A stream of consciousness approach...
A moment where all reason is usurped by desire...continues its formation and growth in the hyperreal of my mind...
All I can think about right now is how much I need to release your breasts from their black and pink laced prison.
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Holding the key firmly, I place my gloved hand on the ignition switch. Before turning it I glance at the pile of books on the passenger seat beside me. My breath crystallizes in the chilly air as I count the titles. If I'm missing one, that would be enough to allow myself to get out of this car, out of this weather, and into my warm apartment, my warm bed.
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I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying to find a position in the hard wooden desk that wouldn't cause my ass to go numb. Just five more minutes. Five more minutes and then my weekend could begin. I hated Friday classes. They always seemed to drag on, and this one was no different. And to make matters worse, this particular lecture took place in the oldest classroom on campus, complete with hard wooden chairs circa 1904.
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There's this guy I work with, Jason. We don't actually work together - I'm in accounting, he's in shipping - but we run into each other fairly often, and for a while now we've been having lunch together a few times a week. We're sort of an unlikely pair, really. Jason is 23, I'm pushing 50, he's straight and I'm gay, he's a big sports fan, and I couldn't care less. Although, I do try to keep up on his favorite teams, just to be able to have a decent conversation with him if the subject comes up.
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"No, not for over two years."
"Any encounters within this period?"
The soothing hum of an air conditioner drifts through the office.
"...yeah." follows a moment's hesitation in the girl's response.
"If you care to say so, roughly, how recently was this?"
A rustling of paperwork fills the moment's silence as the young woman averts her gaze.
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His fingers were in her pussy, tracing patterns on the sensitive and soaked flesh of her inner passages and lazy curly q's on her clitoris. His lips were on hers, roving tongue and all, giving her long kisses that sucked the breath from her. All in all, she was completely lost in the sensations of his lovemaking and would probably have done anything he wanted. Her mind was a mixture of numb to the rest of the world and alive with him. Her heart throbbed and the blood in her veins had turned into a molten river of arousal. Everything was perfect.
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I had seen her all summer. Seen her and secretly admired her. This beautiful woman in the nice summer cabin over at the hillside, charmingly overlooking the east end of the long beach. Since I didn't know her or her family - and neither did my parents - I got used to think of her just as the 'cabin lady'.
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Well, that was a crappy day at work, I think to myself as I lock the car. What a waste of time. Meetings, bureaucracy, frustration after frustration. I let the door slam a little harder than necessary, and kick my shoes off in the hall. I wonder if Sarah's in? She normally goes running on a tuesday.
"Hon?" I shout as I dump my work bag. No answer.
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P.J. was feeling good, had an extra spring in her step and glimmer in her eyes. Being in the country always made her feel both thankful and alive. The early afternoon sunlight warmed her arms and legs, bared to it by the sleeveless, form-fitting t-shirt and shorts. Although she felt great, she considered that the next few days might be like watching paint dry. Being out here in the middle of the East Texas pineywoods babysitting a crew of redneck water-well-drillers could possibly be boring beyond description.
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My wife Rita and I were, as usual on long weekends, staying over the weekend with a couple that we had known for years. Craig was an old college buddy of mine. In fact I had been best man at Craig and Tina's wedding about 15 years ago. This weekend started out like all the other weekends we had shared: bringing in the usual wine box, tossing our overnight bag into their spare bedroom and sitting down to plan the rest of the weekend.
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