I sometimes think that the most unexpected thing in life is the unexpected. I mean, when your life has gone along uneventfully for many years you don’t expect to suddenly find yourself faced with a whole new situation.
For those interested, my name is Arianrhod, the name choice of Welsh parents who probably had no idea what my fellow students at school would do with that name. “Ari” “Aria” “Ria” “Anrod” “Rod” are just some of the more polite samples.
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The white cotton fabric of her panties made a scratching sound as it rubbed hard against her pubic hair. Wet heat was penetrating the only barrier to the pussy I had dreamed about since I was sixteen. The situation had deemed it necessary for hard, rough kissing. Our tongues were battling, roughing the other up, our mouths had become instruments for something other than verbal communication; instead it was a primal and taboo language we were speaking.
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I remember it as being one of 'those' weeks.
Sunday was my twenty-second birthday and my mother took me to lunch at The Connaught. On such occasions, my mother likes to take charge. I think that the elderly couple at the next table thought that I was her Toy Boy. Oh well, if it brightened up their outing.
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On January 24, 1965, I reached the mature age of nineteen years and left Michigan State University in a snowstorm. It had snowed more than a foot and the drive south to Baroda took over six hours. I have reflected on that day upon more than one occasion in my life, and still marvel at how seemingly innocuous events can have such far-reaching repercussions.
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I couldn't keep my eyes off of the elegant older woman sitting in the top row of the bleachers at the matinee of the ritzy horse fair.
I also couldn't help but notice that she was making a less than subtle production out of lowering her designer sunglasses and looking me up and down, smiling in a cat-that-wants-to-swallow-the-canary way. Younger women, or at least women who were my age, didn't begin to know how to smile like that.
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I happened into an unbelievable experience about a year after my wife passed away suddenly at the age of fifty-three. Since we were empty nesters, after it happened, I had pretty much spent many hours a week at my office where I was away from our memories and the loneliness of our now empty house.
As was my custom, I left home around 5:00 a.m. and drove the hour to work stopping about half way to get coffee and a New York Times.
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MATH TEACHER, MRS. ROGERS
I was adopted by a loving couple and raised in a small town in Northeast Ohio. When I was 18 years old in high school, I developed a strong interest in math mainly because I had a very good teacher, Mrs. Pauline Rogers, who also was an attractive lady: about 5'2" and 120 lb, blonde, firm boobs, and slim legs. When ever I was close to her, I tried to inhale her intoxicating perfume. I worked hard to please her, who I guessed was about 35 years old. In turn, she was glad to have one male student interested in learning math. There were rumors that Mr.
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"My mom's convinced I won't graduate without getting pregnant," Kaylea told me, tucking in her shirt before tying her apron around her waist.
"There are ways to make sure that doesn't happen," I joked. She rolled her eyes at me. "I'm serious, Kaylea."
"I know," she said. "I'm careful. I won't get pregnant, Tim, I promise."
As her boss instead of a teacher or parent, I knew I could say things to her other adults couldn't. "Famous last words of eighteen year olds everywhere," I teased right before adding the words I never should have said.
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I finished loading box #35. Who would believe the amount of crap you can collect over twenty five years? Well, really thirty two but twenty five in this house. Some of it easy to toss. Some of it not so much. Memories. Man, they stack up. Just like the boxes lining the garage. But, life has changed. I mean really changed.
Thirty two years of marriage gone in less than a year of a tragic, terrible diagnoses followed by non-helpful, non-curing, painful chemotherapy and then – she was gone.
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My name is Will, everyone calls me Weezer, a nickname my Grandpa gave me when I was six years old and stuck with me. I'm 24, I don't have the body of a body builder nor am I hung like a horse in fact, I'm on the thin side. 6'2" at 185 pounds, a hard wind could blow me over, and I would say I am average in the lower region. But I do have a very nice looking girlfriend, and she has a beautiful mother. Not the ones you always hear about, the ones that look like they could be sisters, but, both are extremely good looking.
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