My puffed cheeks deflate as hot air blows out of my mouth. I look at the queue in front of me, shaking my head that I’m at the municipality for the third time in the last three months to correct an inaccurate charge for my electricity bill. The bastards charged me almost double. At this point, I’m beginning to think that they’re testing to see which customers will surrender to the inconvenience of correcting the bill and pay it.
Finally, after waiting in the queue for forty minutes, I reach the counter. An elderly woman with square glasses that cover her eyebrows stares at me. No greeting. No smile. It’s amazing how you meet miserable people when you share their mood.
I repeat the same story as the previous two times I was here. God, I hate this place. Something about it drains every ounce of energy out of me.
“You’ll have to go to room 213. A lady there will help you,” she says.
I’m staring at her, unable to blink. It feels like the entire room is muted. The only thing I can hear is the throbbing in my temples. My lips tighten, and my jaw locks. I’m itching to leap over the counter and bite her head off.
There’s no point. I refrain from airing my grievances because that will result in more delays and mental torment. I sluggishly walk in the direction she pointed.
Standing outside of room 213, I consider myself lucky to be the third person in the queue. Surprisingly, it takes only about ten minutes for both of the queries to be resolved.
Before stepping inside, I remind myself that the person I’m about to encounter is not at fault for the excessive bill. That reminder is necessary to avoid feeling guilty later about snapping at an innocent soul.
I push the ajar door open and step inside. I raise my chin and stop. Oh my. I wasn’t expecting this. She’s beaming. I’m not used to that reaction when people see me. My head believes that she’s like this with everyone. But my ego wishes that it’s just me.
“Hi,” I step forward and say.
“Good morning, sir. How may I help you?”
I love her smile. Her teeth sparkle like her green eyes. Her dirty blonde hair is fastened tightly, not a single strand jutting out.
“Um…uh, I.” I swallow hard, trying to recompose to rectify my sentence structure. I look down and inhale to receive just enough oxygen so that my chest doesn’t expand.
My mission is to appear confident. I know the ladies love that. Oh God. The fact that I have to say that to myself confirms that I’m no ladies man.
Let me try to be myself and see how that works out.
“I’ve got a problem,” I say.
“Okay.”
Several seconds have passed, and I still haven’t told her what the problem is. I’m staring at her beautiful face, and all I can think about is how it would feel to press my lips against her plump lips. Or better yet, how would they feel wrapped around my cock?
No, I can’t think of that. I’ll get a hard-on right here. That will be really embarrassing.
I pull the bill out of the envelope and hand it to her. She stretches out the folded bill and looks at it for some time.
“I don’t see any irregularities,” she says.
“The usage is incorrect. I actually took a photo of the meter at home.”
I hand her my phone.
She looks at it and says, “I can’t verify that this reading pertains to this month. The picture could’ve been taken at any time.”
I exhale through my nose into my chest, and my shoulders lower slowly so that my agitation doesn’t show.
“Okay,” I say, slowly turning away to head to the door.
“Wait. There is something I can do.” I look at her. “I can send my colleague out to look at your meter. He can check its functionality to ensure that it’s working properly, and he’ll take a reading. If the numbers match, I’ll issue a refund.” She smiles.
Harbouring anger and resentment when a beautiful woman is trying to help you is difficult. It’s almost impossible. Her warm facial expression, attentiveness and desire to ease my burden melt away the thorns pricking at me.
My lips curl. She seems relieved that her attempt to help me has worked. I desperately want to ask her out. But how can I? She’ll think I’m a creep or unprofessional for broaching such a subject at her work. Worse yet, she may say yes to avoid the awkwardness of turning me down and then not show up for the date. That’ll really crush me.
“Thank you. That sounds great,” I say.
“It’s a pleasure.”
“Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Ana.”
“Ana? That’s a nice name. You’ve been tremendously helpful. I’m Kurt.”
“It was nice to meet you Kurt.”
I hesitate to walk out of her office, but staying feels out of place.
Standing outside of her office, I feel that I’ve resolved one problem but created a bigger one. Regret always weighs heavily on the heart and mind. I feel foolish for considering to re-enter and do what I should’ve done.
It’s too late now. She’s going to think that I’m a coward for not asking her out the first time. James Bond wouldn’t have hesitated. Lines appear on my forehead as I frown and shake my head. What the hell does he have to do with this? I’m Craig Olbourne, not some British spy. I’m sure even Bond failed once to pull the trigger and returned to rectify his mistake.
My heartbeat thumps at my chest and gains more momentum. My parched mouth craves water, and I gulp to reduce the lump in my throat. I have to do this, come hell or high water. That’s the spirit, Craig. That’s exactly how Bond would think.
My slick palm moistens the door handle, and I stick my head inside the office.
“Hi, me again,” I say, feeling goofier than that anthropomorphic dog with a turtle neck in the cartoon.
Ana smiles. Oh, how I love seeing that beautiful smile. “Yes?”
I realise that asking her out while showing only my head is cowardly, so I step out from behind the door and close it.
“This might sound crazy, but I was wondering if I can take you out to coffee. You seem like a pleasant person, and I’d love to get to know you more.”
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
My eyes widen and lips curl. I can’t believe it’s that easy. This stunning woman just agreed to go on a date with me after a simple request. Wow. I should’ve asked out way more women in my twenties.
At home, I can’t stop thinking about Ana. I realise that everything happens for a reason. Had I not been overcharged on the electricity, I never would’ve met her. Maybe that place isn’t a hell-hole that I thought it was.
The next day, I call Ana and schedule a date for Friday. I can’t wait. Even if we don’t form a relationship, spending time with an amazing woman like her will be worth the effort.
