The Wilkerson Institute

Not that everything is always perfect. Wilkerson only promised ninety-five percent compatibility. We've had some arguments, real ripsnorters, and man, you just want to head for the hills when she gets going! But all in all, things have been pretty good.

Like she had told me, sex with her was a two way street. She happily obliged any of my urges, but definitely expected me to comply with hers. When she wanted to fuck, it was best if I agreed! She liked porno films, and I learned to expect her renting one every week or two. Then, some night when nothing was on the tube, she dress up in something interesting and put it on the VCR and sit down next to me on the couch. In short order, she'd soon have one hand in my pants and the other in hers. It made life interesting, so to speak.

Some interesting character quirks, I've noticed. She keeps the place absolutely immaculate. Everything is spotless. She has an encyclopedic knowledge of fitness and nutrition, but despite all of my patient coaching, she's at best a mediocre cook. Elyse can't boil water twice in a row and get the same result. At least bachelorhood taught me something. I do most of the cooking. And she's a real clotheshorse. If it's chic or stylish or sexy, it's in her closets. Not that I mind the latter. She invariably looks good in whatever she buys, and pays particular attention to make sure that it can be easily removed or pushed aside by me. In fact, after shopping, she almost always puts on a private fashion show for me that ends up with my pants down and my cock in her mouth, cunt, or ass. She prefers classy and some flashy, except for swimsuits. She told me she's a lousy swimmer, and refuses to go into the water. So the suits don't have to be real functional, just look good. And how! Thongs and strings and crocheted bits of cloth. I've had to keep up the shaves on a twice monthly basis.

Other changes occurred as well. Remembering Wilkerson's comments about some of the girls wanting to go to college, after about six months I offered to pay her way at one of the local schools. She said no, and admitted to moderately severe dyslexia. "...actually, I suppose it's just another reason my father used to beat me. My grades in school really sucked, and he used to beat me and call me stupid and worthless." When I asked how she got her GED, she told me of a special oral test. I wasn't sure whether this was an oral GED test, or just a test of oral skills, and wisely didn't ask.

But she did say she might like to get a job in a fitness center, and I gave my blessing. A few weeks later, she announced she had a part time job teaching aerobics downtown. Since she left after I did in the morning and was home to greet me in the evening, I promptly forgot about it.

That is until I took her to a trade show in San Francisco the next fall. You see, I hadn't taken her to any of my firm's social functions yet because we hadn't had any since we came back. The office picnic was before I met her, and most of the dinners and balls are held in the winter, around the holidays. For one reason or another, I had never shown her my office. So we made a short vacation for the fall trade show. I'd go to the show while she went sight-seeing, then get back together later for dinner.

But the last night of the show is a formal dinner, black tie and all, for awards and speeches and whatnot. My heads of Engineering and Research, who work out of my headquarters, were getting an award for developing and marketing some new software. The dinner was being held in the Hilton, where we were staying. Up in our room, while she was taking a bubble bath, I changed into my tux and told her I'd meet her downstairs, I had things to do first. She agreed to meet me at the entrance to the room at seven, for cocktails. And I left.

Well, I was waiting near the doorway with my vice-presidents when she came off the elevator. Boy can she make an entrance! She had put on a new dress, one I had never seen before, a body hugging long strapless red number with gold threads running through it. It was cut low in back, but not too low, and showed a generous amount of breast, but not too much. Ankle length, it had a slit up the front of one leg to mid thigh. Matching high heels and shimmery sheer stockings. Her hair was piled high on her head, and she wore above-elbow length red gloves. The three of us just stared as she sauntered up. She kissed my cheek, and I came to, as if from a trance. I could tell by her eyes she was delighted by the effect she had on us. Absolutely stunning!

"Elyse Miller, I'd like you to meet Harvey Weinstein, my Chief Engineer, and Barry Gould, our Head of R&D," I said.

Harvey stretched out his hand and said hello, but Barry said, "Long time no see. What was it, Wednesday we saw each other last? I didn't know you knew the boss!" I simply stared at the two of them, confused.

"You know each other?" Since when? Barry's a good looking, active young guy. I began to get jealous.

Now it was Barry's turn to look confused. "What? You don't know? She's the aerobics instructor at the gym."

Huh?! "At the office?," I asked stupidly. Several years ago, our personnel director had talked me into putting in fitness centers at all our facilities, including headquarters. He had convinced me that savings on health insurance from healthier employees would more than offset the added expense. That he was right didn't stop me from firing him over a discrimination lawsuit filed against us, but did make it more enjoyable.

