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From: DrSpin <drspin@newsguy.com>
Subject: {ASSM} First Ever Repost (8): The Perfect Pair (MF) ~ by DrSpin
Date: Sun, 13 Jan 2002 06:10:02 -0500
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The Perfect Pair (MF)
by DrSpin (aka Neil Anthony)
(first ever repost - originally posted December 1999) 

---------------------------------------------------------
* The author welcomes comments and opinions from readers 
and is invariably motivated to respond. Write to:
drspin@newsguy.com or neil@ruthiesclub.com

* DrSpin's Standard Disclaimer: 
I write and you read, if you care to. That's all there is 
to it. Any reader is offended should not have been here 
in the first place.
---------------------------------------------------------

I was rummaging where I ought not but I had a good excuse. 
I mean, you don't rifle through the desk drawers of a 
trusted work colleague. I mean, you just don't. But he'd 
gone missing and we needed the stuff he was working on
critically urgently. 

So I was looking for the red folder containing the stuff 
and I found it and slapped it on his desk triumphantly. 
Something else had come out of the drawer with it. I saw it 
was an envelope of photographs and I was putting it back 
when they slipped out and fell on the floor. I was putting 
the photos back in the envelope when I saw the particular 
snapshot which was to have a particular effect on my life 
from that point. It was a woman, young, smiling, standing 
by a swimming pool, topless. 

Yeah, so what, you say. Another topless female snapshot. I 
mean, you'd take a quick look but so what. I'll tell you so 
what.

She was quite pretty. I guessed straight away she was 
Eric's wife. He'd been married three or four months ago 
when he was away on extended leave. I hadn't met her. 
Nobody here had. She was Eric's new wife and she was quite 
pretty. But that's not the story. The thing about the photo 
was that Eric's new wife had unquestionably the finest pair 
of breasts in the universe. I'm not kidding. They were 
absolutely sensational. I mean, you just didn't know they 
came that good.

Sure, they were big. Well, maybe biggish. But not huge. 
They weren't watermelons. They were, however, bigger than 
the average and the shape and the look of them was simply 
flawless.

I held the photograph and looked at it with my mouth open. 
My God, I was thinking. I have looked upon perfection. I 
will forever be dissatisfied with anything less. Quickly I 
scrabbled through the pile of snapshots and found another 
topless shot. But just one more. In the rest she was 
clothed in varying degrees. I examined it urgently. 
Confirmation. It hadn't been just a trick of the light. 
Again, from another angle, they were incredibly beautiful.

I put the photographs back in the envelope and put them in 
his desk drawer. Oh, I didn't want to. I had beads of sweat 
along the line of the moustache I used to have. Of course I 
didn't want to. But I put them back. The image, that of the
first snapshot, was burned into a screen at the back of my 
brain. I had a heart murmur. I was intoxicated. And I 
became obsessed.

I found out where Eric lived. Hey, it was in the phone 
book. I parked and waited and didn't see her and came back 
the next day and did it again, and didn't see her again. 
This was exceptionally stupid and personally embarrassing. 
And inconvenient and difficult to explain. Did I forget to 
mention that I was married myself?

Thus, being an intelligent man, I put it from my mind. But 
not for long. Not even an hour. I was addicted. I just had 
to...well, I didn't know what I had to do, but I knew I had 
to do something. I sat down to formulate a plan for how to
meet her. In the flesh. Aargh. Don't say flesh. Don't even 
think it.

I could not come up with a plan. My brain was unable to 
function. For three days I wrestled with the futility of my 
position. My nerves, which were functioning at full speed 
in place of my brain, screamed warnings at me. No more 
coffee, they transmitted. More sleep. Get a life, they 
said. And, overlaying all, they forecast utter disaster. Or 
maybe that was my instincts.

In the end, I did the simple thing. I drove to her house 
when her husband was at work and rang the door bell. She 
answered it. Well, that was fine. Trouble was, that was the 
end of the simple plan. I had no idea what to do next.

When in trouble, go back to basics. I introduced myself. 
She smiled nervously, hand on the door frame blocking 
entrance. What next? I opened my mouth and let words fall 
out.

