There's Always Tomorrow



Ask me why I'm here.

You don't want to?  Well, I'll tell you anyway.

I'm a procrastinator.

I meant to go to a Procrastinator's Anonymous meeting but I
could never get around to actually doing it.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'll never do today what I can put off
until tomorrow or perhaps even next week.

If not get out of doing forever.

Until recently I never thought about *why* I put things off.

Heck, there's a lot of my personal issues that I tried *not*
to think about and, even though I tried to put them off,
some would decide to haunt me at inopportune times.

Yeah, I'll bet you think inopportune times are usually when
I'm "getting busy" with my wife, but _no_, these are the
little things that wake you up between two and three in the 
A.M. and keep you from going back to sleep.  Some thoughts
are not restful at all.

Doubts, despair and indecision.  That last is a *good*
thing, you know.  Or maybe not.  A lot depends upon who is
and who isn't.

I've joked that the Brady Bill has saved lives from those
who don't think far enough ahead to be prepared.  I wonder,
despite having been a boy scout, why am I still so terribly
unprepared for life?

So, even though you didn't ask, why does procrastination
explain why I'm still here?

Well, I get depressed.

So?  You would think little of this and move on.  Everyone
gets depressed now and then, right?  It's part of life,
isn't it?

Right.  Everyone faces moments of depression.  I am not any
more immune to the vagaries of depressive moments than any
one else.

And, yes, everyone who faces depression *does* entertain
thoughts of making an early exit;  that grandly futile
gesture of saying "fuck it" by flushing all of one's future
days down the commode in one big go instead of letting the
days sift through your fingers at a more "normal" rate, all
because you're certain that the "fun" part of your life is
over and can't recall having had any fun.

So I'm a procrastinator and, yes, I am _very_ good at it,
too.  I've got a lot of practice and, in a way, I guess I
have been prepared for some of my challenges by not being
prepared to escape my life.

That's not to say that I'm sure I'm all that alive, either.

When did most of my spirit die?  When did I transition from
entertaining a future to just existing?  Am I alive?  Or am
I a member of the living dead?  Or have I really just chosen
to put off living until I can afford to enjoy it?

How can you tell that you're alive, after all?

I've heard it said that feeling pain is one way to know if
you're alive and awake.  If that is true I guess I am very
alive, though, unlike some others, my pain is mostly 
emotional rather than physically imposed; internal rather
than external.

So I get depressed.

Yeah, I know: Big fucking deal.

But depression is just a symptom of something deeper, isn't
it?

I've seen people on antidepressants and, to my eye, these
medications merely make it easier to ignore the pressures,
making the situation feel more bearable.

They're no more alive than I am.  They don't even seem to
*feel* any more alive than I do;  the difference is that I
can *think* about my situation and learn from it.

I'm insecure which probably drives my wife up a wall.  I,
being stupid and insecure and lacking self-esteem thought
that the marriage would heal many of my defects.

Ha!

All right, so marriage helped;  I learned that most of those
who seem happy are faking it but the reality for them was
not that much better than my own.

I made enough mistakes by becoming emotionally dependent
upon my wife.  Mistake number three.  I figured she could
help make up for my lack of self-esteem.

I know you're laughing and, yes, I know where I made my
mistake:  self esteem depends upon *self*.  Being in any
kind of relationship makes it difficult to deal with "self"
issues because there are so many interactions between the
partners that denies any uncluttered view of yourself and
your own strengths.

A lack of self-esteem just adds to the problem of not being
able to feel lovable (much less loved) without depending on
someone else to provide a complimentary mirror.

So I spent a lot of my marriage dealing with my "baggage".
She had her own baggage, of course.  Being human basically
requires us to have imperfections to deal with.  It seems
strange now how I felt more imperfect than anyone else.

You see, I still didn't believe myself to be lovable.

This simple belief imposes a large blind spot making it hard
to recognize when you're loved.  In therapy I learned that I
needed to pay attention to this blind spot and try to see
"around" it and to not automatically assume that I am
undesirable and unwanted.

