Stolen Moments, Part 1 of 2  MF Infidelity


     Barbara was a magnificent woman. I'd known that before, but seeing
her that day standing in a bikini at the edge of her swimming pool, the
impact was even stronger. 
     I'd spent most of the afternoon in the study at her residence,
working out details on a number of contracts while she swam and
sunbathed. My view through the only window with an angle on the pool
was obstructed by shrubbery, and when she'd occasionally stepped inside
to offer a soft drink or sandwich, she'd worn a light robe.  But now as
I stood up to stretch, I moved closer to the window and found an angle
that opened a view to the pool's diving board. 
     Doing my work at the Birely residence instead of at the office
wasn't unusual. Neither Barbara nor her husband Julius spent much time
at the company's offices. Both had signatory authority, and quite a few
of the company's upper management, attorneys and account executives
brought their work to the Birely's upscale neighborhood for approval
and signature. 
     If it had been anything like a regular home, (for instance, the
one I lived in) I might not have worked well there. But the Birely's
quiet good taste (Barbara's I assumed) substituted for an office
atmosphere quite well. Where steel and glass bespoke serious business
at the office, rich but quietly upholstered furniture, dark oil
paintings and deeply polished wood testified to dignity and serious
enterprise in the spacious study.
     As I watched, Barbara put a hand on the board, as though she were
about to climb up on it, but then turned and simply dove into the water
from the pool's edge. The movement caused a graceful thrusting of her
breasts as she flexed her knees and sprang forward over the water. Her
well-shaped ass flashed for a moment, and then she was under water,
swimming out of my view. But it was enough. From her ankles to her long
auburn hair, Barbara Birely was a magnificent woman.
     The brief view I'd had of her only served to increase my jealousy
of Julius Birely's good fortune. Beyond that lovely body, Barbara was a
gentle, gracious woman with a strong mind. In business matters, she
conducted herself with a confidence reserved to those who have nothing
to prove. She knew how to lead a discussion, let it develop its own
energy, and yet turn or even close down a line of thought without
rancor. In most cases, the speaker wasn't even upset.
     But that day I'd seen something else, something that marked the
day for me even more than my first glimpse of her in the bikini. It was
her face as she swam up and broke the water's surface. I only saw it
for a moment, but that was enough. As the water flattened her hair and
streamed from her face, the practiced charm of her wealth and
responsibilities transformed to a child grinning from inside, totally
trusting the joy of the moment.
     It surprised me. Barbara's family had built Cor-Tec. As the only
heir, she held the majority of voting stock, and, I'd assumed,
inherited the hardened world-view that characterized her family.
Open-hearted trust had never been their strong suit.
     Her great grandfather knew better than to deal with it, choosing
instead to amass the family's original fortune.  In his turn, her
grandfather had perfected the art of 'lawsuit first, questions later.'
Her father took the concept a step further, turning cynicism inward
until he couldn't trust even himself. He'd put his only child Barbara
in charge of company matters early on, and wandered off to the
Caribbean. 
     I was new to the company, but I'd heard some of the history and
all of the gossip. There were problems that Barbara was blind to. She
trusted too much, and her score on trust with Julius was only two out
of three. She'd trusted him to love her, and he did. She'd trusted him
to run the company well, and he did. But she'd also trusted him to be
content as steward of her family's fortune, and he wasn't. 
     Julius was a thief, and more than a few of us knew it.  He'd begun
small, invoicing the company for non-existent services through dummy
companies, but soon graduated to siphoning major percentages on certain
contracts. Presumably, the proceeds were in Switzerland. The early bets
were that he'd take up residence there himself soon, but so far, he'd
stayed put, the model husband and CEO. 
     But now, seeing that bit of vulnerability in her helped explain
the blind spot she had where Julius was concerned. The question was,
when would she find out? The trail wasn't that hard to follow for
someone with her level of access and knowledge. And for me on that
sunny July afternoon, what would it do to the kid I'd just seen
swimming around in the pool? Channel her into her grandfather's way of
thinking? Or even her father's?
