For"A"

Perhaps I should explain. This is a real spirit, up to the minute bill involving existent hoi polloi who, through many grounds, would be vulnerable in both their professional and personal lives if too many details were to be made world. I am sure you, the reader, will forgive the want of names or accurate location details. Those that know me well will probably recognise certain facet and possibly add two and two together. I will deliver to deal with that, if and when the time comes. My reputation, although important to me, is somewhat LE of a thoughtfulness than ‘ A's'is to both of us.

"A"is a very beautiful woman who is not from this body politic. She is employed by the Saame brass as I am. Her theatrical role is as my superscript's Personal assistant and as such, means we interact almost on a daily basis."A"is forty and is seven years into her second marriage, I have a notion that all is not well in that section, but it is something we have not discussed too deeply. She has lived in England as long as her union. ‘ A'only talks about theatrical role of her animation outside of oeuvre and body of work related subject. She keeps the rest private and under lock and key. I can empathise that and, to a point, empathise with it as well. Coming from Poland and with the nurture she has had in a strict family, sharing some information is not a natural consideration and I wouldn't pry.

She is beautiful with a quirky, lopsided grinning that lights up her face and crinkles the recess of her eyes. She is always dressed smartly and has a disposition to bust wear that jot at the delight beneath, showing just enough cleavage to attract the eye, but not be less than tasteful. Some of her dresses are quite brusque and can show flashes of inner thigh that tantalises these senses that I suffer with. If I were being unkind, I would say that her coiffure is not flattering. If I were really being pitiless, I would say that it looks as if a myopic nurseryman, being many different lengths, had cut it. Who am I to hash out or comment on the mode of pilus ? I cling on to my ultra-thin mop and have it cut as short as possible.

"A"has hazel coloured eyes that are large and expressive. They convey her mode by changing colour, deepening into a darker hazel tree when she is aroused or troubled. Her mouth has this lilt to it and is slightly asymmetrical. I find it endearing. Her regular visits to the physical fitness entourage and Zumba dance exercises keep her body in peachy contour. She already had the right edifice mental block from which to work, the regime has just polished off the border to a delightfully visual treat.

"A"is very very much my junior in the organisation and years. My role as a aged coach often involves calling on her overhaul as minute taker in meetings so, we see each other often and have always shared a laugh. Joking can be a little difficult where her language, although extremely good, does not necessarily understand the nuances of temper. I should add, I have my own sensation of liquid body substance and repartee that many don't get, so she can be forgiven.

It was over a cup of coffee berry that we found some common primer coat. I told her that I now had several fib published, but would not tell her where to line up them. I wouldn't want her to think I am some kind of deviant, writing porno in my second childhood. I am sixty-one, writing came belatedly to me and I have tried to make up for lost time since. I eventually agreed to let her scan one of my taradiddle, putting it on a memory marijuana cigarette so she could register it at her leisure."The Office"is a patch I wrote about a class ago, is humorous, but also tells the tarradiddle of a Danton True Young man in an function environment, full moon of women who are street smart. A in writing deion of his sexual encounter is part of the account, but is not the whole piece of music, so is to a lesser extent than pornographic and I am rather more easy in having people read that than some of my other pieces.

I have been married for more than forty old age. I admit to not having been entirely faithful… well actually, I have grasped almost every chance that has come my way. For whatever reason, and not from openly seeking alternatives to my marriage, I have had rather more than my fair share of alternative partners. Some of them have been one off affairs, but also some very much more acute liaisons that involved rather too a great deal emotion for comforter. I love women. I love the feel, skin senses and olfactory sensation of them. A unspoiled physical structure excites me as does word, wit and predisposition. If freckles and green middle are also in the mix, then I am completely blown away.

From this humble first of sharing my story with her and a few conversations that inevitably ended up about sex in one build or another, began the basis of what follows."A"enjoyed the story and discovered a side of meat to me that very few people know about.'Intriguing'was her deion and from there on, a illusion was crafted that involved us, in our current situation. ‘ A'has to take aim some credit in the depicted object of the fantasy, her stimulation helped to make it what it is.

I have to say in closure this foundation, that"A"is a very sexual mortal. Just below the surface of a well-maintained cuticle beats the heart of a lioness, which would easily rip your fondness out and feed it back to you in small amounts, just enough to save your hopes and dream alive. The trick is getting under that protective shield and then discovering just how deep you have been drawn in. It is frightening how quickly and totally you can be pulled into a funnel web with few option for dodging.

The insidious matter is, the deeper you become embroiled, the less you care. Just do not end the ride to get off.

Fantasy.

It is early eventide, perhaps six thirty, when the building is very much quieter. Only a few people are left. even classes had started. It was a time that I knew we would not be disturbed.

The lock on my office door was engaged. The light source were turned down by the dimmer switch on the wall and the subterfuge are pulled down to the, floor at the story to cap windows. As far as possible, we were isolated in my office, a humble space in this vast building. Alone at last and this was the moment that we have both desired and thought about. At last, we are about to consummate our collaboration and what we have been heading towards over these few short weeks.

You stood in the centre of the room with your hands clasped behind your back, as you had been instructed. I had told you to remove your tights, but to provide your shoes on. early than these particular, you are fully dressed. But, even with the layers of clothing, you probably felt rather more vulnerable than you might have before. You are not used to being instructed when it comes to sex. Neither of us really knew what to expect of each other and perhaps it was the not knowing that added to the rush. We could only hope that this union would be mutually pleasing.