My wife has her own problems consuming her and so it seemed
that my needs were put on hold, awaiting her recovery.

She's dealing with a whole bunch of issues which, really,
tend to make mine look like small change.

It is in this atmosphere where both my wife and I were
neglecting our marital relationship that I fell into the
orbit of Carrie and Leah, a pair of co-workers.

Carrie Richter was an interesting person who I got along
well with.  She carried equivalent responsibilities to mine
in a different food-chain as we did system administration
for different development/test computer labs.  We had a lot
in common so we tended to coordinate work on a daily basis.
I had a leg up in both Linux and Solaris systems while she
was an expert with HP-UX and AIX-- and we each had the full
range of machines in each of our networks.  We started out
trading favors and teaching each other which evolved into
lunching together.

I guess Leah, the Windows guru working in Carrie's area,
might have qualified as a chaperone except for one thing:
She was already involved with Carrie.  I didn't know this at
the time, of course.  By the time I learned of how close
they were I was well and truly fighting to stay in their
web.

Now I've been married a long time and was already over fifty
years old.  By this time I had gotten used to despair that I
could never be loved or lovable despite the therapist's work
to teach me that I was just not paying enough attention to
*how* I was being told I was loved.

All right, so I didn't trust _words_ and so, like an idiot,
I kept thinking that being sexually desirable would be a
nice start to feeling loved and lovable.

Yes, I put too much emphasis on my sexuality.  So sue me.  I
am sure I'm not unusual in this thinking.  We all want what
we feel least worthy of, don't we?

It's funny but I learned that another problem I needed to
sort out was that I can cope well with people I have nothing
in the way of emotional expectations of, so co-workers, in
some ways, were more privy to my thoughts and feelings than
my wife was.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I don't trust my wife to resist the urge
to criticize me.  I never _did_ get over being told, on more
than one occasion, that I was "wrong to feel" a specific way
whenever I expressed my feelings of discomfort.  After a
while you just stop telling someone how you feel because it
won't make any difference.

So being criticised taught me to keep my feelings to myself.
This is not necessarily the best way to manage the stresses
of life and relationships as many of my closer co-workers
can probably well attest to.  Heck, even my manager told me
that he could see when a "dark cloud" hovered over my head
and could read my mood as soon as I walked in.

In any case, my mood swings were more visible to those I
work with than I would ever have thought possible and, with
that, Carrie and Leah were reading me better than I would
have thought possible.

Carrie isn't a super model but is still quite pretty given
her age of forty-two.  She was divorced, and, I mistakenly
believed, embittered about men in general given the abuse
she related to us about her husband and his family.  I had
believed that she didn't see me as more than a co-worker who
shared work-related interests.  I didn't realize until later
that she also had a maternal streak that I appealed to.

All right, Carrie was still an attractive younger woman to
my eyes yet I've been so certain of my undesirable status
that I never considered going further than "work friend".
Heck, my wife gave me grief whenever I mentioned talking to
her that I actively avoided mentioning lunches and the like
to her.  I got to the point where I didn't want to get a lot
of verbal abuse over someone I only talked shop with.

You know, maybe my wife realized how vulnerable I was to a
woman who was willing to show me attention that she didn't
like providing.  If so, telling me to "avoid contact" was as
effective as saying "just say no" to teen-agers about sex or
drugs; all it did was ensure that she had neither control
nor influence over me.

Yeah, we're talking about a comedy of errors.  She assumed
that she was in control and that I'd take her orders.

So, one day when I was _really_ under a dark cloud, both
Carrie and Leah dragged me out for lunch.

Now, I told you that I over-emphasize sexual interest as a
measure of feeling loved?  Well, finding Carrie climbing in
to the back seat of Leah's car and pushing herself against
me lifted the dark cloud instantly by replacing it with a
whole new type of cloud: Confusion.

I found my arms wrapped around Carrie before we even got out
of the parking lot, my hands on her substantial breasts and
being told to knead them.