"I need to talk to you," I said. It must have sounded 
nervous. I was nervous. I know I looked nervous.

She said nothing and she also looked nervous.

"It's about Eric," I said.

"You know Eric?" She seemed relieved.

"I work with Eric."

"Oh." She looked much more relieved. "Of course. Now I 
remember your name." She stood aside from the door. "You'd 
better come in." She stopped and looked nervous again. "Is 
anything wrong with Eric?"

"No no," I said hastily. "He's fine."

"So what do you want to talk about?"

I winced. I had no idea. I was making it up on the fly. 
"It's very complex," I said. "It will take time to 
explain."

"Then you'd better come in," she said, standing aside to 
let me pass. She wasn't as tall as I had imagined. In fact 
she was quite small. Very neat and tidy, though, and on her 
chest the objects of my admiration projected substantially,
her dominant feature. She had sandy-coloured hair. I'd only 
seen it wet in photographs.

We sat, she on a couch and me in an armchair. She leaned 
forward and her breasts followed gravity and swelled out 
the fabric of the green cotton blouse. Knees together, 
tanned legs, lean and neat in a skirt which came to knee 
length when she was standing and lower thigh when she was 
sitting. Little brown flat shoes, sandy hair falling to her 
shoulders, and hands knitted together in her lap. She wore 
a little frown and she was waiting for me to speak.

"Eric doesn't know I'm here," I began. Her frown deepened. 

"I hope he doesn't find out that I came." Now she was 
narrowing her eyes. 

"I have no valid reason for being here." She was looking 
distinctly alarmed. 

"But I am absolutely harmless. I need to talk to you for my 
own peace of mind and I seek your indulgence for a couple 
of minutes."

"I have no idea what you are talking about." She spoke 
slowly, considering her options, weighing up the 
circumstances, unhappy and looking for a way out. She
flicked a glance at the telephone on the other side of the 
room.

"I saw your photo and I had to see you," I jabbered.

"Photo? What photo?"

"In Eric's desk drawer. I saw it by accident but I can't 
forget it. You were... um, topless."

She sat still, unmoving, staring at me. Then she flicked 
her eyes back to the telephone again. I could almost hear 
the gears of her brain moving. She was trying to decide if 
I was dangerous.

"I'm not dangerous," I said simply.

"What do you want?" she asked with trepidation.

"Nothing. I knew I just had to see you, meet you, talk to 
you. Since I saw your photo I haven't been able to get you 
out of my mind. I want my life back."

"So that's it? You've met me. Is that it?"

"That's all."

She sat back in the couch. "This is pretty weird," she 
said. She was catching up with it now and she wasn't 
panicking any more. "Aren't you married?"

"Yes. With two kids."

"Then you shouldn't be here."

"I know."

She leaned forward again. "You didn't... ah, keep the photo, 
did you?"

"No. I put it back."

"So Eric doesn't know you saw it."

"No."

"Look," she said. "It was just a holiday snapshot. No big 
deal."

"Except that I think you have the most beautifully perfect 
breasts I have ever seen."

She blushed visibly. "You shouldn't be saying that to me," 
she said.

"It's true."

She regarded me steadily. "I think it's time for you to go 
now," she said.

I stood up. "Certainly," I agreed. "Thank you for 
listening. This has been the most embarrassing thing I've 
ever done and I have no reasonable explanation for it."

She saw me to the door. "Anyway," she said, "thanks for the 
compliment. I guess."

I turned on the path and looked at her framed in the 
doorway. Petite, pretty, prominent bosom, perfect. "One 
more thing," I said.

"Yes?"

"I think you are absolutely gorgeous."

Again she blushed fiercely. She was about to say something, 
thought better of it and closed the door.

Six days later she tapped me on the shoulder in the street. 
I was watching a street demonstration about planning issues 
for no particular reason but that I was passing by. She 
smiled brightly at me, as though we were old friends who 
had met casually.

"So you said nothing to Eric," I said to her, because that 
was uppermost in my mind.

She blinked in surprise. "I didn't."

"Thanks."

She looked at me uncertainly. "You're a very weird guy," 
she said.

"Not really. I just got addicted to your photograph."