Barry nodded, "Uh, huh."

Now I was confused again. Turning back to Elyse, I asked, "Since when?"

"Since all along," she said, grinning.

"But..," I sputtered. "Why didn't you ask me if you wanted to work for me. I could have gotten you a job..."

Elyse simply smiled and tucked her arm into mine. "That's why. Everybody would know that the only reason I was working was that I was your girlfriend, and they'd resent me. I wanted to do this on my own."

"But how..."

"I saw in your company newsletter you had an opening and went down and applied," she said, beginning to lead us into the room.

"That's it?," I asked, dumbfounded. I was in shock!

"Hey, I'm qualified!," she protested.

"Listen, Bob,," interrupted Barry, "she's really a good instructor. I mean you're really sweating after one of Elyse's workouts!"

Didn't I know it! "And you never told? You never knew?," I asked them.

As they both replied in the negative, Harvey started to laugh uproariously. "Oh, Jesus, if you could see your faces! First you, then you, then you, then back to you!," he said pointing at us in turn. "Oh, wait till I tell Helen!" Elyse and Barry joined in.

I felt so stupid! About ten inches high! Hanging my head sheepishly, I smiled at the thought. In short order I was laughing, too.

The rest of the night was a smashing success. Without a doubt, Elyse was the belle of the ball. Warm and witty and utterly appealing, whenever I headed to the bar, she was surrounded by young studs. But I had it out of my system now, for good. I can still remember a moment right before dinner. I was pigeonholed by one of our suppliers and we were separated. I remember looking over his shoulder in her direction and saw her looking back. Surrounded by young bucks, she was sipping champagne and looking over the rim of her glass, straight back at me, a bright glint of amusement in her eyes, silently laughing at them all. We stared at each other for a moment, and everything seemed silent to me. And then our private moment was past, shared by none else.

I broke away from my friend and wandered over to her. She smiled and wiggled her fingers at her admirers all the while whispering, "Thank you," in my ear. I led her to the elevators.

"I forgot something I wanted to give you upstairs," I told her.

"Oooh, goody! What is it? Huh? Huh?," she asked trying to wheedle me.

"All in good time," I told her. She still was asking as I opened the door and led her in.

"Well? What is it? What'd you forget to give me?," she asked looking around.

I pulled a straight backed chair from the desk. Rapidly unzipping my pants, I sat down in it and pulled her to me. "I forgot to give you a good fucking," I told her, slipping my hands beneath the slit in her skirt.

"You bastard!," she laughed. But she didn't argue. Pulling the dress high, she spread her legs and straddled me in the chair. As I suspected, she wasn't wearing panties. In seconds, she had speared herself on my erection. Reaching around her, I quickly unzipped her dress and her tits sprang forth unbound, pushing against my jacket. We had an intense and vigorous quickie, then redid our clothes and hurried back downstairs. We only missed a couple of minutes of dinner. For the rest of the night we were looking at each other and smiling at our private joke.

She paid me back, though. When I wanted to hurry back upstairs right after the speeches, she insisted in front of my friends, that I take her dancing downstairs that night, and invited them with us, for drinks. And she really danced close!

I suppose I asked for it. While she didn't say anything to me, I had seen her birth certificate going through customs, and knew her twenty-first birthday was in September. A few weeks ago, on her birthday, I had surprised her in the apartment with large gold loop earrings and a matching necklace. After kissing and hugging me, she had run into her room crying (She's very emotional, did I mention that?). I left her alone, to calm down, and about fifteen minutes later she came out again, modeling them. She had on the earrings and necklace, along with thigh top stockings and high heels. And nothing else. She was very appreciative that night, a number of times. And so was I! I've bought her jewelry for every birthday since.

And so it went. But my feelings for Elyse began to become more and more confused. The end of our contract seemed to be rushing forward with each day, and somehow I couldn't imagine losing her. I was falling in love. When John Wilson called me to invite me back down to Cancun for my yearly vacation, I turned him down flat. Finally I had to bring it to a head.

Sitting Elyse down, I pulled out my copy of our contract and put it on the coffee table. She looked worried at the sight of it, and grew more so as I spoke. I probably handled it badly, but I suppose that's just my general history with women I've loved. Anyway, I explained, I couldn't continue to live this way anymore, we needed to make a major change. Either I bought her out generously and we went our separate ways, or I would tear the contract up and go that route. Elyse stared at me in silence, tears coming to her eyes, then took off and ran into her bedroom. Oh shit, I screwed the pooch again!