It is perhaps due to having older sisters that I obeyed
Carrie's request just as I had started out complying with my
wife's wishes so many years ago.  My cloud of confusion
burned off almost immediately as I engaged in something I
liked to do but that I'd been taught was "disrespectful" by
my wife.  I enjoyed this moment, my hands on the second set
of breasts I had ever felt.

Carrie sighed as I worked her breasts and she slumped even
closer to me, her head finding a cradle on my shoulder as my
hands did her bidding.  The noises she made were more than
merely a sign of approval, something that I didn't have a
lot of experience with.

Carrie's voice was softer and smoother than I'd ever heard
before as she told me "Jason, that feels wonderful.  Kiss my
neck, please tell me you like me, please?"

Confusion reigned as I tried to balance this against being
married, so I had to think over what the right response
should be.  "Yes, I like you a lot, Carrie."

She sighed in my arms, my fingers barely able to find the
bumps of her nipples but still finding and playing with the
nubbins.  They were only detectable because they were areas
of hardness in the softness of her breasts within the
brassiere.

Pulling up at a garden apartment was a surprise.  Getting
hustled out of the car and into a cozy two bedroom unit on
the second floor was quick and I found myself being pushed
down to sit on a couch and Carrie propped herself up on my
lap, facing me.

I was shaken and didn't know what to do so Carrie took pity
on me and guided my hands back to her breasts.  My hands
knew what to do which helped the rest of me get comfortable.

While I worked her breasts Leah reached around and undid
Carrie's blouse and brassiere;  without knowing how in my
dazed state I soon had my hands on the bare flesh of
Carrie's nice, warm and soft tits, the hard nipples pushing
on my palms.

I moaned.  She moaned.  We moaned.  Apparently it was really
not an awful thing to enjoy playing with a pair of hard and
crinkly nipples.  Her noises told me that it was a pleasant
thing for her pair of hard and crinkly nipples to be played
with, too.

I followed her, standing, my eyes focused on hers, once she
climbed off of my lap.  My face met hers and we kissed, her
arms around me, holding my head to her lips, keeping me from
escaping.

As if I'd ever *want* to.  My hands were still on breasts
that were eager for my hands.  My lips and tongue were busy
being told by another set of lips and lively tongue that the
duel was a friendly activity that was being encouraged.

Attention is a slippery thing.  Carrie had somewhere around
173% of my attention and I wasn't paying enough attention to
anything else until I felt a breeze on Mr Happy.

When I got pushed back down I lost contact with her breasts
and lips but...

Carrie and Leah were choreographers par excellence;  before
my brain caught up with the activities while sitting on the
couch, not only was my lap full of an excited Carrie, Carrie
was full of *me*.

One of my fantasies was coming true--  a woman was riding me
and "taking" me.  I gave as best I could in this position
when, once she came like a freight train, I provided a gift
that, in a non-menopausal woman, could have started a new
life.

I held Carrie on my lap, kissing her shoulder and neck as
she calmed down, using my hands to rub and scratch her back.

Carrie purred.

Leah spoke, then.  "Carrie, sweetheart?  Your promise?"

Carrie nodded and carefully climbed off of me, pulling my
not yet limp dick our of her delightfully live pussy and,
with a hand to keep her labia closed, laid down on a towel
on the floor.

Before I could say "Huh?" Leah was lapping at Carrie's
pussy, her own bottom pointed at me and wet lips visible
given her shaven pubes.

I watched this, a sense of wonder at the show of affection
and, to me, incredibly hot sex, and my member wanted to
remain in the club.

It took very little time for my dick to return to *being* a
club.  I was so turned on and thinking with my dick that I
couldn't stop once I started to move off the couch.

Leah squeaked when I slid into her wet pussy, pushing her
face into Carrie's pussy.  I started a slow, deep fucking.
Leah pulled back from her muff diving to tell me "Yes, give
it to me too!" and returned to giving Carrie attention.