There was a little smile behind her eyes. "And now you're 
cured?"

"Not a bit," I said. "I have to do cold turkey. Which I was 
doing fine until you turned up here today." I pointed to a 
coffee house two doors away. "Coffee?"

She looked at the shop and then back at me. "Okay," she 
said.

At a little table for two she sat and studied me. I felt 
the impact of it. She was wearing a brown dress and there 
was just enough cleavage to keep drawing my eyes to it.

"So," I said, "why are you having coffee with me? In your 
place I wouldn't." 

"Don't know," she said. "It's sort of interesting, I guess. 
I never know what you're going to say next. Everything's a 
surprise."

"So," I said, "why didn't you tell Eric? In your place I 
would."

"Don't know. He's a pretty jealous sort of guy and I guess 
I didn't want trouble."

"For me or for you?"

"Both, I guess."

"So you won't be telling him we had coffee."

"No."

"Isn't that verging on dangerous?"

"I don't see how," she said. "It's just coffee. And anyway, 
that photograph. Look, I've got to tell you I've been going 
topless on beaches since I was 15. It's no big deal."

"You total hussy."

She blushed. She made a habit of it. "Don't embarrass me," 
she said. "I know I have a reasonable figure."

"Reasonable? That would be a big understatement."

"Well, anyway, I'm not ashamed of it."

"Fine. Best news I've heard for a week. Maybe there's a 
chance after all."

"Chance? What chance?"

"That you'll show me your breasts."

"Stop that."

"Why? You've shown them to a few hundred men on the beach. 
You're not even outraged I've seen your photograph. I'm 
just one more man. As you said, no big deal."

"There is a world of difference, and you know it."

"Only if you tell your husband."

She stood up sharply from the table. "You've done it 
again," she said accusingly, looking down at me. "By even 
suggesting such a thing, you've compromised me hopelessly. 
I never want to speak to you again." 

She walked out.

A fortnight or so later I was working the room at a company 
function just as I was supposed to do and I saw Eric 
talking animatedly in the corner and just as I was watching 
him, speculating, Eric's wife hove into view immediately in 
front of me. 

"I wondered if you'd be here," she said.

"Wow," I said without thinking. She had a habit of doing 
that to me. "What a dress."

"Don't stare so obviously," she said. But again she was 
wearing that little ghost of a smile.

"You know I'm obsessed. I've already confessed to it. No 
bra?"

She closed her eyes as if in pain. "Why do I feel as if I'm 
back in high school?" She opened her eyes again. "It could 
be strapless, you know."

"But it's not."

"No."

"I thought you were never going to speak to me again."

"Sounds like a good plan. Is your wife here?"

"She hates these things. So do I, in truth."

"It is a bit dull," she agreed, looking around.

"We could spice it up."

"I don't think I want to hear this."

"Hear what?"

"Whatever you were about to suggest." She looked at me 
apprehensively. "If you are going to keep acting like a 
bull in a china shop, I'll walk away. Why do you have to be 
so abrupt?"

I scratched my ear. "Very good question. Usually I'm not 
like that at all."

"I know. That's why I keep talking to you when, God knows, 
I should not. You're an attractive guy who's happily 
married, so they say, and you just don't need to put on 
this sort of performance."

I sighed. "That's just it. If I behaved normally I wouldn't 
get to say one single thing to you. I'd never have met you, 
seen you. We're here right now because of my abnormal 
behaviour."

"You're hopeless."

"I know," I agreed sadly.

"It's impossible. What are you trying to achieve?"

I looked into her eyes. "I want to see your breasts."

She blushed but recovered herself quickly. "I should have 
expected that," she muttered. "Why do I talk to you?"

"I don't know. In your place, I wouldn't."

"I have to go," she said. She opened her handbag, extracted 
an envelope and held it out for me. "I don't know why I'm 
doing this. Don't open it now." I took it and she walked 
away, joining her husband.