     My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of ice tinkling in a
glass. I turned and was surprised to find Barbara standing at the
room's entrance. She'd just taken a sip from what looked to be a gin
and tonic, and her other hand held out a glass toward me. I wondered
how long she'd been watching me staring out toward the pool. 
     "Enough work," she said. "How can I enjoy myself out there when I
know you're in here slaving away?"
     "If  that's for me, I'll take it," I said. "Everything you need to
look at is done. I can finish the rest later."
     I congratulated myself for sounding matter-of-fact. Barbara hadn't
worn her robe this time. She had a towel wrapped around her waist, with
only the bikini top covering her beautiful full breasts. I stepped over
to her and took the drink, careful to keep my eyes locked on hers.
She'd already caught me trying to watch her in the pool. I wasn't about
to get caught looking again.
     "I can't sit down in here. My suit's too wet. Come on out to the
pool with me," she said, turning and heading back out of the room.
     I followed her back out to the pool, took a chair and sipped on my
drink while she sat on a lounge chair reading through the papers. She
bent forward slightly as she read, exposing even more of her tanned,
smooth breasts swelling above the bikini top. 
     When she finished, she asked for a pen. I walked over and handed
her one. She signed at all the x's, and handed back the pen. "Really
fine work," she said, "but you're not finished." She stood, pulled the
towel away from her waist and laid down on her stomach. "Before you go,
I need some oil on my shoulders and the back of my legs. If you
wouldn't mind."
     I definitely didn't mind, but I also definitely didn't understand.
Was this a come-on? Not possible, I told myself. I was unattached, but
she wasn't.  Not that I cared too much about Julius. He deserved
whatever he got. Maybe this was just something spontaneous and innocent
from that kid I'd seen in the pool?
     I took the oil, squirted some on my palms and rubbed it into her
shoulders. Her skin was soft, but the muscles underneath were toned and
moved firmly under my hands. I'd always found shoulder blades an
attractive part of a woman, and Barbara's were nicely defined. I wanted
to keep stroking those beautiful shoulders, but forced myself to stop. 
     "Good enough?" I said, using my best 'nothing's going on here'
voice. 
     "Yes, thanks. Now just my calves, if you would."
     Just  the calves. Well, that said it. No thighs, no come-on. And
maybe some late-arrival modesty. I hoped I hadn't caused it by enjoying
myself too much on her shoulders. I put more oil on my palms and began
stroking her calves.  
     Again, the muscles were firm and the skin velvety. And again, my
hands were happy at their work. "Make sure you don't over-do it," I
told myself, letting my eyes travel up her legs to the swell of her ass
cheeks under the bikini. 
     When I'd finished spreading the oil, I decided to give myself one
last perk. Using both hands on each leg, I made a long final stroke
from the back of her knee to the sole of her foot. Her response sent a
message straight to my groin. As my hands neared each foot, she lifted
it slightly. I can't define it, but moving with me the way she did,
even that slightly, sent a pulse feminine grace all the way up my arms,
down my chest and straight to erotic central.
     I stood up and tried to find the right words to leave with.
Nothing came, so I used the time to wipe my hands on a towel. After a
moment, she turned her head in my direction and said, "Good thing you
put the oil on. I'm sleepy."
     "Well, enjoy your sleep," I said, picking up my briefcase.
     "See you tomorrow," she said, turning her head away from me again.
"You'll bring the Uni-Band contracts, right?" In those few words, her
voice had transformed from hostess to stockholder. 
     "Right. That and the new human resources stuff," I said, matching
her tone for tone. 
     "Okay," she said. And that was it. I took the short route through
the pool gate to my car, and drove back to the office, the scent of her
oil and the sense of her body still on my hands.
     I suppose somewhere in my head I was preening. Walking the halls
at the office, I passed three or four other guys in my division, and
after nodding or offering a brief greeting, I added silently, "Bet you
never rubbed oil on the boss..." 
     Silly. And wrong. The preening stopped flat late that afternoon as
I passed by an office with two of the account execs in it. I only heard
a few words, but they were enough, "...so I put it on her. Shoulders,
legs, the whole thing. That damn Julius, talk about luck...."
     Christ.