Now I'm certain that Leah is linguistically talented but the
noises from both of them seemed to indicate that my thrusts,
pushing Leah's face against Carrie, were helping things
along.  Carrie moaned and encouraged me to keep pounding her
small lover.

Given my earlier donation directly to Carrie, it was going
to take me a while to catch up and give Leah the same gift.
Leah had no problems reaching climax, though, and I enjoyed
the feel of her body around "me" as she came.

That I'd never felt that sensation before Carrie had ridden
me was a thought to be considered later on as I continued to
drive Leah's body through a couple of orgasms on the way to
my own.

Carrie was quite vocal and, after coming more than once to
Leah's oral attentions, finally pulled away to watch us.  I
looked at her as she panted and tried to catch her breath as
Leah reached her third climax of our session.

I didn't realize how turned on Leah was and discovered, by
continuing my pounding, the tiny twenty-seven year old woman
could not stop coming.  Her body was...

Let's step back for a moment, all right?

I was feeling wonderful since Carrie had made the first move
by jumping me, admittedly with a fair amount of assistance
from Leah, proving to me that I wasn't just desirable but
actually *wanted*.  I'd never felt so desirable in my life,
even going back to when my wife and I first had sex.
Feeling desired like that ignited the fire I had been
despairing of ever seen lit:  I was loved.  I was, in fact,
lovable.  A woman had _wanted_ me.

Far more impressive, though, was that *two* women wanted me!

Given that sense of being loved I had turned the corner of
my depression and despair.  That had made it easier for me
to jump Leah.

It can be argued that Carrie had "taken" me by giving me her
affection.  I, by pounding into Leah, was effectively
"taking" her by giving her *my* affection and doing the best
I could as she proved how multiorgasmic she was.

Strangely, neither of these women looked unhappy.  I got a
big smile out of Carrie that faded when I moaned, slammed
deep into Leah, and came.

I was still coming when Carrie told me that "You really want
to avoid coming in Leah, Jason--  she's not only fertile but
she's due to ovulate today."

The announcement that it was too late to pull out and that
this tiny woman would likely carry a child of mine made the
climax, for me, even harder.  Leah's wail as she came even
harder wasn't an unpleasant sound or even critical.  It came
out sounding more like a "yes" than anything else and I felt
my heart swell in happiness.

I was completely taken aback as we came down from this last
great climax together so I pulled her onto her side and we
lay on the floor in the "spoon" position.  With her tears I
was starting to think I had hurt her and was doing my best
to provide comfort.  I felt like a heel for hurting her.

Carrie came to us and sandwiched Leah between us, touching
the younger and smaller woman who seemed to purr laying in
my arms.

Color me primitive, all right?  Yes, I was almost twice
Leah's age.  Yes, I had a fair amount of gray mixed into my
beard.  Yes, I had emotional problems.  Yes, I'd just, with
almost no thought, impregnated a much younger co-worker.
Yes, I had just broken my wedding vows.

On second thought, fuck the wedding vows;  my wife might as
well have been my sister for all the good it did me in the
sack.

So I continued to cuddle this small woman and, indirectly,
Carrie.  It was a pleasant time resting like this.

We laid like that and cuddled for at least fifteen minutes.
I already knew that I wasn't about to back off.  I was in
this for the long haul.

If they let me.  If they still wanted me.  If I was more
than just a sperm donor.  It seemed I couldn't completely
escape my doubts.

Then Leah's pager went off.

It was time to get back to work, damnit.

Both women got extra attention from me in the shower and
while drying each other afterwards.  The talk we had while
cleaning up indicated to me that I was still wanted in their
lives.

So, just as Leah parked her car at the office, Carrie told
me "We want you again.  We want to be sure.  We also want to
make sure you're happy.  Tomorrow."

Tomorrow.  Yeah, I can deal with that.

I can handle anything as long as I won't face any pain
today, but...

There's always tomorrow.  And, for once, I was looking
forward to it.