Following in her path, I turned the knob to find she had locked it. Pounding on the door. I begged her to let me in. She just kept sobbing and yelling at me to go away. She never wanted to see me again. She hated me. And so forth. Meanwhile, I'm pounding and yelling back for her to let me in. I'm amazed no one called the cops.

Then I finally yelled out, over her protests and sobs, "Elyse, I love you!"

Utter silence for several moments. Then a sniffling, "What?"

"Elyse, I love you! I want to marry you!"

More silence. Then I heard her fiddling with the doorknob and she pulled it open. "What did you say?," she asked quietly. Tears still streamed down her face, making her mascara long black rivulets down her cheeks.

Calmer, I repeated myself. "I want to marry you," I told her.

"I thought you wanted me to leave. You said you'd buy me out or tear up our contract and make me leave."

"I love you, Elyse. But I can't live with this contract hanging over my head. Either we move backwards or forwards, but I can't live this way anymore. Either we split or we get hitched. I'm asking you to marry me. I love you! Don't you have any feelings for me?," I asked pitifully. By now I was crying, too.

Elyse had been barefoot when I started to talk, and she looked like the young girl she was, gazing up at my teary face. Then, amazingly, she was in my arms, burying her face in my shirt, crying again, racked in sobs. "Of course I love you, you shithead! I've loved you for almost two years!"

Then she pushed me back and looked up at me in fury. She started to pound my chest with her small balled fists. "You bastard!," she cried. "Don't you ever do something like that again!"

Laughing, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her back to my chest. Maybe everything would be all right after all. After she calmed down again, I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her away. Looking down into her eyes, once more I asked, "Will you marry me?"

She looked back at me, then twisted free and went back into her room, leaving the door open this time. Now I was really confused! She sat down on her bed and, pulling tissues off her nightstand, began to blow her nose and wipe her eyes. Finally, red eyed and moist cheeked but otherwise composed, she handed me a tissue for my own face. I sat down on the bed next to her but didn't touch her.

She took my hands in hers. "Robert, ever since you gave me the keys to these doors, I've loved you. I've dreamed about you marrying me. But it's more complicated than that, isn't it...no, don't talk. Let me speak." She continued. "Can you live with how we met? Our difference in ages? And I want a family. You've never had children. Are you prepared for that at this stage of your life?"

Shit! All these questions!

"Listen, I don't care how we met! Or how old I am or how old you are. None of that matters to me! None of it! And you'll be a great mother. Yes, I'm ready for kids. Should be a real hoot! You can wheel me out of the nursing home to see them graduate from kindergarten. Yes, I want it all. Wife and mother, all of it. I want you to marry me!"

She stared at me silently as tears welled up again, then threw herself into my arms again, wrapping hers around my neck as she whispered over and over, "Yes, yes, yes,...".

I suppose what really sealed the commitment, though, was when she pushed me away again. Reaching into her nightstand, she pulled out a plastic dispenser for the Pill and tossed it at her trashcan. Smiling back at me, she began to undress. "Well, if you want kids, we better get started now. You're not getting any younger, Gramps." Shit! I laughed and pulled her back to the bed.

And there you have it. We had planned on a Christmas wedding, but she turned out to be the original fertile Myrtle, and six weeks later told me over dinner to move things up. We had small civil ceremony a week later and took off to Bermuda for two weeks to honeymoon. In what seemed to her to be a last fling, she took along every trashy and slutty outfit she owned, deciding to go out with a bang. I mean she stopped traffic simply walking down the street, and I know of at least one fender bender caused by drivers watching her in hot pants and halter top, and not the road.

I decided that I didn't want to raise kids in New York (Yes kids, plural. She's having twins!) and bought a few acres in Jersey, near our Princeton research lab. I'm having a house built for her, and plan on moving my workload down there. Surprisingly, she decided to keep working in the gym, now teaching fitness for pregos. Unsurprisingly, I suppose, the exercise keeps her looking fantastic, or maybe that's just that glow she has now.

Or not. While she hasn't ballooned, her tits sure have grown. But her legs still look really great, and she's having a ball buying mother-to-be clothes. She still doesn't wear panties often, and while bras are required, she tries to stay with open cups and demi-bras. And she's as horny as ever, too. Positions may have changed, but not the frequency or pleasure. She says I'm going to have to get used to blow jobs and titfucks for awhile (Jeez, what torture!), but she's been reading up on postpartum exercises and plans on getting back in shape as soon as possible after the girls are born. (She's convinced they're going to be girls, and I say boys, but it's not like you can get a refund if you're wrong.)

The ride just keeps getting wilder, but I don't plan on getting off anytime soon.