I study you while I sit in my professorship. Quietly appraising your body and intellection you would look awesome naked. Not for the first gear fourth dimension, I was looking at you, admiring your feminine shape. My steady regard was unnerving you. Perhaps it was the lack of body process, perhaps a flimsy impatience that was keeping you marginally off equipoise. Although we both knew what the straightaway time to come held, the deliberate deliberateness I was adopting, was making you finger to a greater extent and more nervous, giving you sentence to consider, to worry that this might not be such a good idea. Was this the right matter to be doing ? Was it too dangerous ? It was a delicious dilemma that was transparently etched across your features and I was enjoying your discomfort.

At last, when I thought you had been standing long enough, I rose from my chair and crossed the way, stepping behind you. I remind you, whispering in your ear, to save your manpower behind your backrest and that they are to appease there unless I tell you otherwise. I am pleased by your conformation because, although we have spoken as colleagues and then supporter, before becoming embroiled in this disturbed prelude to this electric current berth, I was not sure enough that you would be compliant and, in fact, you have already stated you were not normally submissive.

You tremble. I do not know if it is mettle or fearfulness or excitement or a compounding of all of those emotions, rolled into a knot of stress. I do cognise that you will respond all the more while your smoke are running at this feverish pitch. That too, pleases me and I am able to unstrain and assume my time and delight in the event every good continuation has on you.

Deliberately provocative, I run the back of my indicator finger along your jaw line, caressing your hide, passing below your ear and then down the side of your neck, tracing your jugular until it reaches the holler of your nab bone. It is the first fourth dimension I have touched you and I delight in the shiver the touch evinces. Your eyes are half closed, partially hiding your hazel tree eyes, as if there is too much light. I notice for the first time, that they change colour slightly, becoming slightly darker as your temperature rises.

Standing behind you once more, I pull down the zipper of your wench and, when it has fallen to the trading floor, instruct you to abuse out of it so that I can beak it up and piazza it on a president. Your blouse, crinkled at the bottom where it was tucked into the cincture of your chick, covers enough of your lower one-half that your modesty is retained. I intend for that to change quickly and to hold you off counterpoise. I want you nervous, shy and filled with trepidation. It adds to my horse sense of fervour and the impression of expectation. The fact that we are in my office and vulnerable to a point is not lost on me and adds to the sheer danger of what we are about to do.

And then I tell you to lift your arms. You raise them above your read/write head and shimmy a little to avail the sleeve of the blouse gaffe over your shoulder. The blouse is placed with the bird and your hands return to behind your back without me telling you. That pleases me.

I have long thought you would have a mythic body and I am not in the slightest disappointed as you stand, trembling, in nothing to a greater extent than your bra, briefs and shoes. You have a figure that seems to me to be made for love life, neither too skinny nor over weight unit. Your physical exercise in the Gymnasium are obviously doing you good, evident by the stipulation of your muscle look. Your curves are proportional to your peak and I feel privileged to have you at this moment, in my place and about to become my buff. You look fabulous, fit and glowingly healthy.

The pauperization to touch your bareness is almost overcome, a feeling I have grown accustomed to over the stopping point few calendar week. It has been very difficult not to reach out and equal you, to keep open my mitt off of you where you have inflamed my desire and intrigued me. Perhaps I am enthralled and enmeshed in your allure.



But, somehow, I manage to resist the urge to denude you of your underwear. Instead, I run my helping hand from behind you, around your waist, lightly running above your hips until my hands meet at your stomach. You shiver and goose protrusion form on your tegument. I have had to take a half step forward to be close enough to encircle your shank. It brings me into contact with your mitt, still clasped behind your back. You can feel my hardness through the layers of trousers. Slowly and as lightly as I possibly can, my mitt, in unison, travel upwards until I have your breasts, one in each hand, weighing them and relishing the tone, even through the fabric of your bra, they feel fantastic. They are as perfect as I knew they would be and yield to my aristocratical massage. I kiss your neck, just below your ear and have my number one gustatory perception of you and as the taste runs over my tongue, the smell of your essence inflames my nose. The scent you are wearing is one I do not recognise, subtle, but it has the desired effect and step-up my need for you.

My thumb hook the shoulder shoulder strap of your bra and ease them off of your shoulder joint. I step back to let me the space between us to unclasp the garment. It means the link of your hands is broken and for a import, I mourn the loss. I tell you to travel your hands forward so that the bra can be removed completely. I put this with your skirt and blouse. You have put your custody back behind you. Once Thomas More, I step behind, renewing the contact lens of your hands on my hardness. My hands cup your naked bosom and your already semi-hard nipples are rubbed and pulled gently between pollex and index finger. They harden and the areoles pucker. A moan escapes from between your rim and I can palpate your knees are trembling. I hope they are not going to give out before I am set to take you. I do not want to rush things, needing to take it at a gait that allows for the tasting of each touch, each caress, to delight in each and commit it all to computer memory, to be enjoyed again and again in my common soldier thoughts.

My thumbs hook into the elasticated band of your briefs and alleviate them down, sliding the garment over your hips and down your legs. I tell you to ill-use out of them and place them on top of your bra.

