In my world nothing is ever random even when it seems to be, because random in my world leads to chaos, uncontrollable chaos which seemed to follow me despite how cautious I could be at times both personally and professionally.
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*Author's Note: Any and all person's engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
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"Daddy, will you come read me a story?" Tina asked as she peered into the living room.
"What?" Burt looked up from the news.
"Will you come..." his eighteen year old daughter repeated.
"Tina, for God's sake, you're eighteen years old; aren't you a little too old for such foolishness?" Burt asked.
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Alan Bryant emerged from the cabin of his boat to see Joseph, the local lad who he employed part -time, turning his charm on another teenage tourist. Alan smiled to himself, while restraining a twinge of envy; Joseph was thirty-five years his junior, but that wasn't the only reason why the kid was so good at getting into the skimpy bikinis of young female holiday-makers.
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Michael Halversun has a hard time recounting his memories, even now that he is safe in the small book laden office of his therapist. The twenty year old is filled with guilt, his voice wavering as he speaks into the tape recorder and his therapist sits across from him, listening to his tale. His upbringing told him that adultery was a great sin, and his masculinity told him that it was his fault. Whether either of those things were true really didn't matter any more to him. Michael had been raped.
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"Steph?" Sean walked through the front door of the house he shared with his girlfriend as he and his buddies Kyle and Brock walked in the door. All of them were still in uniform since they had been in a hurry to get home and watch the game and had needed to make the necessary pit stops for pizza and beer. Sean had expected Steph to be hanging out in the living room waiting for them to get home but she wasn't there.
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Chapter One: Unrecognizable.
"I don't usually drink," said the woman in the passenger seat, and the voice was just as slurred as it had been when she said the exact same sentence a half hour ago.
"I know," I replied, keeping my eyes on the road and being extra careful, because even though I had very little to drink and would pass any breathalyzer test, the last thing I wanted to do was to have to do stupid human tricks on the side of the road for a state trooper.
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I'm unsure how it transpired. Someone knows someone else, who has a friend who is aware of another. All I knew was that I had received a telephone call. A business like voice saying my presence was required by a Ms. Rebecca Noah, an address and time given. When I asked to what did this pertain I was simply told it was a personal matter and that I would be expected. The line going dead.
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When I was 19, after my first year of bible college, I took a place on a crew going treeplanting in central British Columbia. I'd heard a lot about the good money, but, apparently, not every season is the same. We spent days and days crammed in a motel in Prince George — sometimes four and five of us to a room — paying whether we liked it or not.
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Miles stared intently at the Sharpie pen clenched so tightly in his grip that his knuckles were blanched white, at the lined notebook opened to a fresh, new page. It was college ruled, perforated, with exactly thirty-three blue lines running horizontally across each page. He'd studied it with such intensity, such scrutiny, noting every detail about it that his vision was beginning to blur.
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I had gathered together with a group of male friends recently. We all knew each other well and had played golf that day. Over drinks afterward, someone asked the question of the group: What's the kinkiest thing you've ever done with a woman?
I didn't take the question seriously, but Charlie immediately piped up with his story. When he had been about eighteen, a neighborhood lady of about 40 seduced him during his first summer home from college.
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