Do you know what is worse than being married for five years and not having sex for the past six months, finding out that other men have been having sex with your wife in your bed? My name is Robert, I am 35 years old, five foot ten, thick black hair that starts at the top of my head and doesn't stop until it reaches my toes, green eyes, and a pretty naturally fit body, all compliments from my Italian heritage.
Rats! 99 again. Will it never cool off? Barefoot, cutoffs, and a blouse with only the bottom button fastened, I hurried to the mailbox. Just the electric bill. Why'd I even waste my time? Feels like I just walked over the stove for a lousy bill. Probably should have put on some sandals.
Walking back, a moving van drove through the parking lot. I guess I'd remembered seeing it at the other end of the building, just didn't pay much attention. What a hard ass job on a steamy day like this.
It was a shitty way to spend Valentine's Day Jeff reflected as he tapped impatiently on the steering wheel, waiting for the traffic lights to change. The meeting had gone as well as could be expected under the circumstances but still, it was about as much fun as having all his teeth pulled with a pair of rusty pliers. It kind of gave a whole new meaning to the idea of the 'Valentine's Day Massacre.'
It was Friday evening and to be expected the bar was crowded. Two blondes with the strained look that childless women appear to inherit from their divorce, eyed the unshaven guy in blue, noting a soft smile, curly dark hair and green oh so green eyes.
They whispered, looking at him. Brent thought of winking at them but that could be misinterpreted. His firm rule was to never pick up a woman in a bar.
There are mornings when I awaken alone in the darkness, shoot a nasty glance across the bedroom at the alarm clock, and try to will it to silence. Of course, that does not typically work, so I am forced to get up and get ready for work.