In a vocalism vibrating with mounting mania, I ask you to wrench around and, for the number one time, I see you in your nudeness. The sight is astound, more than I could suffer envisaged and I physically have to resist the urge to lick my lips in anticipation. You are far more beautiful than my imaginativeness could have conjured. You are perfection and I wonder how I could be so privilege to get you here in this moment of time.

I move to begin to undo the buttons of my shirt. You tell me that you will do that. For a instant I hesitate and then recognise, I have been dominant allele in undressing you. Now it is your turn of events to consume the initiative and I should allow that. You step close while I lean back with my buns sitting on the edge of my desk, my feet on the floor, legs facing pages so you can abuse closely to me.

Slowly, one by one, you undo each button and pull the shirttails from the waistband of my trouser. The front flaps open, revealing my almost hairless dresser. You undo the turnup, holding my bridge player, palm up and kissing each as the buttons are released.

Your hands balance against my breast for a moment, as if testing I am existent. Then, with care and a soft touch, you ease the shirt over my shoulder and down my arms. It needs me to stand, rising from the desk, so that you can get rid of and put the shirt to one face. You kneel at my feet and undo the lace of my shoes. You tell me to lift each substructure so that you can still each shoe off. As you are putting them to one English, I slip off my wind sleeve, using a prank I learned several years ago when I was unable to bend where I had injured myself. You notice what I have done and a line crosses your brow. I grin guiltily, but pleased you have not had to mete out with my socks. Of all my apparel, my socks are something I feel less than glad about.

You step close and snog my chest, nibbling at my nipples, which respond immediately, hardening and suddenly stamp. While you are kissing and gently biting me, your digit manipulate and release my belt and unbutton the waistband of my trousers. Deliberately slowly, you pull the zipper down, brushing against my hardness. You release my nipple and kneel to get out my trouser completely down and then, narrate me to mistreat out of them. They join my shirt.

You kneel again and buss my stomach. The sense of touch of your lips is galvanizing on my skin and I hardly notice that you are pulling my briefs down until my putz, in its foreplay, springiness free to manoeuvre at you, hard and make. I notice the moue of surprise when you realise I am hairless, my preferred condition.

One fundament at a time, I step out of my briefs so that, they to, can join the pile of my wearing apparel.

You reach toward me and take my hardness in your hand while your hazel center look at me steadily. We are now match. Neither one of us has authority and both as vulnerable as each other with the divesting of clothes.

grasping your shank, I turn you around so that you are leaning against the edge of my desk. I kick the chairwoman out of the way and assure you to part your legs. I had not forgotten you telling me that receiving viva sex was not something you particularly enjoyed, but I also had in head that you said you might want to try with me. My intention is really nothing more than to imprint you totally, into my retentivity. I kneel on the floor and take in your musk. Your cancel scent excites my olfactory organ, a deep breath is all that is really needed, but the longing to go just that minuscule advance takes me. I savour your cancel perfume and previse your taste. It is as enticing as I thought it would be. You are pure manna from Shangri-la, the elixir of animation and a heady mix. My knife registry your aroma as it slides over your sex, my nose pressed hard against your clit. Your taste is as nectar, I knew it would be and I recognise your zeal, tasting your wetness.

It is not yet the right time to explore my giving to you of satisfaction through the activity of my tongue. It is perhaps, something to research when our place is dissimilar, when we have prison term and the luxury of being able to really get to know each early's bodies. It would take to be a hotel or something that would countenance for complete freedom.

You decide that the roles should be reversed. You instruct me to brook and, while in the act of becoming good, you kneel and grasp my turgid member in your decently hand. Then, you scurvy your foreland until your tongue caresses the end, dampening it. Deliciously slowly, your back talk section and encircle my prick. The flavor, for me, is beyond sublime. For so foresightful, I had imagined and dreamt of a moment like this with you. I could never take conjured up such a ecclesiastic feeling. I don't know how long you keep this up for, sentence slips by unmarked, I just know I want it to never end.

Eventually though, natural progression CV. I have to bear upon you, to oblige you, to feel your physical structure snug to mine and to feel your affection beating against me. Gently, I grasp your principal and templet you to stand up. I have to kiss you. I need to kiss you, suddenly and desperately. It is an flood out need the brooks no refusal. Our lips touch and then meld together, sharing breath. Our tongues explore, tasting each other.

Bodies pressed tightly, joined at hip and clasped in arms. It is a mo, within a period of time that is filled with delectation and breakthrough that is entirely singular, an oasis that stands out alone and is all the more peculiar. A moment when, if it were potential, we would go just one eubstance and it is the mo when I know that I am sublimely felicitous ; joyous even and lust becomes something else entirely.

Kisses are delivered to your neck, to your shoulder joint and pharynx and are received from you in return. Each coppice of brim and teeth buff the flames of mounting love. I do not want to withstand back any longer, the agony of not being within you is driving me insane. I need you. I want you and know that you feel the same.

You lean against my desk, bending at the hip. It is an invitation for me to join with you in a conglutination of bodies, linked by the umbilical electric cord of my member. Your scummy rachis is caressed by my fingertips, swirling in untraced pattern. My early manus reaching around and finds your sex. It helps me to head myself into you.

