Robbie and Eve
How Eve and I First Met
The account below details how I met Eve. After reading my narrative, Eve made several edits—mainly to the dialogues we had—to better reflect her recollections and her manner of speaking.
Some might argue that I've included excessive detail in describing our meeting or that the story progresses too slowly. Eve and I respectfully disagree, believing it is crucial for readers to understand all the circumstances surrounding the events that changed our lives. It's the only way for everything to make sense.
We are not sharing this widely—only on sexyreads.com—and if there's enough interest, we will share more about how our relationship developed. It was (and continues to be) an incredible experience.
Robbie & Eve
12 October 2012
___________________
Traffic on I-95 was manageable as I drove north through New Jersey to New York. After productive meetings and property tours in Trenton, I had one client left near Boston before returning to Montreal. I prefer driving to flying as it allows for unannounced visits to REIT properties, keeping managers alert.
On a cold Friday morning in January, radio warnings predicted a snowstorm from the Midwest by afternoon. I wasn't too concerned, expecting to reach Boston before it hit, and my Escalade handled snow well. However, I increased speed slightly to stay ahead of the weather.
I’m a creature of habit and always use the same rest areas for gas and snacks when traveling. One regular stop is the last plaza before New York City, where I pulled up to a pump. Despite the bitter cold, road warriors were outside the fast food restaurant with signs like “Albany,” “Hartford,” and “Portland.” I considered helping “Hartford” but decided against it as he seemed strung out.
One aspect I love about traveling in the U.S. is cheaper gas compared to Quebec, though my Escalade still takes time to refuel. The cold wind cut through my jacket, prompting a vow to buy something warmer. After refueling, I grabbed my receipt and switched from dress shoes to winter boots, as my feet were cold and the weather seemed likely to worsen.
As I pulled my boots from under my travel bag, I heard a muted "Bonjour" behind me. This greeting is uncommon in the U.S. I turned to see what I thought was a child in a puffy parka and ski pants. On closer inspection, I realized she was a young woman, likely in her early 20s and about five feet tall. She held a sign reading "Canada" and wore a large backpack.
I replied bonjour and asked her in English where she was from. She switched to English and said, "Cote-des-Neiges," a neighborhood in Montreal near where I live. She pointed at my license plate.
“I had to come over when I saw you were from Quebec. Are you on your way back?”
I told her that I was, but that I had to make a stop outside of Boston before heading for the border through New Hampshire and Vermont.
“Is there any way I could get a ride, at least to the border?”
I told her that I also lived in Montreal and that I wouldn’t mind bringing her the entire way home if she didn’t mind getting back after midnight.
“God, I really appreciate it. I promise I won’t bother you, ok?”
I smiled and asked her name as I helped her take off her backpack. I noticed it was quite heavy as I put it into the back of the Escalade and I wondered silently how she managed it.
“It’s Eve. Nice to meet you, uhm…”
I told her that my name was Robert but that everyone called me Robbie. She nodded her head and I opened the passenger door for her.
“Hmmm, a real gentleman.”
I walked around to my side and started the engine, adjusting the heat up by a few degrees to get rid of the chill. Eve settled in quickly and pulled her hood back – at that moment I realized that she was probably a French Canadian / Native American mix because of her high cheekbones, complexion and eye shape. She had her hair tightly pulled up, a hairstyle that I found wasn’t particularly flattering for her, but she was definitely attractive and had a friendly face.
We sat silently and listened to music as I reentered the flow of traffic on I-95 and headed north. I didn’t want to pry, but I finally asked what she was doing in the U.S., and how she ended up at a rest area in New Jersey.
“Well, I needed to get away from Montreal for a while, so I packed a few things back in September and flew to New York. I explored the city for a while, and then decided to have an adventure by hitchhiking down to Key West to see the sunset over the Gulf. I never got there because I spent so much time in Washington D.C. and Atlanta with friends. I’ve been on my way home for about a week.”
I asked her if she felt safe hitchhiking and if she experienced any problems.
“Well I guess the whole point of doing it was to meet all kinds of people, and I did that. The good thing was that I didn’t have a schedule or anything, so I wasn’t under any pressure. I’ve been very picky about the people I take a ride from, and you’re an example of that. I don’t think a well-dressed guy driving a huge SUV is going to be a problem.”
