Holding On pt7

Semi-Erotic Fiction Based on True Events

Holding On pt6

David, exhausted, finally fell asleep and I knew this was my sign to leave. I felt like all he had wanted was a one night stand and we both got that and then some.
I quietly slipped out of his arms, reluctantly, and got dressed trying to not disturb him. He had more than earned his rest.

I pulled my pants on, without putting on my panties, they were still damp, so I just wadded them up and stuffed them into my purse. I shimmied back into the tube top and slipped on my sweater. Sometimes not putting on underwear is so much easier. As I slipped my shoes on, I felt him stir on the bed and I looked over just as he opened his eyes..

“Where are you going?”

“I have to leave, love.. I have to go to work.”

That wasn’t totally true. I didn’t have to go to work later that afternoon. But I feared the garish light of morning, and the awkward turn of events after a night of sex, of a one night stand, when you both try to find a way to end it and say good bye. I didn’t want to be the one who was kicked to the curb, so I chose to lie and leave first.

David stroked my arm and said, plaintively,

“But I love waking up to the face of a beautiful girl….”

Oh, my god, that almost did it. I almost peeled off my clothes again and fell back into his waiting arms. But I held on to my resolve.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.”

I kissed him one last time on his incredibly soft lips and willed myself to pull way from him. I stood up and turned and walked towards the door. A single tear escaped from my eye and I secretly hoped he would jump up and block the door and beg me to stay. But he didn’t. I walked out of the door, closing it softly behind me and walked down to my car and got in. I sat there for a minute collecting my thoughts before I turned on the ignition, put the gear in drive and drove away.

All the way home, I questioned my sanity. Maybe it wasn’t just a one night stand. Maybe he really did want me to stay, but his foolish pride, and mine, didn’t allow for either of us to say so. But I knew that wasn’t true. I knew that that was just what I was hoping for, not what was real.

I spent the rest of the day sitting in silence at home, reliving the night. I sat on the floor with my back against the window, wearing cut offs and a tank top, again, with no underwear, sipping on a warm, flat Coke. My hair was wet and every time it started to get dry, I’d strip and jump back into the shower, like I was trying to wash the memory of David and the last night out of my hair and of my memories. It wasn’t working. Finally, in what seemed like hours and hours, I realized I had to get ready to go to work. Why had last night seemed like it had lasted just minutes and the few hours I’d been home seemed like days?

I plaited my long hair into a braid, mostly just to get it out of my face, and then dressed in jeans and a navy blue tee shirt and zoris and went to work just before 3pm, not being due to clock in until 3:45.

I walked into the telephone company operator services office 15 minutes early and offered to start then, which allowed someone else to go home 15 minutes early. That was fine with me, I wanted to be busy and not have any more time to myself to think about David. Too bad that didn’t help. Everything at work reminded me of David…

I sat down at an empty station of the long row of switchboards. This was last old cord board office in Seattle and we were getting ready to be switched out to the new computer boards, which I found to be incredibly boring. This job was much more fun and interesting, with a lot of variety. We made calls all over the world, made conference calls and ship to shore calls to and from the many boats in Seattle. The old switchboards were very visual for the operator working with them, lots of black and red cords, plugged into lighted jacks on the board, with the cords crisscrossing over and around each other depending on where the call was coming in at and where the front cord was plugged into for the outgoing number.

teleoldswitchboard

For the first time in my job as a long distance operator, I noticed just how sexy the switchboard looked, at least to me, at least this day. The plugging and unplugging of the male switchboard plug into the female jack (essentially a hole) to complete a call. The crisscrossing of the cords reminded me of legs intertwined. Opening and closing of the keys to open up the call or close it reminded me of mouths, and, oh my… Answering and completely a call was sometimes called putting up a call, and that made me think of other things that are “up”… And that all was just in the first 15 minutes! My voice became husky in memory of last night and when I answered another call with “operator, may I help you”, the male customer commented on my voice, saying,

“My god, your voice, my lamp just melted!”

A little embarrassed, I tried to just laughed… and asked how I could help him. He answered by saying,

“How about meeting for me a drink.”

I told him I was sorry that I had to work. He gave me the number he was calling and then his own and said…

“Okay, but if you change your mind, you have my number”

When I closed the key to the call, I sat back and pulled my headset off. My friend, Laurie, sitting next to me, looked over and said,

“What’s wrong?”

“I just got propositioned by a customer…” I said infuriated.

“Oh, so why didn’t you take him up on it?”

I looked at her like she was nuts. We were always getting offers for one thing or another by male customers and even occasionally by women. I put my break card up to be relieved to go to the restroom and when someone came to relieve me, I went straight to a toilet stall, where I cried bitter tears. Both from the unwanted offer and from the wanted one that I didn’t get. But mostly from the frustration that I might have just screwed a really good chance of happiness by not staying with David when he asked me to stay.

Finally, I wiped away the last tear and came out of the stall, walked to the sink and looked at my face in mirror. ‘Lovely,’ I thought, ‘now I was all red and blotchy. I bent down to splash cold water on my face. I opened my purse to see what make up I had with me. I rarely wore more than eye make up and clear lip gloss, but I found some foundation and dotted that I around on my face, added a little water and some moisturizer I also found and rubbed that all over my face, especially around my eyes.

Then I put on more black eyeliner, mascara and some dark gray eye shadow. I still looked like I had been dragged through the ringer, but better than I did when I first looked in the mirror. I took my hair out of the braid so I could maybe hide behind it. One of the advantages of having long hair. I ran a brush through my hair that was still a little wet even several hours of being braided. Oh, well, it was the best I could do.

I still had 90 minutes of my shift to get through. Ninety minutes to kill. One of the my last calls was a person-to-person call to a “David Anderson”… that figures. Is everyone in the world now named David? I hadn’t noticed just how common that name was. I announced the call…

“This is a person-to-person call to David Anderson. Is he available to take the call?”

“Yes, this is David Anderson…” came the answer. I closed my key. I kept seeing my David’s face, and then double checked to make sure the call didn’t start or end in Everett. ‘My David’, who was I kidding? He was hardly my David!! Maybe David wasn’t even his real name?

When my shift was over, I hightailed it out of there and went straight to my car, ignoring my group of friends sitting the lounge area of the operator’s locker room. I usually sat around talking for a while, but tonight I was afraid I wouldn’t be able talk without thinking of David and breaking down. After I got to my car, I couldn’t decide what to do. Almost every night I went to Pier 70 or one of the other dance clubs in Seattle. There was almost always something going on somewhere in town. And usually I went with a friend or two, but tonight I sat alone in my car. Should I just go home? And do what??

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