George and Emmy had made this drive to Atlanta before and it was always fun. Just getting away from all the stress at work and at home was so relaxing. They had known each other for a while and been lovers for almost as long as they'd known each other. There was easy conversation between them and even easier silences as they drove down I-85.
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Rain soaked me through, the chill of the air magnified by the clinging of my wet clothes.
I was coming straight from work, a small-time paper, and was following a lead.
Aaron Black, it seemed, did not want to be found. He’d returned no phone calls, and I couldn’t find him on the net. I’d had to test the resources of my paper’s staff, convincing them that there was a story in Black, a business or human interest.
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"I know why you did it."
Ray stared out of the bedroom window, watching the sun slowly disappear behind the distant hills. A gentle breeze lapped at the curtains and caressed his face soothingly. It was a perfect evening.
"I knew you would come," he replied. He reached for his walking stick and slowly turned to his companion. "I've missed you. Welcome home."
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I am the main character. I am 18 years old. My sister is Sally. She is younger than me but also 18 years old. We are both of the age to legal consent. Even though incest is still illegal anyway. Deeeerp. Now I tells story...
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When you’ve been around the block enough times, you know that anything is possible when it comes to people’s sex lives. I knew there were men who liked to watch as their wives had sex with another man. And I’m no prude. Anything is OK with me as long as no one gets forced or hurt --- more than they want to be, that is.
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She dresses in her usual attire: a white button up blouse undone to just the top of her cleavage; a black skirt and matching blazer; black, sheer stockings, and black pumps. Her make up is done in a professional manner finished nicely with red lipstick. Her red hair is done up in a bun with wispy stray hairs hanging down on the side and in back.
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I was feeling good because I had gotten off early from work. I was the assistant manager of a shoe store in a mall and I worked a very irregular schedule. I had worked four hours today, and at one o'clock I was off for the day. I was driving home, and on the seat beside me was a small paper bag with a gift in it for my wife, Linda. Light blue nylon stockings. They were really a present for both of us because I liked stockings and my wife liked wearing them for me. A perfect match.
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It's Monday morning and David enters the train, annoyed that the mechanic has not finished the repairs to his Beemer and for another week he will have to use mass transit to get to his office in the City. He could have taken it to a less in demand mechanic, but he did not trust his baby, a 2006 Z4 M Roadster, to any but the best available.
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"Ooh, I just have to have those black ones!"
"Yes, Imelda, but don't you already have 18 pairs of black pumps, on top of the 14 pairs of black slides, and the six pairs of black flats?" I offered, trying not to sound overly sarcastic. I knew this because I kept a running count, a count which never decreased.
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As I watched her retreating back, I knew that we would be taking her home that night. Next to me, Alex was also eyeing with unconcealed appreciation the way the curves of her cute little butt spilt out of her white shorts, which were so tight they seemed painted on.
We were in St. Tropez on our annual attempt to get away from it all -- "all" being our hectic, money-grubbing lives in New York -- in the old sprawling villa that we owned by the water. Actually, I shouldn't complain. New York makes St. Tropez possible.
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