There's a standard joke when the UK is hit with cold weather - that we're utterly unable to cope. Even a sprinkling of the white stuff brings the road and rail networks virtually crashing to a halt. Schools close, people can't get to work, supermarkets are swamped by panic buyers and tabloids declare 'SNOWMAGEDDON!'
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The Wrightsville yacht harbor dipped beneath the horizon off the stern of the big sloop. As its hull neatly parted the waves, the rigging beneath the taut sail hummed while the breeze of the yacht's passage gave relief from the muggy July heat of the North Carolina coast. Brenda watched the coast disappear for a few minutes and then turned to the woman sitting beside her.
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I've been watching her for days and I don't know why. What was it she had that made my colleague, Fran, employ her? She was average looking at best and her figure was nothing special, not that you could really see that much of it as she kept it covered up at all times. Her fashion sense at times seemed frumpy and old for a younger woman. Her name was Claire and I'd say about twenty years my junior.
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So, here's a story you perhaps don't hear every day. It's a true story, but it has a couple of layers, so allow me to explain some of the moving parts. I'll try not to ramble too much so we can get to the juicy stuff. My name is Max and this happened to me. Sometimes I still can't believe how it all played out. I work at a small business in the hospitality industry.
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It's been a long, difficult day. The world has been uncooperative, as per usual. One of those days where nothing goes as planned. People specifically. People are the worst, once again, as per usual. Although now, finally, you're standing on the front step. A little sigh of relief escapes your lips, being able to let your guard from the world down a little bit.
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Sandals flopped against her feet as she charged down the sidewalk. A few heads turned, noticing her slightly disheveled clothing and the flush spread across her cheeks. A tight t-shirt was shifted to the side, thrown on in a hurry. Her white jean shorts were left unbuttoned, barely clinging to sweaty hips as she walked.
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"You're on your way home, Sir? Now?"
"I am."
Hal bit his bottom lip. Shoot, shoot, shoot. He hadn't planned anything for dinner. "How long until you get here?"
Mac drove one-handed down their street, other hand holding his cell. "Actually, I'm about to pull in the drive."
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As she stood viewing herself in her black outfit consisting of a mesh/solid skintight sleeveless shirt and tight soft leather flare pants. Spike heal boot on to add just that few inches of height. Rich strawberry-blond hair gelled back into a ponytail that reached the middle of her back. She'd done her make-up skillfully, black of course to match her outfit even her nails.
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is the most perfect specimen of humanity Dr. Kent has ever seen, and all she can think when she sees him is: what a waste.
She has his specs on the pad in front of her: 6'5, 190 pounds, blonde hair, blue eyes, 28 years old; section: lambda, section of origin: delta. Even that brief outline caused a commotion among the other doctors when it arrived in her inbox yesterday. But numbers on a screen are one thing, and #B34123J's extraordinary physique right here in her exam room is another.
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Your heart is thumping, the adrenalin and anticipation beginning to be usurped by arousal. This whole scenario has an element of the surreal, and yet you stay fixed to this spot. He stirs behind you, moving close enough for his cologne to caress your senses, even if his hands are yet to.
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