It's unusual for me to escort a prisoner alone, but we are in the middle of a shift change, it's a quiet night on the cell block, and besides the other guards like to bust my balls about equal rights and this gave them the opportunity to crack a few jokes. I'm the only female guard that works this cellblock, and getting picked on is just another hazard in the work place. Frank Pascua, who is leaving for the night, wished me good luck as he pulled on his jacket.
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Carl was a large young man, heavily built but in the manner of a fit sportsman rather than an overweight desk jockey. He looked slow and his smooth forehead seemed unlikely to ever be wrinkled by deep thoughts. A casual onlooker would assume him to be a dumb jock, unfit for anything other than manual labour when he wasn't playing sport.
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Alison. What can I say about Alison? She was eighteen, nearly nineteen actually, quite lovely, platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, excellent figure and, to top it off, she possessed a natural sexual allure that automatically turned heads.
Any male coming in range of her sensual aura was instantly drawn to her, irrespective of age, girlfriends or wives. It wasn't her fault. It was just that indefinable something she had.
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Ted and Carl grinned down at the woman on the floor in front of them, cutting off either of her exit ways. The female cop glared at the two escaped cons that she'd helped put away, not a touch of fear in her eyes.
"Get out," she said, trying to take the position of power, even though she was lying on her own living room rug, "They'll catch you eventually anyway, but there's no reason for you to be here.
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Molly had gotten up early that morning to start her drive down to the Bed and Breakfast. Her journey was taking her to an old country home found while surfing the WEB. She loved these romantic locations deep in the countryside. This one was especially interesting having been built in the mid 1800s by a wealthy southern farmer and his wife. The house reminded her of her grandparent's home and a host of good childhood memories. The fact that the WEB site hinted the house was haunted also tweaked her imagination.
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The bride worried that she would shatter. She felt as fragile as the glass bottles of oils and perfumes set out for her bath--a bath she didn't welcome, and one she knew would never make her feel clean. In the water, a gilded lion gushed rose-scented water from his mouth. Julia had always thought the fountain beautified the room, but now the lion seemed like he was just another predator waiting to pounce.
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I had been invited by my boss to dinner at his home. Marek Jablonsky was a paunchy, well-set man in his late forties, sort of overweight, a non-nonsense character who had a constant disapproving frown on his face. He was your typical ill-bred working class lout who enjoyed making others squirm with his offending comments. He hated everyone and thought everyone was a complete asshole. And to make matters worse he was a drunk. He had a bottle of Vodka in his office and made sure that he never ran out of it. It was my job to see that he didn't.
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Jenny had had a normal upbringing, as a teenager she had experimented with sex, gropes in the back of cinemas and backs of cars leading to using the parental bed when her parents went on holiday, all the usual stuff that teenagers got up to. Then she packed her bags and went to college in Leeds, England and continued as a middle class girl enjoying her life. Sex was incidental to enjoyment, it was ok and she occasionally was able to orgasm with a guy, she'd even enjoyed the odd "girl on girl" experimentation with her flatmate, Jane, when there was nothing else to do.
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The ice clinked in the empty glass as Leah fumbled to find the night stand. She'd drained the last of the brandy in one gulp. She was tired of sitting at home alone. Normally, she didn't drink alone, but she'd been angry tonight.
She'd been getting to know a guy she met online and their conversations had gotten pretty deep. She'd chatted online with Xavier for a while before exchanging phone numbers.
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Tony liked beach volleyball. Watching it, that is. Not playing it. He thought that whoever had the idea that players must wear bathing costumes was a genius. There's nothing better than watching pretty girls in small bikinis bouncing all over the place.
There had been a friendly tournament running on the local beach for the past few weekends.
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