Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Here is part one of the story of how I met the love of my life. As it happens, there are no spankings in this accounting. Those will appear, just a bit later.
My wife is the most beautiful person in the world.
Now, you may say that if I don't say that, I can expect the bedroom to be rather chilly for a lengthy period. However, my loyal readers, I firmly believe that no one looks more wonderful than Angela. To me, anyway. I may gaze appreciatively at the young, slender ladies when I stroll past them in a store or on the street, with their perky breasts and tight little bottoms. I may marvel at how the ladies on television and in the movies can be just so damn georgous. But when I look at Angela, I am filled wtih wonder and awe.
I met Angela on a basketball court at a local playground in the town was living in at the time. I fancied myself something of a hoopster, and near my apartment was a nice court that attracted players with some amount of skill. We were warming up one afternoon when two ladies approached and expressed interest in joining the game. One of the ladies was a shade over six feet tall, skinny as a rail, and had a mass of curly locks adorning her head. She looked a little like a palm tree.
It was not this person who attracted my gaze, however. My eyes were drawn to the lady with her. She was 3 or 4 inches shorter, had straight, shiny, jet-black hair, a fantastic butt, and she moved wtih the grace and confidence of a jungle cat. She had muscular but very shapely legs that led to a fantastic butt, and breasts that perfectly filled out her t-shirt. And did I mention that she had a fantastic butt?
I determined that the tall girl was named Bernie, and the shorter one was Angela. Such a perfect name, I thought, for someone who looked like an angel.
These two became teammates wtih me and two other gentlemen. We were playing against a group of fellows who had a reputation of great success, and great arrogance, on this particular court. They were big, fast, and could shoot from long distances as well as owning the area nearer the basket. I enjoyed playing against them because they were quite a challange, but I'd mever been on a tean that had defeated them. Although it was obvious by their demeanor that Bernie and Angela had some familiarity with the hardwood, or asphalt in this case, our opponent chose to give us grief for having two "pretty little girls" on our team.
That day, as it turned out, my team owned the court. Angela and Bernie played like anything but "pretty little girls." Bernie was as tough as the big guys on the post, grabbing every rebound against bigger, taller men. And Angela could shoot from absolutely anywhere. She also had hands so quick she could steal the ball away from the best dribbler. Us three gentlemen basically played defense, cleaned up the garbage, and took long passes for layups after an Angela steal or a Bernie Rebound. We played the playground hot-shots three times and beat them three times.
In the last game, I took a pass, drove towards the basket, and then fed Angela who proceeded to knock down the winning shot. She followed her sweet shot with her eyes, and when it swished through the hoop, she pumped her fist and exclaimed "YES! We really spanked their asses!"
Right then, I knew I was in love.
I discovered that my angel and her friend appeared at this particular playground about once a week, but the day varied. So I vowed to come every day so that I didn't miss their reappearance. After two weeks of not seeing them, I began to despair. But, finally, my patience paid off. Angela and Bernie arrived, ready to play. I manipulated the situation so that they were on the same team as me, and again we played very well.