This story will probably remain in the straight category, but I can make no promises, not sure where it will head, nor do I want to limit myself, or if there will be enough interest from others to keep it going. Hopefully, you will enjoy my humble submission. I’m guessing the story will be told mostly from the female characters perspective, but will switch to Norman’s, and a third person’s perspective as well.
Norman
My name is Jackie, I’m a mother of two, I just turned 30 years of age, married to my high school sweetheart. Yes, I was the prom queen, and my husband was voted most handsome man during our senior year. I work for a large, and to remain, unnamed insurance company, my husband a stock broker, and I am living the dream. I’m very attractive and have never lacked for attention, I’ve been stopped numerous times by both sexes, asking if I’m so and so actress or model. While I’m not, I know I’m asked these questions as a conversation starter. It happens so often, that It’s very off putting, even after giving birth, I have a body that men lust after, and women would die for.
So, when my husband came home late on a Friday night stammering about someone else, I not only couldn’t believe it, I wanted to turn back time, since this couldn’t be happening … not to me … not us … not to our family ... we’re living the dream, our course in life is set, I’ve pictured our future together, this isn’t possible … it’s a lie. The bomb he dropped was so other worldly, I slumped to the kitchen floor, it was as if he had died … and in a way … he had. I would’ve rather had the police show up at the front door explaining his painful death in a car accident. Instead, I had to go to court, I had to salvage what I could, and I got it all … full custody, the house, over the top alimony …
I work at the main hub of our company in a major city. I commute every day, and thankfully, my parents live 10 minutes away from our home in the suburbs, and can readily step in to help with the two remaining loves of my life. Everyone at work was just as shocked as I was, and it didn’t take long for the single, and not so single men to approach me, including a few women, but I won’t mix it up with coworkers, I can’t risk my job, offending the wrong people. Besides, I wasn’t into men, or relationships, not now anyway. I’ve always been fighting the objectivity, fighting to find the truth between men’s minds and their lust for an attractive woman. I can neither read minds, souls or intentions. I can’t help what I’ve been blessed with from the gene pool, nor will I apologize for it. I’ve worked hard to get where I am with this company, and just as hard maintaining my figure. I’m not selling out for money, or looks. I want honesty, to be loved for who I am … which leads me to this …
I sometimes shared the elevator with a rather bookish man named Norman. I’ve seen him around the building for the past four or five years. He works for our company as an actuary, they analyze the financial consequences of risk using mathematics, statistics and financial theory to study uncertain future events, especially those of concern to insurance and pension programs. If you’re not familiar, they are well paid, some are paid even more than myself, even within my capacity. While I didn’t know it at the time, Norman, the quiet one, was one of our top actuaries. As for me, I’m five foot ten, and he’s maybe five foot six on a good day. He’s slim, pleasant, always wearing the same black rimmed glasses with loose fitting pants and the usual dress shirt, and usually has a quick little funny quip or reply to myself, or anyone else for that matter. I wouldn’t call him outgoing, but he seemingly says the right things with perfect timing, and has a rather quiet engaging way about him, though nothing I would bust down any door over, besides … I won’t date men shorter than myself, sorry guys, it’s true, some girls feel this way, I happen to be one of them. With my looks, I can afford to have some standards.
With the divorce now at it’s sixth month anniversary I entered the elevator with one other person, when I looked over, it was Norman. He said good morning, and looked straight ahead, then down towards the floor with a folded newspaper over this lap, a little grin on his Monday morning face. Of all the men who work here, Norman was not on my radar, and yet, he was the only single man who hadn’t hinted at a date, or lunch, or anything, always respectful, maybe … he’s gay. I had forgotten to thank him for something he said just two weeks after my divorce. He had mentioned how sorry he was for what had happened in my life, and mentioned that he thought very highly of Natalie in human resources, and that it was just a suggestion, but that she was very understanding, and might be of help, someone I could seek out. Eventually, I did meet with her, and Norman was right … she was fantastic. As we approached his floor, I realized I had to right the wrong that I hadn’t thanked him for recommending her, and thought I should say something.
“Norman … I know it’s been awhile, but I wanted to thank you for recommending Natalie some 5 or so months ago … she was a big help. I never would’ve reached out to her without your recommendation … so … Thank You!” As I finished my sentence Norman turned … “No … Thank you … no problem, I’m glad she was able to help get you through.” As he left, he waved the paper my way as the door closed. Relieved I had done the right thing, I was glad that was out of the way, and I hoped I hadn’t given him any reason to ask me out. Many times, when I’m nice to men they take it as an instant invitation to start hitting on me.