I smiled at my first thought, which was that she should tell that to the former shareholders of Enron.
“I had trouble twice, once when I was in Georgia and a real jerk tried to pick me up like I was a prostitute. I also ran into an idiot last night in Baltimore. He was heading up to Albany and seemed ok at first, but he started making stupid jokes about sex and I knew where that could go if I didn’t get out of the car.”
I nodded.
“Basically it’s been great and I don’t want to make it like those two ruined it or anything.”
I asked her where her family was from, which is a politically correct way of figuring out what race someone is. She paused and stared out of her window for a moment before answering.
“My dad was born in Montreal and he took over my grandfather’s import business when he was in his 30’s. He met my mom when he was on business in Hong Kong and they had a long distance relationship for a few years. He brought her back to Canada after they were married and I came along about a year after that. So, to answer what you were really asking, I’m half Chinese, half French Canadian.”
I admitted that my first impression was that she was a Native American mix.
“Yeah, I get that a lot actually. It isn’t always a good thing because they are discriminated against so badly and really misunderstood.”
I asked her if she was close to her parents.
“It’s kind of complicated. My mom and dad fought a lot because she was a super conservative Chinese and he was a swinging-dick Quebecois that flirted with women a lot, even when she was standing right next to him.”
Eve paused.
“Anyway, my mom finally divorced my dad after she caught him in bed with his assistant. She went back to Hong Kong when I was seven years old but she left me with my dad so that I would grow up in Canada and have more opportunities.”
I frowned when I heard this. I’d been divorced for eight years and that happened because of my ex’s failure to commit to me in an exclusive relationship. Unfortunately, this is a common story because of the culture in Quebec. I’d casually dated a few times since the divorce, but I’d been concentrating on my career and wasn’t ever able to find the right person.
“Leaving me was really hard on my mom, but my dad was always very good to me and gave me everything I needed. I have a communications degree and without my dad that wouldn’t have happened, that’s for sure. He died a few years ago and I miss him a lot. My mom is still in Hong Kong and we talk on the phone, but I’ve only visited her a few times.”
Eve turned to face the window again and I drove for a while in silence. When I asked Eve if she had any brothers or sisters and got no reply, I realized that she’d dozed off.
Occasional snowflakes started to hit the windshield when I turned from I-95 onto the Hutch on my way to the Merritt Parkway to avoid I-95 through Connecticut. Eve was dead to the world and I let her sleep rather than waking her to ask her if she was hungry.
As we passed through Hartford the snow started to accumulate and both my bladder and stomach were sending SOS messages. I woke Eve as we merged onto I-84 and asked her if she was ok with a stop for a bathroom and some food.
“Sure Robbie, but I’m buying, Ok?”
I pulled off at the next exit and pulled into a restaurant that looked promising. I helped Eve with her parka as we sat down, and I realized for the first time how petite she really was, as well as how feminine. A sweater and her ski pants kept her exact proportions a mystery; however, it was clear from the swell of her bust line that she was quite well endowed. She had delicate hands and moved with a fluid motion that really got my attention.
I asked Eve how tall she was.
“I’m 151 cm. Brown hair and brown eyes as you can see. I’m probably about 50 kilos if you must know, but that might change depending on how much I eat right now.”
It was obvious from her scripted answer and tone that Eve was annoyed by my question and I realized that these were facts that she’d probably related a thousand times. She’d picked up her menu and started flipping pages as she answered, so I stopped the Q&A session and did the same. I did some mental arithmetic and calculated that she was a little less than five feet tall and that she weighed about 110 pounds.
After we ordered it was Eve’s turn for questions and she asked me what I did for a living. I explained that I bought, managed and sold commercial properties, mostly retail centers, residential facilities and office buildings for a REIT. She asked about my family and I told her that my father was from the U.S. and that he’d met and married my mother in Montreal. She seemed pleased when I told her that I was very close to them and that they lived in Brossard. Eve asked if I was a dual citizen and I said yes, and that this really simplified my business life, but really complicated my tax life.