You say something, but I do not get wind it. All of my concentration is centred on entering your physical structure and then to pretend have a go at it to you as I have wanted to for so long. At in conclusion, I am buried inside and can find, at the same fourth dimension, your high temperature and wetness as you accept me. For a second, neither of us motion. I am savouring the wondrous intuitive feeling of you and desire to prolong that feeling for a sentence. But, then, the instinctive rhythm of sex begins to register and our organic structure respond to the yell of the melodic line. Slowly at first, as if testing the limits, but gradually, our thrusting become faster, stronger and more insistent.

My feet are splayed to maintain balance. The stableness frees my hands to explore, to hold on, massage and hold. I manage to accomplish your breasts, which nestle in the laurel wreath of my manus, massaging and kneading while our bodies crash against each other, furiously building up to the point of release.

You cry for me to bar. You stand, forcing me out of your organic structure and turn around. You tell me you want to hold me, you want to see me and witness the mo I surrender my fluids into you.

I kiss your mouth and guide you so that you are one-half sitting on the border of the desk, your feet on the floor with your legs apart, prepare to encounter me once more. Your arms encircle my neck as I find my way into you and, in so pulling me towards you, our back talk touch, mouthpiece open, breath mingling and sending our temperatures up even further. The dance of sexual relation begins again at a pace, mutually decided upon, each guided by the pelvic thrusts and rocking. It drives me deeply into you. I can see your heart have turned quite dark, darker than the hazel tree they normally are. You smile at me and then clasp me closely in an embrace that helps to anchor you and allow your hips to proceed more freely and match my rhythm exactly. Your legs encircle me and draw me even further into you.

I moan, low and pharyngeal as my loss approaches. My lip is at your throat, kissing and tasting you. Your breath, hot, brushes against my hide, over my articulatio humeri and into the nape of my neck. We each are making noises in the back of our pharynx with the efforts we are expending. As the minute of common climax closes on us, our moan become shorter, turning almost, into grunts.

And then, suddenly, the moment of ultimatum arrives. I can hold on no longer. The pulses of sexual climax flood you and, as you feel my cum, your own orgasm eruption through you. Your read/write head is thrown back, eyes tightly shut and your teeth clutches as the ripples traverse through you. I clasp you to me, fighting to regain my breathing. I am lost in you and, for that moment do not handle or even think of the consequences of this illegitimate liaison. All consuming is the divided up passion we have had. It is a bit that is ageless, timeless and seems to last for an eternity but is only a fleeting few seconds.

At last, I slip from your body, but do not require to let you go, even though we need to clean up. I feel frightened that, if I let you out of my arms, I might never have the joy of you again. I whisper in your ear, telling you, thank you. You smile and it is a most delightful grin that radiates in my heart.

Reality returns to us and reluctantly, we have to scavenge up, have to dress and then go out into the world beyond my office room access. Only now, the man has a new slant on it. Our enigma is unknown past the walls of this government agency and to those we work with, who know us well, are mystified by our perpetual smile as we go through our days.

So, now you have read the story of what might, could be. I hope that it explains how I feel about you, how you have moved into a space in my mind that I am sure has always been reserved just for you. I wait for your response, feeling like a condemn man, waiting for the scaffold to be finished so that he can climb it to his doomsday. Is the illusion too much ? Have I taken it too far ? I do not know and waiting for your chemical reaction is crippling me.

We meet for tiffin, choosing a place a few hundred metres away from the College in the new chump and Spencer café in their new edifice. It is noisy and you struggle to eat the pasta in its well-defined plastic cocoon. You struggle because of the nervous tension between us. Outwardly, I seem calm, composed and at ease, but behind the façade is a agitation of mixed emotions, of conflictions and confusion.

I sip my tea and observe you, unsettled. Smiling one 2d while we hold eye contact and then, in the next, you look away as if embarrassed and the smile fades or intensifies, depending on what goes through your mind. I do get to listen about your account, or at least, as much as you are willing to freely bring. I can not help thinking that something traumatic has happened in your life sentence and dubiety I will ever get to have it away about it.

You trading floor me when you say that stepping outside of your marriage ceremony for sex is not beyond the region of possibility. It is implied, but overtly stated, that sex with me is not something you would be indisposed to. The attraction between us is obvious, but this is the first of all time I have heard you admit it.

Trying to be documentary, we talk and discuss the fantasy. Our spirit and emotions are scrambled, confusedness and excitement tally through our nervure, replacing corpuscles and blood platelet, thinning the stock so that the hit of adrenaline is that much harder.

You wondered if this was a prediction of events to come, or a fantasy that is pleasant, but only ever just that, a fantasy that we can never embark on. The construct of our fertile minds carries all the hallmarks of a fledgling bureau thing that could possibly be the dilapidation of both of us. The risk of discovery has far reaching consequences that could deflower both of our careers and could mess up up our respective marriages. But, there remains this physical attractiveness and it is up to us to decide whether to take this to what I am sure, would be a mutually square conclusion.

And then again, would this exploration of each other be adequate ? Could it be something free-and-easy ? Would we want to maintain or pass around an matter that we can only hope to keep closed book ? Somehow I doubt it would ever be a simple social function or a one off. The dynamics of our relationship must exchange. I may be able-bodied to maintain come apart my professional life and private, but can you ? Emotions have a use of getting in the way, of being transparent to those we work with.

There is one other question that demands to be asked. Is it amend to plan in a cipher mode or, should it take place spontaneously with all the resultant endangerment of discovery ? Could we be object glass enough to save a lid on it ? Or, would we be swept along in the tide of lust, like so much flotsam, and then find ourselves cast adrift when it all eventually falls out to the dissemination of our colleagues and then spouses.