************

     I arrived at the house about ten the next morning. Barbara
answered the door in the same robe she'd worn the day before. She
greeted me pleasantly, led me to the study again, and then excused
herself.
     I don't know what I thought would happen that day, but the answer
was nothing. I heard an occasional splash from the pool, the faint
sound of her voice making and answering phone calls, but she never came
back in the house.
     When I finished my work, I headed for the pool to get her
approvals and found no one there. Walking back in the house, I called
her name a few times. No answer. 
     I put the papers she needed on the study desk and let myself out.
I couldn't decide whether I was disappointed or relieved. She was an
attractive woman, but how many oil boys did she have lined up? And was
I expecting more than oil duty? No. That was ridiculous. Or was it?
Damn. The woman had me chasing my tail.
     I had two more occasions to work at the house that week. Julius
and Barbara were home together part of the time and alone other times,
but whenever it was just Barbara she seemed busy elsewhere in the
house. 
     I'd have put the whole thing aside as meaningless, but during the
next week I heard even more sotto voce about Barbara and her poolside
manner.  The information elite in our office consisted of five or six
people who understood the company's inner workings beyond a 9 to 5
context. They each had access to key documents, computer links or other
private sources. Of course, they shared information, and together they
could paint a much clearer picture of Cor-Tec than you'd ever see in
the quarterly reports. 
     These were the people who knew what our financial statements
really meant, how and why some of our key contracts were maintained,
and who might be on the fence for continued employment. They also knew
how much Julius had siphoned away, and what he'd done to hide it. I
wasn't part of the group, but I had fringe access through a friend. And
now I was hearing Barbara Birely's name as the latest group topic.
Evidently most of them had been invited out to the pool as well, but in
a couple of cases, things had progressed from incidental to noteworthy.

     Sloppy fifths never appealed to me, and the righteous portion of
my libido took the high road, resolving to distance myself from the
whole thing. The tiny fact that Barbara had given me nothing to
distance myself from had no bearing on my new-found morality.
     And yet, the whole thing confused me.  Barbara didn't fit the
context. 

************

     Another week went by before I was called out to the residence
again. Time had softened the whole issue for me, but when she opened
the door, I still had trouble meeting her eyes. 
     And later when she called me out to the pool, I had trouble
walking without bumping into things.
     No ceremony this time, no gin and tonic, no small talk.
     She was lying on her back, but sat up when I entered the pool
area. "Think you can help me out again?" she said. She held the bottle
of oil out to me. "Just spread it all over my back."
     I remember thinking I had the option of being too busy just then,
but my legs ignored me. I walked over to her, took the bottle and sat
down behind her on the lounge chair. Its metal legs scraped against the
concrete deck as I added my weight. A light breeze rippled the water
and filtered through Barbara's hair. 
     And now I'd run out of things to notice. She was the only thing
left.  I moved a few wisps of her hair aside before I began; beautiful
soft hair with rich highlights turned amber in the afternoon sun. So
much for the moral high ground.
     But not completely. In seconds, I'd found a new and better
mission. I was going to find out what the story was here. Maybe she was
in trouble. Maybe she needed a friend. Counseling. Something.  Maybe if
I pressed a little, I'd find a way to...well, I wasn't sure what I'd
find a way to do, but somehow sliding my hands over her body seemed the
perfect way to start.
     She didn't seem inclined to talk, and I had no idea what to say.
So I began. I spread the oil low on the beautiful arch of her back,
moving my hands in small circles. 
     In moments, the lush feel of her had raced up my arms and through
my body again. I kept my eyes on my hands. I had to. The only other
view was over her shoulders to the upper swell of her breasts, and I
planned on being able to stand when I was finished. 
     I let the circles widen, spreading oil around the curve of her
waist, then upward over her lower ribs. On their own, my hands began to
squeeze and knead her skin, as I rose higher, massaging the muscles.
Not a part of spreading suntan lotion. I resolved to stop soon.
     "Don't," she said, and I removed my hands quickly, a flush
building in my neck I was glad she couldn't see. 
     "I'm sorry, did that tickle?" I asked lamely.
     "No. I just don't want oil on the bikini strap. Hang on minute."
     She leaned forward, reached back and untied the strap. With long
feminine practice, she held the bikini in place pressing it against her
body with her arms until she could bring her hands up to hold the cups.

