudinous dimensions from ten years earlier entered my psyche. It seemed a natural progression in my mind. If shed doubled from high school to 32, why would her development stop there? A cold sweat began to invade my pores.
When does the series start over?
This series began recently, so it'll be a while. I don't know if I'm starting over when this series ends, but if I do, it will be in about six months.
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