It all happened because of Lenny. We were at a party in Westwood, in the late '70s, at a house right next to UCLA that was rented by six coeds, which meant at any given time there were at least fifteen or twenty people there. We partied hard, drinking beer and smoking pot. The sexual revolution was in full gear, and free love was just the way it was. "Nobody owns anybody, Man."
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"How long is it since you last had sex?" Sarah asked Rachel.
"Too long," Rachel replied. "It's a couple of years since I split up from my boyfriend, and I haven't gone out with anyone since then for long enough to end up sleeping with them."
"Well that's not a problem," Sarah said. "Just go out to a club, find a guy, take him home, let him fuck you. Easy."
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"Hello. I'm Mr. Devereux to see Ms. Hill," I said to the receptionist. My voice was clear and authoritative, but not overly aggressive. I was standing in front of her desk, which had the usual assortment of secretarial accoutrements; a large phone, pens, paper, rolodex and computer, which she was busily typing away at.
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It had become a regular occurrence. Roy would visit on Saturday morning, if his sister did not spend the night, and get his cock sucked and fuck my ass. At times it was still very exciting but all to often it seemed that we just went through the motions, meeting out of habit more than anything.
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Ch. 1
I was 21, and invincible. The lifeguard job on a Florida beach was my final summer of fun after graduating from college, before facing a real job. It was also a great way to meet women, strutting around in their bikinis, each showing more flesh than the last. One particularly attractive girl had been walking past my station all morning; petite, she had a subtle flare to her hips and breasts, dark hair, and arresting, flashing blue eyes, eyes you could get lost in.
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Jenna could not believe what was happening. There she was, wearing nothing but her bra and panties, watching her best friend Lisa going at it with her boyfriend Shane, who also just happened to be Jenna's ex. Unbelievable...
The two girls had been the best of friends since they were about 10 or 11 years old, as close as sisters even, and had remained as tight for the next decade or so.
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Sitting at the gate reading my book, my name was called to the podium. Since I hadn't placed my name on any waitlists, I was more than a little mystified. I placed the book back in my workbag, and walked up to the podium.
"Ms Montgomery, there is a problem with your checked bag," the gate agent said. The poor girl was terrified, trying to maintain a seriousness about her.
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I had just closed escrow on a house I found in Manhattan Beach, a better part of Los Angeles County than my old digs--closer to the beach. I spent the day moving in my furniture, and as the sun went down, to celebrate I drove to a restaurant I saw on Sepulveda Boulevard. I sat at the bar and ordered a Knob Creek and soda--a little 100 proof whiskey was just what I needed.
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Bad day.
‘Bad day’ didn’t even begin to encompass the events of Jim’s Friday afternoon. As well-paid upper-level manager of a huge accounting firm, he had to depend on a lot of different people to get a job done; the office was a finely-tuned machine. But when someone didn’t do their job, everything broke down. Luckily, Jim’s managerial style kept this from happening very often.
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As they drove along the winding hillside road that overlooked the turquoise Gulf of Corinth, Professor Jon Mitchell thought about the ancient reputation of the city that lay beneath them, in short, he thought about sex. As a history professor of Classical Studies at the American University in Athens, he could imagine it in great detail. Corinth was once Sin City in a way that Vegas would never be sin city.
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