     "Okay," she said. 
     It was then I knew that I had no plan at all. Whatever I had in
mind as her newest best buddy, her confidant, the brother she never had
or whatever nonsense I'd cluttered my head with was so vague I couldn't
find even a small piece of it. The sides of her breasts were exposed,
beautiful white skin against the tan of her back, and I stared
stupidly. My hands were on auto pilot, and widened their circles with
every stroke. If brotherly love didn't kick in soon, I'd soon be
massaging that beautiful exposed flesh, coating it with oil it had no
use for.
     "You really are beautiful," I said. And what the hell was that?
Dumb, inadequate, dangerous, uncalled for, and what genius decided I
should say it? Now I was in trouble. No way to recover.
     "I try to take care of myself," she said.
     Well that was easy. What was I worried about? I let some time
pass, and then decided what the hell.
     "Did you want me to do the sides?" 
     "If you need to."
     If I needed to? Did she mean if I wanted to? It was a strange
non-conversation. And then my hands were circling gently up her sides,
higher and further forward until I reached the sides of her breasts. It
would be poor form to announce my arrival by pausing, so I let my
fingers slide upward, lifting her breasts slightly as I circled just
under her arms. I could feel the weight of them, heavy but wonderful as
I moved my hands down, forward and up again.
     "Be careful," she said, her voice small now, barely audible. 
     "Should I stop?" I asked.
     "The fabric. I....don't want any on my top, " she said, and
loosened her hold on the bikini top. It fell forward, opening more of
her breasts to my touch, and all of them to my eyes. The cups were
loose enough now that I could see under them from behind, all the way
to her soft dark pink nipples.
     The arousal was instant, and I shifted as best I could to relieve
the growing pressure as my cock hardened. I needed my hands, but they
were covered with oil and busy elsewhere. I stroked the whole of her
back now, beginning low and continuing up under her shoulder blades,
then moving forward to her breasts and back again. They moved
delightfully under my hands, separating further from the bikini top. 
     By now she was only holding it loosely, and the cups fell forward,
exposing her beautiful dark rose-colored nipples. Without thinking, I
leaned forward, drinking in every erotic detail; the tiny wrinkles at
the base of each sweet bud, her soft plush aureoles rising slightly
from the breasts surrounding them.
     With a final stroke I slid my hands forward and cupped the full
delicious warmth of both breasts. I let a moment go by to see if she'd
respond, and when she kept her silence, I began circling her nipples
with my fingers. When they responded, hardening at my touch, I held
each between my thumb and forefinger, pulling gently up and back. 
     "I love him dearly." That same quiet voice. "I think I want you to
know that."
     "You love...."
     "Julius. He's the only one. Except you."
     Talk about cold water. I had no idea what was going on. I
understood what she'd said, but it made no sense. I took my hands from
her breasts and sat back.
     "Except me....for what?" I said, not knowing what else to ask.
     "It's all right," she said, her voice stronger now. Everything's
all right. And thank you."  She leaned forward and retied the bikini
top.
     "Barbara, I don't want to be flip here, but, uh....I think I
should be thanking you?"
     She stood up and smiled then, a beautiful big smile, almost
laughing. 
     "And that's why it's just you."
     I stood, and found I had no trouble at all doing so. Too bad. 
     "What's just me?" 
     "Everything's fine. Just leave the papers on that desk in the
study again. I'll sign them later." 
     And with that she touched my arm, gave me another smile, and dove
into the water.
     When she broke the surface and saw me still standing there, she
gave a small wave and said, "Bye. I'll probably need more work next
week." 
     I think I returned her wave, but the next thing I remember was
siting in my car and turning the ignition.  There wasn't a part of me
that wanted to cooperate with anything else. My hands still felt her
breasts like an amputee might feel a missing arm, my head kept hearing
her words and replaying that smile, and my groin had serious issues
nobody seemed willing to talk about.  
     I suppose a part of me kept an eye on traffic, but it's a wonder I
got back to the office in one piece. I had no memory of the road or
anything on it.