By the end of the meal Eve knew that I’d been divorced and that I had no children. She nodded her head when I told her why – as I said, it’s a common story in Quebec. Her questions underscored that she was highly intelligent and her mannerisms suggested that she had many years of dance training or something similar. I’d never met anyone so in control of every motion; when Eve picked up her fork or reached for her drink her smooth movements fascinated me.
“Robbie, the reason I had to leave Montreal was because my boyfriend couldn’t keep his hands off of other women and I’d finally had enough.”
Eve paused and played with her spoon.
“We’d been together for almost three years and I knew for a long time that it was going to fail, but I hung in and hoped he would change. He didn’t, so I threw him out of the apartment and out of my life. I bought my ticket for New York a few days later.”
Eve looked up with a pained expression and seemed to be reading my mind.
“It’s hard to trust people, isn’t it?”
I agreed and joked that my ex and her ex were probably made for each other. This didn’t brighten her up, and I was glad that the waitress arrived with the bill a moment later. I scooped it up before Eve could react and gave it back to the waitress with my credit card.
“Robbie, I was supposed to pay that. I do have money; I hope you don’t think I can’t take care of myself.”
I explained that it was my policy to pay for things and that while she was my passenger she had to submit to some chivalry. She pointed a finger at me and slowly waved it back and forth.
“Don’t spoil me Robbie, it’ll do you no good.”
I made my best “who, me?” face and we started back to the Escalade.
It was snowing pretty heavily by this point, so after topping off with gas, I settled in at a speed well below the speed limit. When we passed through the tolls and turned east onto the Massachusetts Turnpike, visibility got worse and worse. About 20 minutes later, I made a call to my client to let them know I was about 45 minutes from their office. Unfortunately, I learned that they’d decided to close the office early because of the storm and that we would have to reschedule.
At this point I wasn’t sure what to do. If I doubled back on the Turnpike and headed west into the storm I could probably get through to Montreal safely via I-87 in New York. Alternatively, I could stick to my original plan and go north through New Hampshire and Vermont, but this meant passing through the mountains and that was probably more risky. Either option meant fighting the snow for maybe 6 or 8 hours, maybe more at the speed we would be moving at.
I asked Eve what she thought.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to try to drive anywhere at all in this mess Robbie. Why don’t we find a place to stay and get some rest instead? I’ll get my own room; I’m definitely not making any suggestions here, ok?”
I agreed and pulled off at the next exit. The sign after the toll booth said there was a hotel to the west and we followed our noses until it appeared. The snow was getting deeper and the wind was really picking up.
The desk clerk was really young and he seemed to enjoy the battle after I insisted on paying for Eve’s room, especially when I lost. He gave us adjoining rooms on the top floor and the usual sales pitch for the hotel restaurant.
As we exited the elevator and arrived at our doors, Eve turned to me.
“Robbie, I need to take a shower and I’ve got a ton of calls to make, so why don’t we meet in the lobby around 8:00 and see if the restaurant is as good as he says it is?”
I agreed and suggested that Eve not use her cell or the hotel phone to make her calls. I explained that she could borrow my IPod touch if she wanted and use Skype for free on the wireless network instead. She nodded, opened her door, and left me alone in the hallway.
___________________
I have a set routine in hotel rooms and after setting up my mobile office, I checked my email and took a quick shower. I laid out my clothes for dinner and settled down to read the online news and to revisit the offering packages I’d received in Trenton for two retail centers. As I worked, I heard a soft knock on the connecting door between our rooms. I stood, tied my bathrobe closed, unlocked the door, and pulled it open.
Eve was wearing black sweatpants and a white t-shirt; her hair was damp and she stood in bare feet. I couldn't help but stare, for her hair was no longer up and her high cheekbones and dark eyes were framed perfectly. This resulted in an exotic appearance that I hadn't anticipated. She had a mature figure with a narrow waist accentuated by wide, flaring hips and even wider shoulders that gave her an athletic look.
I couldn't help but notice the outline of Eve’s breasts under her t-shirt and the prominence of her nipples made it obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra. My earlier impression that she was well endowed was confirmed beyond any possible doubt. In fact, she had remarkable breasts for such a petite woman and I found myself wondering if she might have had some work done on them.