I can not know the response, but I do I really want to know ? Should I analyse it to that extent ? What I am sure of is that I want to recognise you in the most versed way and to a tip ; could not fall in a hang for what may be the result. I just would not want for you to be disadvantaged, just because I desire your eubstance. I would not want, for a endorsement, to love that I have been instrumental in ruining your positioning. And, yes, I want to have sex you, in all of the sensual gage. Seeing you and being so close to you, now that we have shared this story and talked about the possibilities. About the risk of such a liaison and in slightly oblique raid of each other's sexual appetency and preference, is torture.

The lunch period clandestine group meeting is cut brusque when two fellow worker sit at an next mesa. The freedom of voice communication is curtailed and we leave shortly after.

I love the way you dress. Revealing tops, curtly wearing apparel or blotto dungaree, seem designed to lift up, to ignite my green goddess and, although I maintain a detached conduct as we interact during our working day, but it is unmanageable for me to stay my hands from reaching out and touching you.

I manage it though and would possess let this stoppage as a shared fantasy, pleasant, erotic and exciting, but a fantasy none the lupus erythematosus. And that is how I leave it with you, my words being carried away on the air, coming from the canal we walked alongside, but not before they have been lodged and registered in your mind.

Until.

Last dark was so close up to the phantasy of the story ; it is a skilful thing, perhaps, that you had to be somewhere else at a quarter past six. When I invited you into my office, it was not with the intention of adding fuel to the fire or of being quite so close to you. I just wanted to talk. well, that is not strictly true. The opening of holding you, of exploring you is always at the backrest of my judgement. But, I was not going to tug it, but rather allow you the blank space with no pressure.

Sitting opposite you would have been ticket, but I noticed you pulling your dress down, sub-consciously, I noticed that you were on edge, anxious even. We managed to talk about inconsequence's, of this and that. We talked about your home and crime syndicate, of marriages and the comparable. But, at the same clip that our words bounce off of the bulwark and rattle around in our heads, making trivial live impression, the sexual chemistry is working, breaking down roadblock and defences.



You asked me why I was sitting so far away from you. I told you that I was respecting your argument from a few days ago, that you were not set up or prepared for an office affair. I would bear been subject matter with just spending some time with you, but all the while, I was watching your body, reading the voice communication that is mute and needs no Word of God. I hear you, unable to settle on a subject, conflict to put together coherent sentences or finish a railroad train of enounce thought.

But, physical drawing card overcomes common sensation, over comes reason. Like newspaper publisher over tilt, the attraction is all too smothering.

beingness the contradiction that you are, in one breath you are telling me that you are not quick, being sensible, practical. And then, in the side by side, you tell me to number closer. My declaration, I'm afraid, was not strong enough to maintain the blank space between us. You asked me what would hap if I moved closer. I think you know the answer and Bob Hope for it, even though everything in your mind is saying no. I told you, in answer, that I would find it very difficult to keep my hands off of you. The temptation of holding you, of kissing you is too strong for me to baulk and I am not sure we would have the ability to break.

Like a moth to flame, I am drawn into your personal distance, our respective chairwoman careering into each other like bumper cars on Castor. As if of their own willing, my manus are holding your face, angling it up so that our oral cavity touch, lip to lip and then, touch again and again. I kiss your neck opening as you clasp me to you and I want you. I want you in the speculative way. At terminal we manage to extract apart, take a breath and seem into each other's middle. It is a brief respite. It gives us both a instant to entrance our breath and for my heart to recede from breaking out of my chest.

Our hands rest on each other's thighs, stroking in small-scale rotary bowel movement, tegument barely touching. I want to tinct you in the most intimate places. The access is there, your myopic dress has ridden up, but not enough for me to be capable to see the treasures below and that is a estimable affair, because one tinge would ignite the flames like napalm and be just as unquenchable. Your sex is hidden from view, but only just and my hands are so close, so ending. I can find your heat. I absorb it through my peel. It would assume just the merest of apparent motion to be brushing against your labia. I want to go further, to search your inner thighs. The temptation is almost irresistible. It is only force of will that prevents me. I want to hold you in my hands, to fondle you, to excite your signified. And I want to consume you. Contradictory as it is, I do not want to fright you with the strength of warmth you evince in me.

To my astonishment, I find I am trembling. My centre bangs against my ribs as carnal intellection race across my thinking like stampeding horses. I am surprised by the power of these tone that I thought had long passed. I am unused to being so attracted, so close to entering into something as all-consuming as this. I sat back, breaking the touch, in an effort to recover some command of the situation and my tumult of senses. Perhaps it works for a instant, I can not remember now as I write this.

The succeeding moment shatters any equilibrium I have regained.

You say that you are tempted to see if that what I wrote was unfeigned and begin to sit forward purposefully. I instantly know exactly what you mean and watch as you manage to arrest yourself from reaching my zipper to see if I am shaven or not. Although proving it to you would be nice, I know that we would take crossed a line from which it would deliver been extremely hard to undo. Quite potential, you would have gone to your knee joint and taken me in your mouth. I know I would not have stopped you. I doubt I could accept stopped you and I wouldn't want to.

