About 10 years ago I worked as a programmer for a small company and this is a story of what happened one afternoon between me and a colleague.
I'd always had a crush on Karen since we first met over 4 years ago, I had asked her out a number of times when we first met, but she always refused my advances and eventually I gave up and we became good friends and subsequently work colleagues.
Jan's thoughts drifted as she reined her horse to the right at the intersection. She did not know where this road led, but exploring her new "neighborhood" was on the goals of her long Saturday evening rides. She had just been transferred to this small West Texas town from Boston, and she had resigned herself to make the most of it. She had enjoyed riding in her early teen years, and since she now found herself living in a part of the country where everyone seemed to own at least one horse.
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My husband Dan is an engineer—and, I strongly suspect, a sex addict. Until recently, these were separate parts of his life.
Not that I'm complaining, too much, about Dan's strong libido. He's always been faithful. And he's also a willing student—and budding master—of my body. I may want sex less frequently than he, but I probably get more enjoyment from it than I deserve for my own efforts. Besides, Dan's curiosity and drive definitely keeps things interesting in our bedroom—and sometimes outside of it too!
There are fifteen candles strategically placed throughout the room, one for every year they have been together. They lie on the bed, side by side. Their fingers are laced together and are wedged between their two steaming bodies. Beads of perspiration glisten upon his chest hair.
I'd seen Deborah all over town from time to time, and knew her casually. She is in her early to mid thirties, a tall woman, married and the mother of three. She's always been the picture of motherhood, doing all sorts of things to support and raise her children and doing them virtually as a single mom. Oh, she's married but her husband is more married to his work and his cronies than to her and his children.
The man standing in the doorway gazed across the room to the woman lounging comfortably before him on the bed. Dressed in an ankle-length skirt and long-sleeved blouse, the woman tilted her head to the side and gave him a seductive smile.
"I didn't think you would come, Darien," she commented with a smirk. "After all, it has been quite some time since you've seen me." The woman shifted on the bed, adjusting the skirt slightly to reveal more of her leg.
Sebastian could tell that she was upset, but was not quite sure if he should attempt to console her, or for that matter, exactly how he would go about approaching her with an offer of comfort. He had seen the despondent expression she had been wearing on her face all night and thought that she looked like she might be about to cry when she excused herself from the table and left the banquet hall to go upstairs to her hotel room. He had quickly said goodnight to his dining companions at the next table and followed her to the lobby, not totally sure of what he was intending to do if, and when, he caught up with her.
Greg finally found his right new home. It was at the right size, right price, and a quiet neighbourhood, the place where he can quietly concentrate his home business. At 28, he was an ambitious young man. The next door neighbour was a couple most probably in their fifties. The man called Tom was a cold man who would pull a long face when coming across people. What sort of woman would fall in love with this kind of man, Greg thought.
One must love road trips. I know I do. Fate also has the most amazing way of showing you that even though you have it all figured out, there are certain things which can occur that are beyond even your wildest fantasy.
I was driving down the road, coming home from a particularly horrible day at work. In the hazy mist of a cruel evening, something jumped in front of my Accord. I swerved to avoid it, which luckily I did, but managed to hit something else that was in the road.
I haven't always been like this. There was a time, as a younger woman, when I moved through the day without noticing everyone I encountered with the same eye for elements as I do now. Back then, a face was not a porthole to the inside world of men and women. The posture and carriage of a body did not reveal the food consumed, emotional baggage lugged, and the psycho/sexual energy of a personality. However, somewhere along the way, I developed these insights into people that left me feeling somewhat of a self-fulfilling prophet.