I walked up the sidewalk in the rain towards the lighted porch. The weather matched my mood. I had come home from my office on campus and found a note. "Sorry, I don't think this is going to work our. I've gone back to Tennessee. Karen." I guessed that she had gone back to stay with her aunt.
She had left me and I was stunned and angry and depressed and sad-and somehow lighter and freer. But I needed to talk to somebody and that's why I was walking up to Greg and Rosemary's door.
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"Happy Fucking Birthday to me!" I thought to myself.
If only I knew at that moment just how happy my fifty-second birthday was truly going to be. But as I took my regular afternoon jog through Meyer Park in the northwest suburbs of Houston, Texas; my mind was a swirling mess of self-pity, loneliness and sexual frustration. My husband and I had been divorced for nearly four years, all three of my children were either grown and gone or away visiting their father for the summer and I hadn't gotten a good piece of ass in what seemed like decades.
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"So, what are you going to do for a living?" Vivian asked the young man who was visiting along with her son from college.
"I'm retired," Paul Redman replied with a grin.
"Uh, you're kind of young for that aren't you?" Vivian asked in confusion.
"Yes ma'am, I am."
Vivian's son, Cal, said, "Paul was a millionaire by the time he graduated high school."
"More like five million," Paul corrected.
"Five million by the time you graduated high school! You must be some kind of a genius," Vivian said in shock. She had never met anyone worth that much money.
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It was Sunday afternoon at the library. Ellen, the library's director, paused to watch her young page struggle with rearranging the furniture in the new teen area. Getting things set up was hard work and it was a good thing they had come in when the library was closed. They needed the extra time and the activity would have disturbed the patrons during normal hours.
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I remember it as being one of 'those' weeks.
Sunday was my twenty-second birthday and my mother took me to lunch at The Connaught. On such occasions, my mother likes to take charge. I think that the elderly couple at the next table thought that I was her Toy Boy. Oh well, if it brightened up their outing.
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I had driven 25 of the 50 kilometres of my way home from the Christmas Eve celebrations I had at my girlfriend's home. I decided to call in on old Miss Tomlinson, my old retired schoolteacher, she and I finished school the same year; I at 16 and she at 60. That was 12 years ago.
Why I decided to call in on her I have no idea still. Sure I saw her in her garden and waved as I passed her house on many occasions, but never once stopped.
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My best friend Karl and I grew up together. We've known each other since we were babies. Our mothers were best friends and they got married about the same time and spent all their time together, so I think we were even changed on the same table and took baths together. We did everything together, we had all the same interests.
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I thought at the time I had the worst luck in the world.
There I was, standing on the shoulder of an interstate somewhere in Western Pennsylvania, eighteen wheelers rumbling by as I stared at my 1982 Toyota Celica. I'd opened the hood to see if I could figure out what was wrong, but had no clue. A few minutes earlier it started making a worrisome thumping sound and then stalled out. I was barely able to maneuver my way onto the shoulder safely.
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I didn't get into sex when most of my friends did. I'm not sure why, but at thirteen and fourteen when my friends were starting to take an active interest in sex and boys, I just wasn't that interested. I suspect my hormones were late bloomers or something. It wasn't until I was sixteen that I started to feel the urges, and I tried to deal with them at bedtime by touching myself with very little results for some reason.
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The young waiter smiled and felt his pants tighten and his bulge tingle as the two women emerged from the tennis courts to sit at one of his tables of the hotel's outdoor bar slash café. Nice, he thought. I'd love to give either one of them a fuck before I go home tonight. Maybe both.
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