Bethany put the girls to bed. Then she went downstairs to the living room to watch television. She began to feel bored. It was only eight o'clock, and Mrs Boxwell wasn't expected home until ten or later. She sighed. After flipping through the channels, she put down the remote and went into the kitchen. On the counter she found a set of keys. Curious, she wondered what they were all for. Just eighteen, a senior in high school, Bethany considered herself a good student and always the good girl.
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It had been a long time since we had a girl's night out. I have known Kristy, Grace and Terri since high school. Unlike many kids that graduate and move away, we all got married and set up our lives in this small town south of Los Angeles.
High school seems like a million years ago when in fact we were all in the same graduating class 20 years ago along with Kristy's husband Dan. Terri's husband Bob and my husband Jerry were two years ahead of the five of us in the same school.
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My name is Annie, and this is my story about earning the scholarship that is getting me through college. This is my first time submitting a story, let alone my story to a site like this, but reading through, I'll go ahead and share about me at the time of the story. I'm a 19 year old girl from Washington State, going to school at a small, private liberal arts college in Canada. This story took place about a month into my sophomore year there. Myself, I stand at 5'5, about 135 pounds... I don't really look fat, I'm just built kind of bigger.
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Another boring Friday night at home, Tammy thought to herself.
She slumped into her computer chair and decided to surf the net. When she signed on, her home page popped up showing an ad for a new bar in her neighborhood. She decided to get dressed and give it a shot.
She decided to walk the five blocks to the bar, and as she approached it she noticed that there were no Grand Opening signs or anything like that.
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Chapter 1
My eyes tracked her as she warmed up at the head of the jogging trail. My body stayed still and silent, only my eyes moved. From this vantage point I would be able to see her for the first quarter mile before the trail curved out of sight. Then I'd creep back into the brush and navigate to my next observation post.
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Alyssa lay there silently beneath the darkness of the night, wrapped in the black comforter wadded around her exhausted body, as he slowly crept from the bed. She heard his voice mumbling softly as he left the bedroom, but her mind was consumed with the images of the evening's events. Never in wildest dreams had she ever imagine herself meeting a man she would have been so willing to share her deepest and darkest fantasies with, let alone openly discuss them with him.
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The day started off like any other Saturday: I woke up, nursing a little hangover, walked into my kitchen and made some coffee. It was a bright day outside and somewhere around 10 o'clock. I slowly got dressed and made myself a little breakfast, picked up my laptop and set off sending some emails I'd neglected the day before.
That went on for about an hour or two when there was a sudden knock on the door. I looked up, perplexed, and slowly walked to the door, hearing the knocking again.
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Something unusual has happened, and I no longer know myself. Whatever new thing I am has made me joyful and confused at the same time. John did it to me. When I look in the mirror, I look changed, though I can't exactly tell what the difference is. People must see me differently. John surely sees it. Yesterday afternoon he sent me an email at work that changed everything. When I got it, I was in the middle of a project and only read the note quickly. Now I would pay attention.
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I don't really care much for politics. I'm neither a Democrat nor a Republican. I'm not liberal or conservative. I'm just -- well somewhere between Independent and "I don't give a shit." Therefore some might consider it very strange -- I know that my parents did -- that in early July, 2011, I took a sabbatical from college to work on Republican Colorado Senator June Jepson's presidential campaign. The reason -- I was fascinated by her.
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His eyes were closed, a vain token of propriety: if he didn't see what was happening, was he really responsible? Around his finger her mouth closed, warm, wet, sucking. He felt her teeth graze over the hardness of his wedding band, then those hot, soft lips closed about his finger, retreating slowly towards his fingertip with a delicious, unfamiliar suction. What am I doing? There is a reason I've worn this band for fifteen years.
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