Mr. Peterson, or Mr. P for short, had been my neighbor for more than twenty years. He was in his late sixties but you wouldn't have known it by looking at him. He and I always had a good relationship even though, when I was married, he and my ex-husband seemed to irritate each other at times. His wife had died some years back, before my ex and I had divorced, and he admittedly found himself very lonely and depressed at times. I took it upon myself to go over and provide him with some occasional companionship and just make sure he was doing ok.
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I hate it when they keep moving stuff around. When it comes to things like fish or produce, I find better quality at the local health food chain store. But the produce department here seems to like to move things around from week to week, I guess to create a more seasonally appropriate display. But I'm a pragmatic man, and I like to find things in the same place.
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I'd been looking forward to a quiet day in the office, with no meetings and a chance to catch up with the pile of papers that had been gathering dust on my desk over the previous few weeks. The first few weeks of the year are always busy, and this year was no exception. I had spent the last few weeks rushing from one meeting to another, travelling all over the place, barely having time to catch my breath. But now, at last, I had a chance to catch up.
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I was thirty when it happened. I fell in love. She was perfect. She was everything I could have ever wanted in a mate; beautiful, smart, funny. She wasn't bitter though she did have quite a temper. She was determined and goal oriented. She had a cute face and a banging body, though she didn't realize she had either. That was probably because she was young. She was very young, and she was my student.
I guess I need to start at the beginning. My name is Kenneth Ellerson. I teach higher math, and coach JV and Varsity Girls basketball at a coastal Georgia high school.
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Why did I wait so long to clean the house? Nikki could be arriving at any time. At least the dirty clothes were out of the dryer, folded, hangered, and out of the way. When you work full-time, with a part-time job, there never seems to be enough time to get caught up on the stuff that a woman will immediately notice. Fortunately, Nikki understands and forgives my controlled messiness. She never fails to mention that I am too old to properly keep a house and should hire a maid. But, I would have to seriously clean before allowing a stranger to see my clutter.
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I had been teaching at the university for some 30 years, and I had never encountered such an intriguing vision as Soleil in all my days. She is a beauty, and an enigma. She was breathtakingly refreshing and very frustrating...beautiful, yet exasperating. I came to be rather obsessed with this 20 year old vixen from the first time I saw her in class, just something about her that caught my attention: she was half Thai, and half American.
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"What the hell was that," Jake Armstrong said to himself, as he walked passed the closed office door on his way to the copy machine room. The long corridor was empty, as most of the staff was out to lunch, and Jake wondered who could possibly be using the vacant office at this hour. Well whoever it was, they sure as hell were making quite a racket in there. Jake put his ear to the door, listened for a few moments, and then slowly turned the handle and pushed into the supposedly empty office.
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"Tina, where are your clothes?" I asked the nubile teen I discovered naked in my den.
"Clothes, don't need no stinkin' clothes, Mr. B," she slurred.
"You've been drinking." Nothing like stating the obvious while trying to buy time, and having trouble dragging my eyeballs from staring at those gravity defying young tits, with the vividly erect nipples.
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It was a wild midsummer's night. The rain was pelting down in sheets and the wind was howling through the trees like the banshee's lonely wail. I was sitting in my favorite chair with a half full bottle of single malt Scotch in my left hand and a revolver in my right hand. There was only one bullet in the revolver and I was getting up my Dutch courage to play the first round of Russian roulette.
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I happened into an unbelievable experience about a year after my wife passed away suddenly at the age of fifty-three. Since we were empty nesters, after it happened, I had pretty much spent many hours a week at my office where I was away from our memories and the loneliness of our now empty house.
As was my custom, I left home around 5:00 a.m. and drove the hour to work stopping about half way to get coffee and a New York Times.
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