I didn't look at it then. I had another drink and talked 
for a few minutes and I slipped away and went into my 
office. I opened the envelope and slid out the
photograph I knew was inside. It was her but she looked a 
little different. Her hair was different. She looked a 
little younger. It was a quality photograph, not a 
snapshot, taken in a studio by a professional hand. She had 
a towel around her waist, her hair was wet and drops of 
water clung to her bare breasts. She looked like she had 
just climbed out of the shower, and I guess that was the
intention of the picture. I had thought her breasts 
perfect. Now that I had the chance to see her in a skilled 
photograph, I knew it to be true.

I answered my telephone the very next day and she was on 
the line. "This is a plot," I said to her. "You are trying 
to drive me insane so your husband can get my job."

She laughed. "You asked for it."

"It's the best photograph ever taken. Thank you."

"I had it done two years ago. I was toying with the idea of 
becoming a model."

"You should have."

"It's actually really hard work. And lots of pressure. It 
makes you very selfish."

"The world's loss and my gain."

"I rang to let you know it's the end of it. No more. A 
little parting gift to help you with your problem. No more 
meetings. No more suggestions. Is that clear?"

"Thank you for the parting gift."

Four days later I rang her. She seemed happy to hear from 
me. She told me a long story about her cat which went 
missing for two days but had just come home.

"So," I said when she had finished. "Let's do lunch."

"When?"

"Today. In one hour."

"Eric's away today. But you would know that."

"Yes. What do you say?"

"Okay. Where?"

"I'll be there to pick you up in 45 minutes."

"Okay."

I was there in 45 minutes but she was not. I was resigned 
to her sudden cold feet when her car pulled into the 
driveway. "Sorry," she said, brushing past me to open the 
door of the house. "The cat. She had two bad cuts and I had 
to get her vaccinated." I followed her inside. "I haven't 
had time to get ready. Give me 10 minutes. I'll have a 
shower and throw some clothes on."

"A shower." I said it heavily, the photograph at the front 
entrance to my brain.

She stopped in the hallway, half turned and looked at me 
over her shoulder. I said nothing. She said nothing. 
Seconds passed. Then she turned away and moved down the 
corridor. I sat down in the armchair I'd used when first I 
visited and waited.  After a while I heard a door shut in 
another part of the house. Then I heard her say: "Is this 
what you had in mind?"

I turned my head. She was standing in the doorway to the 
room, wearing a towel around her waist, her hands grasping 
each side of the door frame. Her hair was wet and her bare 
breasts dripped water. "That's it," I said calmly. "That's 
it exactly."

"I don't know why I'm doing this," she said. Her breasts, 
naturally, were perfect. Red-brown nipples stuck out 
boldly.

"Because you know how much I want you to," I said.

"I guess that must be it." She looked so calm, almost 
tranquil and languid. She knew very well what she was 
doing. For some lucky reason she was turned on by my
attentions and I was confident I could take further 
advantage.

"Now," I said, "it's time to take away the towel."

"No way," she said. "That's another thing altogether."

"It is," I agreed. "Take it off."

She said nothing and did nothing. I rose from the chair and 
walked slowly to her. I could hear her breathing and the 
world's best chest was rising and falling gently with it. I 
reached out and took away the towel and she didn't move a 
muscle to stop me. I lifted the towel to my face and felt 
and smelled the damp warmth of it. She watched 
expressionlessly but with a dull look in her eyes. I knew 
that look. Lust, it was called. This race was run and won.

You know something? When the chips fell she wasn't so good. 
In fact she was on the dead side of the margin between good 
and bad. Not near as good as my wife. No comparison. I 
mean, she looked gorgeous and she was gorgeous and it was 
an honour and a privilege and all that. But when you got 
down to it, she was a bit of damp squib. 

She rang me the next day, sensible again and scared out of 
her mind. Swear not to talk, she said. I swore. Swear never 
again, she said. I swore. Give me back my photo, she said. 
I refused point blank. She rang off.

I'd seen her, I'd had her and I was satisfied. I rang my 
wife and asked her to accompany me to dinner that night. 
She was surprised and happy. I was happy too. Her breasts 
were only average but she was good company and she was good 
in bed.
 
Hey ho. Life goes on.

ENDS

---------------------------------------------------------

* DrSpin/Neil Anthony is at http://www.ruthiesclub.com

* also at neil@ruthiesclub.com and at http://www.ruthiesclub.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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