Esther Watson was lounging in her bath; she had never in her life felt as good, or as satisfied as she was right now. She had thought back to when she might have done, but if she had, then it was a long time ago. Esther was wallowing in hot water lashed with scented oils; he was downstairs making her coffee.
It was almost 12 noon, she had just got out of bed, or rather, she had just been allowed to. He had been screwing her since 7am this morning.
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I pulled the Kenworth into the driveway, drove it into its spot next to the house, and shut down the big Cat diesel. After checking everything out inside the cab, I grabbed my bag from the sleeper, opened the door, and stepped out into the chill Alaskan evening. I had just completed a three-day run to Kenai and back; I was tired and smelled of diesel, cigars, and stale coffee.
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Steve found himself the last person in the office again. It was another late night, and Christmas was fast approaching but he just had to finish the sales proposal. It was a huge account and could make or break his bonus for the next year. It was all going to be worth it in the end, he told himself.
He girlfriend, Beth, had been bitching constantly about the late nights that Steve was putting in.
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Jake Hughes, the owner of Blue Sky Horse Farm, sat at his kitchen table sipping coffee as he stared out the window at what could only be described as a gloomy Saturday morning. Overnight rains had left the farm drenched and a heavy fog had set in, obscuring his view of the mountains that encircled the pastures where his horses grazed. The house was quiet and dark and it was times like this that he was most lonely.
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It's not pleasant growing old. They tell you when you retire from work that you can relax into your twilight years, and see out your days in peace and tranquillity. Well, I'm – let's say 70-something – now, and ever since I left the job I'd loved for over 40 years, lecturing in Classical Mythology at Girton College, Cambridge, my life has been in a constant state of flux.
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When I took over as chair of the office social committee, I was not aware that one of the tasks I'd inherited from the previous chair was helping the boss set up for the company Christmas party that he hosted at his house. It wasn't something I should have had to do, but the previous chair had set a precedent that I was then obliged to uphold. It wasn't all bad, though, since the party was on a Saturday night and they offered to let me get ready over there rather than having to run home and run back.
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Every one knows that high students often have crushes on their teachers, especially if the teacher is not bad looking and is sympathetic to their adolescent problems. And the crushes can go both ways, even all three ways. Female students may have a crush on their male teachers. Male students may have a crush on their female teachers. Or even a student of one sex may have a crush on a teacher of the same sex.
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Eight months I have taken to cross this vast land. I had no conception of the vastness of this continent. Looking at a map of Australia one never realises the vast distances there is between towns, well a few houses clustered together in this land is called a town. Now here I was standing on the escapement looking down at the City of Perth. In the east I was told it was just a hick town, no night life and the kangaroos run all over the streets.
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I awoke early this Saturday morning, just like I did every other morning. Not having an active social life left plenty of time for "early to bed, early to rise." Don’t get me wrong, I very much wanted an active social life, but I was shy. To tell the truth, I was painfully shy at times, especially those times when meeting or socializing with girls was on the agenda. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't a virgin, I had had some experiences with girls, but to this day I suspect that the two girls who did it with me were more motivated by sympathy than true feelings of romance, or even lust for that matter. Let me tell you, being the object of a sympathy fuck did nothing for my self-esteem or my shyness.
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I was thrilled when I answered the phone.
"Hi, Bruce, it's Sandy!"
Sandy!
Sandy had been a photography student for several years, starting when she was a freshman in high school, and all the way through. The summer before college, however, we had parted ways. I had thrown her out of my darkroom for acting irresponsibly, making appointments to print in my darkroom for a show she'd gotten at a local restaurant, and then not showing up. She left angry. I was heartbroken. She was now almost out of college, 22 and grown up. I hadn't seen her in four years.
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