But you managed to overthrow your inquisitiveness. We kiss instead. I find your mouth and then your neck opening, kissing below your ear, taking in your perfume and loving the result it has on me."A ”, you inflame me and I want to take you, at that here and now, to possess you, your body and your individual. I want and need you, right there and rightfulness at that second. It is an all-consuming opinion and I know that resisting is almost too hard for me. Somehow though, resist we do.

You rise, it is clock time for you to leave and while we stand, we kiss again and clasp each other together. You are a judicious intoxication, making my mind twisting and my heart race. And then, you turn with your backrest to me, exchangeable to the narrative. My hired man meet at your stomach while I kiss your cervix. For a minute, I can not notice how this affects you, but then you grasp my hands. I thought it was to pull them free, but no ; you guide them to your breasts and I pull you close, our dead body blending into one shape.

It has to end. We both have plaza to be and you ask me to let you go. We kiss once more. Your spine is against the threshold to my role. Gently I lift your chin to kiss your pharynx and then your lip once more. I don't want you to get out, I don't want it to end, but know that it must and so, I open the door for you and wish you goodnight and regret that it had to be so.

I do not know where this is going to go. I have absolutely no inkling of what will chance. One mo, I doubt that we will ever retrieve a prison term or space to be together. And then, I am trying to lick out the how and when. I am distracted and thankful that I will be away playing golf game for a few days so that there is breathing space between us and a opportunity to think. You are constantly on my mind and the three 24-hour interval golf is played without my full attending. It shows in the scores I have.

One thing that does occur to me is that I might invite you to travel out with me to surrey. Perhaps visit a vineyard, the steppingstones and summerhouse on top of the Leith Hill, where I grew up. I plan it while driving back from Lincolnshire, but then, think I am being stupid. Why would you want to go there with me ? Why would you desire to go anywhere with me ? I am acting and thinking like a schoolboy and at my age that does not fit very well. It is confusing to me. My usual composure, tranquil outlook has been turned upside down and I am unused to being so out of kilter.

I begin to think that, perhaps I can promise this in. Put a lid on the whole affair and behave as a mature adult. I resolve to only speak to you in a professional manner and cut the emotions that have been stirred up by the magnet we seem to share. On Midweek morning, I am filled with the strength to pack out my resolve. I do not want to put you in a placement that will make your working life difficult. I know how the office barrel can spread rumour and chitchat faster than anything and, I know just how damaging that can be. But, then I see you and ploughshare a legal brief moment and my firmness of purpose dissipates into so much dust.

We only speak briefly on Thursday, just long enough for you to tell me that there is a problem in the sphere you work in. Your face displays your irritation and frustration. You, tactfully, do not tell me what the problem is, but it is obvious that you are angry, upset and I hope I have not been the cause. Friday is no better. You are cool towards me, aloof and withdrawn. The dazzling grin is not there and I fear that the impact on the evening a few days before, might have frightened you or made you sit back and take breed. Perhaps it has allowed you to consider whether you are fain or ready to become involved in something as mad as this is.

The lack of inter-group communication between us does not earmark me to ask you what the problem is or if you have decided to end it between us. It is perhaps, a dear thing that I do not get the chance, because your solution would be given while still angry.

I am interviewing at the only time you are available. An offer for crapulence after body of work is denied and I think then, that the decision to chill it is out of my hand. I think that you have already decided that it is finished before it started. I mourn the overleap hazard, but completely understand. You are very much stronger than I am and you are completely right. Knowing you are right though, does not diminish my flavor towards you. The desire is just as strong. I find myself looking for you, hoping to bump into you, but feeling that somehow, in this vauntingly, but limiting building, you are avoiding me.

Tuesday sees a change in attitude. You smile at me and I am filled with pleasure. It is a beautific smile that lights up your eyes and fills my pump with heat. We have a few import, sitting on the chairs in your shared government agency. You give me back the memory reefer with the fantasy on it. It is, you tell me, unread since the alterations were made. I am okay with that, but would have liked it if you had read it, if only for your input. I understand your reasoning and can not charge you for not opening the file.

Without saying too much, you reaffirm that an spot amour is something you do not like to get into. It would be too hard and rarify and I agree, but want otherwise. You ask that I do not think of you badly and I ask how I could. I found it flattering, exciting and I found it to be a surprise at this stage of my life. It is almost as often a thrill, knowing that it had been a real possible action, than if we had actually managed to get together.

We agree to get a coffee during the week and to get an continuous conversation. It will have to be in the mobile canteen to keep off any luck of becoming too close or to touch. You are having a few daytime in Poland and are looking forward to it very much.

It is in fact, more than a week until we have a opportunity to speak. You tell me a little of your halt with your syndicate in Republic of Poland, but as usual, you keep details specify and private. The photos you put on grimace Book show some of the spot you visited, but none of your class. I don't leave a comment on them, knowing that your husband has access to your look book varlet. We may not be having an affair, but I would not want to add fuel to any differences you are having.

I notice while we speak, that your body linguistic process is outdoors, inviting even, and, while your mind and words are holding me off, your body has other intention. Your hands are expressive and you sit back, legs uncrossed, showing me the duration of your body, unhindered and unprotected. I notice these thing, but listen instead to what you are telling me. It was a nice fantasy and that brief metre in my office when we almost acted it out was very charge, but practicalities and commitments overtake circumstances. You are telling me, not in so many Logos, that it will not happen.

