Not all my sexual adventures have been fun. In fact, some have been downright unpleasant. For instance, I just was passed on the way home from the post office by a woman speeding in an old burgundy Town Car, acting like she had to get home before her husband called, or something, and I was instantly reminded of my brief but painful affair with Bobby Abrams. It was doomed from the beginning.
I met her at a faculty party at the beginning of my second year as a law professor. She was the very pretty and curvaceous wife of Stan Abrams, a former Methodist preacher who was the assistant director of development. I guess you know what they do...help rich old widows get their affairs in order, making sure they remember their alma mater.
Bobby was as drunk as anyone could be and still navigate. Nevertheless, she could talk, so we struck up a conversation which became increasingly intimate as the evening wore on. Before we said good night, I had her telephone number and a tentative date for the following Friday when her husband would be in Chicago doing his duty for the university.
I called her on Thursday to see if she remembered our date. Somewhat to my surprise, she did, and we agreed to meet downtown in an out of the way bar called The Office that she knew about. At the appointed hour, I was there, sitting at a table, anxiously waiting. No Bobby.
I waited nearly an hour, and was about to conclude I had been stood up when in she rushed, all out of breath. It seems her husband's plane was an hour late and she hadn't been able to find a plausible excuse to leave him waiting along for the plane. We had a drink, and soon the conversation picked up where we had left off at the party. She was lonely and horny. But she didn't think we should go to her place because it was still broad daylight and the neighbors would probably notice.