I made my way through the week, and on Thursday when entering the elevator, my other companion happened to be Norman. We said hello to one another, and I waited somewhat uncomfortably for the hammer to drop. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of this rain.” Said Norman, I agreed, as the elevator doors opened … “Well, back to the grind.” Said Norman as he left with a wave, and as the doors closed, I was relieved, it appeared that he didn’t have any intention of asking me out. Friday came and as the late afternoon was closing in, I decided to leave early, when I hit Norman’s floor, outside was a familiar face …
Norman
My name is Jackie, I’m a mother of two, I just turned 30 years of age, married to my high school sweetheart. Yes, I was the prom queen, and my husband was voted most handsome man during our senior year. I work for a large, and to remain, unnamed insurance company, my husband a stock broker, and I am living the dream. I’m very attractive and have never lacked for attention, I’ve been stopped numerous times by both sexes, asking if I’m so and so actress or model. While I’m not, I know I’m asked these questions as a conversation starter. It happens so often, that It’s very off putting, even after giving birth, I have a body that men lust after, and women would die for.
So, when my husband came home late on a Friday night stammering about someone else, I not only couldn’t believe it, I wanted to turn back time, since this couldn’t be happening … not to me … not us … not to our family ... we’re living the dream, our course in life is set, I’ve pictured our future together, this isn’t possible … it’s a lie. The bomb he dropped was so other worldly, I slumped to the kitchen floor, it was as if he had died … and in a way … he had. I would’ve rather had the police show up at the front door explaining his painful death in a car accident. Instead, I had to go to court, I had to salvage what I could, and I got it all … full custody, the house, over the top alimony …
I work at the main hub of our company in a major city. I commute every day, and thankfully, my parents live 10 minutes away from our home in the suburbs, and can readily step in to help with the two remaining loves of my life. Everyone at work was just as shocked as I was, and it didn’t take long for the single, and not so single men to approach me, including a few women, but I won’t mix it up with coworkers, I can’t risk my job, offending the wrong people. Besides, I wasn’t into men, or relationships, not now anyway. I’ve always been fighting the objectivity, fighting to find the truth between men’s minds and their lust for an attractive woman. I can neither read minds, souls or intentions. I can’t help what I’ve been blessed with from the gene pool, nor will I apologize for it. I’ve worked hard to get where I am with this company, and just as hard maintaining my figure. I’m not selling out for money, or looks. I want honesty, to be loved for who I am … which leads me to this …
I sometimes shared the elevator with a rather bookish man named Norman. I’ve seen him around the building for the past four or five years. He works for our company as an actuary, they analyze the financial consequences of risk using mathematics, statistics and financial theory to study uncertain future events, especially those of concern to insurance and pension programs. If you’re not familiar, they are well paid, some are paid even more than myself, even within my capacity. While I didn’t know it at the time, Norman, the quiet one, was one of our top actuaries. As for me, I’m five foot ten, and he’s maybe five foot six on a good day. He’s slim, pleasant, always wearing the same black rimmed glasses with loose fitting pants and the usual dress shirt, and usually has a quick little funny quip or reply to myself, or anyone else for that matter. I wouldn’t call him outgoing, but he seemingly says the right things with perfect timing, and has a rather quiet engaging way about him, though nothing I would bust down any door over, besides … I won’t date men shorter than myself, sorry guys, it’s true, some girls feel this way, I happen to be one of them. With my looks, I can afford to have some standards.
With the divorce now at it’s sixth month anniversary I entered the elevator with one other person, when I looked over, it was Norman. He said good morning, and looked straight ahead, then down towards the floor with a folded newspaper over this lap, a little grin on his Monday morning face. Of all the men who work here, Norman was not on my radar, and yet, he was the only single man who hadn’t hinted at a date, or lunch, or anything, always respectful, maybe … he’s gay. I had forgotten to thank him for something he said just two weeks after my divorce. He had mentioned how sorry he was for what had happened in my life, and mentioned that he thought very highly of Natalie in human resources, and that it was just a suggestion, but that she was very understanding, and might be of help, someone I could seek out. Eventually, I did meet with her, and Norman was right … she was fantastic. As we approached his floor, I realized I had to right the wrong that I hadn’t thanked him for recommending her, and thought I should say something.
“Norman … I know it’s been awhile, but I wanted to thank you for recommending Natalie some 5 or so months ago … she was a big help. I never would’ve reached out to her without your recommendation … so … Thank You!” As I finished my sentence Norman turned … “No … Thank you … no problem, I’m glad she was able to help get you through.” As he left, he waved the paper my way as the door closed. Relieved I had done the right thing, I was glad that was out of the way, and I hoped I hadn’t given him any reason to ask me out. Many times, when I’m nice to men they take it as an instant invitation to start hitting on me.
I made my way through the week, and on Thursday when entering the elevator, my other companion happened to be Norman. We said hello to one another, and I waited somewhat uncomfortably for the hammer to drop. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of this rain.” Said Norman, I agreed, as the elevator doors opened … “Well, back to the grind.” Said Norman as he left with a wave, and as the doors closed, I was relieved, it appeared that he didn’t have any intention of asking me out. Friday came and as the late afternoon was closing in, I decided to leave early, when I hit Norman’s floor, outside was a familiar face …