The opportunity was for me, thrilling, confusing and did something for my aging ego. The fact that a beautiful woman, such as you are, should take a fancy to my old person, does More for me than I can explain. I have always been a intimate man, but had put sex to one side over the last few years as something younger mass did and not the old fossil sitting opposite you.

I am excepting of your decision, but at the like time, feel as if I missed an opportunity. Privately, I am blaming myself, thinking that coming on so strong in the government agency, was a blunder, clumsy on my portion and, had I not been so eager, may still be alert. It surprises me that I should possess been quite so inept. I never have been before.

For a few workweek, our impinging is sporadic and only in the master capacities of our several positions. I do regain though, that my treatment of you is bordering on the cruel. As if I have lost a friend and gained an enemy. Fortunately, I realise what I am doing and name a conscious effort to being the same guy I have always been with you. Now that I have realised my foolishness and vengefulness, we are able to loosen around each other and are friends again. Hell ! We even contribution jokes and manage to laugh.

My annual leave arrived. Two workweek in Wales, visiting historic station, castle and riding steam railway. It is a clip to relax and savour the ship's company of my married woman. We have different interests, but have shared a lifespan together. The conditions is hit and miss, but on the whole, I have enjoyed the clock time away. It has given me prison term to reflect on the last few weeks.

I am fairly certain that I blew it with you by my own heedlessness. Had I played it cooler, perhaps affair would have been different. Perhaps if I had been a little more circumspect, it would have been you making the run. Who knows ? But I chalk it up to experience and think that it will persist in my retentivity as an opportunity missed, but would doubtless cause had a disastrous result. My time away also allows me to worry about the news I was given before I went. The brass is going through something of a restructure. I had a notion that my neck was on the block as a possible fatal accident. It was a thunderbolt to find that I was actually being promoted and would be adding the Computer support whole to my already far reaching remits. In recognition for the gain of province, my plan to cut back on working sentence was accepted, but I would not lose any salary entitlement or downgrade of yearly leave. Wow ! My worry was that the teams I am inheriting will be obstructive ; their loyalty to a long term manager is likely to be quite a hurdle to overcome.

You are on my mind all the time I am away. Even though I know we will not be getting together, you have made that field. I still can not eradicate the thought that it is something I want, badly. It is a selfish thinking and even while wanting it, I am berating myself for the fool I am being. Slowly, bit by bit, I am convincing myself that it should not happen. I mean… what potential good to come out of it, other than intimate pleasure ? By the end of the holiday, I am resigned and accepting of how it needs to be.

Weeks have gone by now and I have adopted my new, elevated position. The wait objection and obstruction has been over-come. The teams have eventually realised that, it has been at the demise of their respective managers, the appearance goes on and the projects they have devoted time to, will keep on to closing. The operose obstacle for my new charge is the uncertainty of the future. Having to save one item two million lbf. is no small effort ; much of what we have done and provided over the history of the formation will throw to change to More popular courses. It means some free radical changes and losses of foresightful term staff.

My interaction with you has been cool since my take from holiday. Short conversations have been the merely physical contact, passing of documents and a grin, but nothing more. I am comfortable with the situation, although I take the casual aspect at your body and wish I could get very much closer to your hide. You look fantastic and the news that you are to act as translator to a new radio link with a Russian speaking schoolhouse from Kazakhstan is wonderful. It secures your future in the organisation and I am pleased for you.

The shake- up of the Senior managing director Team has caused quite a lot of upheaval and no small measure of to-do. The strategical aims of the organisation have shifted and perhaps, the long game has become a little doomed in the fall-out.

The table of governor announce that we are all to attend a Manager's conference weekend at the ‘ plantation'in Hertfordshire. A retirement and function Centre. The aim is to collectively resolve how the College will go forward and to reset the strategical heading for the future. It is meter to get on the bus and share the future tense, or get off now and find another cause to stick to, in another place.

I arrive betimes to take advantage of the golf game grade and a complimentary round.

The first round of dialogue and motivational speaker unit is to take home the next morning. I have attended a standardised week end some eight old age before so knew what to expect. I didn't feel like getting slaughtered in the bar with my equal, so showered and went to bed early. Tomorrow will be arduous in the least.

My bedside telephone hoop and a one eyed look at the clock let me have sex it is eleven thirty. I had been asleep, happily dreaming, probably. I pick it up to hear a momentary pause and then the burr of an unconnected phone. I growl at the interruption of my sleep and snuggle down under the duvet to try and return to whatever I had been dreaming of.

A few minutes later, I hear a soft knock on my door. My centre open and I wait to see if it was imagination. The smash comes again, a little more insistent this time. I throw back the bed covers and snaffle a towelling robe from the back of the bathroom door. I have just knotted the belt when the rap comes again.

There you are, standing on the door to my room, dressed in jeans and a shirt, barefooted and carrying a large bundle of papers. I say your epithet as a question, what are you doing knocking on my doorway at this clock time of Night ?

You are timid of how these result go. As P.A. you will be providing the back up ; setting the papers for the day's topics, taking billet and so on. You are neural you tell me and needed some reassurance. Would I go through the itinerary with you as your most trusted Friend ? I ask you to issue forth in and I make a cup of tea while you spread your papers all over the bed.

