I live in a very respectable street. The inhabitants, if they are male, tend to be accountants, middle managers, draughtsmen and things like that. If they are female they either do not go to work at all, or they are receptionists for doctors, dentists or they work in such highly regarded places as pharmacies.
They have the appropriate number of children and in some cases grandchildren. Their houses are neat with well cared for gardens and Ford or GM vehicles residing in tidy garages.
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"Shit! I don't believe it! That's Mrs. Robinson!" Greg gasped as we turned the corner on our way home from the gym were we both worked.
"Mrs. Robinson; like in the movie?" I asked.
"Not really. I told you about Karen, didn't I?" he continued, "this is her mum," as we walked towards a middle aged, tartly dressed, bottle blonde, woman who was just the right side of being fat.
"Oh! Karen!" I grinned as stories of Greg's teenage sexual conquests shot through my mind.
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Damien
I was already in love with Elijah by the time I saved him from a rapist thug, but I hadn't really admitted it to myself.
I first noticed him when I was manning a merchandise stall at No Way Out -- the big venue hired for hardcore punk gigs where both straight-edgers and skins can come, kids from either side of the bridge and the two different scenes.
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Sometimes life really sucks! Fifty-four years old, married thirty years, and then zap! It’s all over. My wife, now ex-wife, decides that she wants someone younger, fifteen fucking years younger. As I mentioned I’m fifty-four; bald; salt and pepper beard (as well as my chest and around my dick); six-foot and about one sixty-five in weight.
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Sister Mary Theresa opened the door to the bathroom a crack and peered out into the dim bedroom. She was sure she'd heard something like a door closing, but she was supposed to be alone. The usually familiar and comfortable confines of her bedroom seemed alive with menace now. She was far too conscious of the string of break-ins that had occurred in the complex over the last six months.
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The opportunity to fuck the guy next door had probably been there numerous times over the 7 years we had shared a fence, but it was not until a few days before I moved out that I realised it was now or never. He's a couple of years younger than me and has recently lost quite a bit of weight. He's obviously happy with how he looks and I can't blame him.
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Have you ever had one of those "Aha!" moments?
You know the type I mean.
That moment when a life-changing realisation hits you.
That sublime, transformational moment when you realise your life will never be the same again.
That moment like the moment the apple hit Isaac Newton on the head, and he said "Aha! I've discovered gravity"
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Alison sat at her desk trying to concentrate on a report in front of her. So far the meaning of it had eluding her. She squirmed in her seat as she thought of the young secretary that had bought it in; Kia was her name. Alison was the head of a large company that specialized in beauty products and she was the sole owner of the successful business.
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She stopped outside the door and read the number. She pulled the paper out of her bag. Yes the numbers matched.
Pulling out a compact she inspected her make up. She smeared on a new thick layer of the blood red lipstick and pouted at the image looking back at her. Thick make up, heavy eyeliner and mascara made her look more like a mannequin than a live person.
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She's not "less than half your age," instead, she's "a bit younger," Dave thought to himself, sitting opposite this charming creature, attempting to iron out his conflict. When he first received the e-mail a few weeks ago he never expected to actually meet her – or that she'd be so attractive.
The e-mail read: "My mother Susan told me so many nice things about you and I would appreciate it, if you have the time, to sit and talk to you about her.
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