It’s Friday night, and I’m on the way to pick her up. I wonder if I made a mistake of not buying flowers. Probably not. I think it’s too early for that, and it screams eagerness.
She turns her cheek, and I peck it before opening the passenger door for her.
I planned to buy only drinks, but I’ve changed my mind. Ana is worth risking paying for a dinner bill.
After we order food, she says, “I didn’t know that we’d eat. Thought it’d be only drinks.”
I consider a casual response, but I say, “You seem lovely, and I want to impress you.”
I probably should’ve rephrased the last part, but what the hell? Life’s too short not to wear your heart on your sleeve.
The conversation flows. Luckily, there’s no awkward silence. Ana is engaged. She asks a lot of questions, prompting me to believe that she’s interested in me.
After the date, I take her home. She turns her cheek again, and I press my lips to it.
She says, “Call me,” her words drifting away as she skips up the staircase to the front entrance.
On our second date, I take Ana to an upscale restaurant. The bill is steep, but I think I did a good job of concealing my anguish.
For the third date, Ana suggests a picnic at a game resort. I’m surprised to see that she brought a basket. She opens it. My head tips forward to get a better peek.
Inside is a bottle of red wine, sandwiches, fruit and even a small tart.
“Did you make this yourself?” I ask.
“Of course.”
I purse my lips and nod.
The sandwich is delicious. I ask Ana for a second one, but ultimately, three fill me up. The tart was the cherry on top, excuse the pun.
After the date, I drive Ana home. Surprisingly, she invites me inside her apartment.
On the couch, she smiles as I stroke her leg. She’s giddy and seems eager for me to stick it in. I’m up for it. Again, excuse the pun.
We kiss slowly, our lips smearing against each other. Our tongues dance, and my hands slide over her stomach and reach her delicate breasts. I squeeze them gently and get even harder. I want to rip off her top and ravage her chest. But she seems like the type to take everything slowly, even foreplay.
I scoop her off the couch and carry her to the bedroom. She takes her top off, and I pull down her pants. The pink G-string complements her tanned, smooth legs. I run my hands up her thighs and then pull off her G-string.
Laying in between her legs, I flick my tongue on her pussy in every direction. Her moans encourage me to persist with my technique.
My two fingers slide inside of her pussy as I lick her clitoris. She briefly raises her bum off the couch, revealing that I touched a sensitive spot.
As much as I’d love to persist with foreplay, I feel an overwhelming urge to stick my cock into her. I whip it out and slowly enter her. She tilts her face to the right, resting it on the pillow as she smiles.
Ana opens her legs wider as I thrust. God, it feels amazing to look at her beautiful face while her moist vagina wets my dick.
I continue to bob back and forth for several minutes, intermittently speeding up and slowing down. My thrusts are full of gusto, coaxing Ana’s moans to morph into screams.
I’m eager to ogle Ana’s ass, so I stand at the foot of the bed. She shifts backwards on her knees, perking her ass up as she lowers her chin to the bed. I grab her cheeks and squeeze them as my tip slowly nears her pussy. I nudge it in slowly, and Ana moans. It’s as if she’s feeling it inside of her for the first time. I’m inclined to believe that the doggystyle position stimulates her more than any other angle.
I clutch her shoulders and then unleash a plethora of aggressive thrusts. The satisfaction shoots out of Ana’s mouth excessively as she tries to catch a breath in between the waves of pleasure crashing on top of each other.
Just as I believe that my thrusts have reached full throttle, I ramp up the aggression, her satisfaction encouraging me to keep going.
She sways her head uncontrollably as if an erotic demon has possessed her and stimulates all her sensitive spots.
I can’t take it anymore. I’m ready to unload.
I don’t know what got over me, but I just shot my load inside of her. Woah. I guess I couldn’t help myself.
Three weeks later, Ana calls me to tell me that she’s pregnant. I didn’t think that our relationship would take such a drastic leap in a short period, but here we are.
She suggests marriage so that our child isn’t born out of wedlock. I agree, although I’m hesitant to make a lifelong commitment to a person I’ve known for less than two months.
Three months later, we wed. Her family and mine attend the wedding. It’s a great day, filling me with hope for the future.
Our daughter is born six months later. I can’t be happier. Everything seems to be going well for me.
Throughout the next few weeks, Ana’s bickering evolves into vulgar outbursts. I don’t understand what’s gotten into her. All of a sudden, it’s like she’s a completely different person. Or maybe, the real person has floated to the surface, and she had a facade on since she found out she was pregnant.
After a long day’s work, I got home just after eight. Nobody’s around. I enter every room and find no evidence of anyone having occupied the space for the day. The space is spotless, and every item is placed exactly where it belongs.
I walk into the kitchen and become extremely anxious, looking at the note on the table. Something about it sends shivers down my spine.
I read it, and my heart drops into my stomach. I’m emotionally and mentally defeated. I can’t believe that Ana has left me and taken our daughter with her. Her reason: she rushed into marriage and wants to be a free soul. Unbelievable.
A few weeks later, a letter arrives at my home. Ana’s lawyer has notified me of her desire to receive alimony and child support. According to him, it’s best that we settle the matter out of court. For the sake of my daughter, I agree.
At the meeting, Ana wants $4,000 monthly. Her lawyer claims that she can get more if we go to court. Considering the state of the justice system, I’m inclined to believe him. That contribution will ruin me financially, but what choice do I have? I agree to pay that amount for the next eighteen years.
At home, I’m thinking about how I got myself into this mess. I look up, and my eyelids drop. That stupid electricity bill. Had I not been overcharged, I never would’ve met Ana. I grunt through my gritted teeth. I can’t believe my misfortune.
Then, I think about the reward of meeting Ana—my daughter. She makes all the anguish worth it.