It was quickly obvious that you had everything in parliamentary law. We ran through the schedule and found that all the rear report are in monastic order. A pretty slick job and I tell you that you should not be so uncertain of your ability when you rarely make mistakes.

I am thinking that, perhaps you had an ulterior need for knocking my doorway, That it isn't entirely about getting everything in order for the adjacent day's effect. But, observe it to myself and wait to see how things pan out.

You ask if I have anything to drink. The mini bar doesn't have a great excerption, a single malt whisky, some red vino a toy bottle of Hennessey brandy and a few mixers. You settle on a brandy and swill it in the meth, like a connoisseur, sniffing the aroma before taking a sip. You put the meth down and without saying anything, begin to undo the buttons of your shirt, starting from the top.

I am telling you that this is not a good idea. Privately, I am thinking that you are being very unfair, knowing that I will not be able to deny you, but also knowing that, until now, it had been you who called a hitch to thing. I am reminded that the altogether thing is unequal and you are very much in the driving seat.

You ignore me and murder the shirt. Your skin spirit very white in the unadulterated light coming from the pendant fitting and is made to look whiter in contrast to the bra you are wearing.

You unbutton your jeans and slide them over your hips. Your underwear is also Shirley Temple Black and I admit, my eye is drawn to your sex, the vee soma of your pantie acts like a pointer. Reaching behind your back, you unclasp your bra to reveal your breast. You have small nipples and areoles that are only slightly darker than your peel. The time in the gym has toned your muscular tissue structure. You are lissom, but not skinny. The major muscles are clearly identified. You look amazing and I tell you so. Your skin is flawless. Not having had children helps.

You walk towards me, eye locked on mine. I am still telling you that this is not a proficient idea and you tell me to hush. Your work force grasp the bash of my robe and unlace the knot, allowing the gown to lessen open up. I have nothing on underneath.

So, you are shaved you say, as if you hadn't believed me. My cock starts to season as your attention nub on it.

You kneel and wrap your right hand around my hardening beam, rubbing slowly and with a deft touch, gird my rapidly stiffening cock. You look up into my middle and afford your mouth and cream me, pushing your tongue into the slit, taking the pre-cum that slips from me. The sight is possibly the most erotic that I can think of. I have dreamt of just such a instant. The world is much better than the imagination could accept conjured up.

Slowly, you take me into your mouth while your bridge player gently pumps me. You suck the inch that has passed your lips. It is a divine feeling and quickly has me as hard as I have ever been. You stick your clapper out and slide as much of me as you can between your teeth and make up an mmm speech sound of joy. The reverberation creates a delicious tactile sensation that traveling right up to my brain. I am sure I groan at the sheer joy of having you as I had hoped for, as I had dreamed.

You are unable to keep eye link and begin to blow in earnest. The pressure is rattling, but I can not allow it to go on for much farseeing. The tingling is so goodness that I know I will explode far too other. All make-believe of denial has fled. I want this as much as I have wanted anything.

I grasp your head and urge you to stand up which you do, but it seemed, reluctantly. I kiss your mouthpiece, tasting myself on your lips and run my hands over your body. You feel exquisite. Your skin is cushy to the feeling and warm. You stand, facing me as I stroke your cervix, shoulders and cup your breasts in my hands. Your humble nipples harden under my palms. It is unmanageable to know what you are feeling, whether you like me touching you or not. You show very little outward response. Your breathing is unfluctuating. You look at me with a half-smile that crinkles the corner of your mouth.

I decide that it is my turn to give you the pleasure of viva sex. I do recollect you telling me that you prefer to dedicate than receive and, I remember saying that you may not have ever had it done as it should be. Perhaps that was a piddling conceited of me, thinking that I might be better at it than any previous lover of yours. But, to me, it is a natural rescript of things. I do not just bring without giving back.

I sit you on the edge of the armchair that is usual in in a received hotel elbow room. But, before your posterior remainder on the cushion, I have tugged the waistcloth of your panties down. I would not give guessed that your natural colouration is brown. It is, at least, the colour of your pubic whisker, neatly trimmed into a vee shape.

You shake your foreland when you realise what I am about to do from my kneeling position, but like you, I ignore your expostulation and gentle respect your knee apart.

You smell divine. That hint of musk which is familiar as of woman, but subtly different to any other, as it should be. I nuzzle against your pubic bone and imprint your aroma in my memory and savour it as it passes over my fistula. Your predilection, when my spit reaches out to persona your lips, is also committed to storage. You are wet already and it is the first rattling star sign I have that your consistency is responding.

It would be too easy to just plunge into you and perhaps, spoil the occasion with haste. I managed to take it slowly, just licking you with the tip of my tongue, over and around your vulva and then to your clit while my hands stroke your thighs.

I am rewarded by a slight lift of your pelvis as you anticipate my natural language grazing against your nub. And, then when it flicks over that nitty-gritty of nerve endings, I hear a humble inspiration of breath. I notice that you are gripping the branch of the chair and that your knuckle joint are Andrew Dickson White. These are low denotation that I am pleasing you and I think to myself that, these small signs maybe all I get as indicators in someone who is so undemonstrative as you are. It is something quite different from other lovers I have had and means that I need to pay exceptional attention and dressed ore on the nuances of your reactions.

You shift forward on the edge of the chairman and open your legs wider to allow a not bad approach to you. I take it as an invitation to recruit you with my lingua. My correct hand is flat on your lower stomach, just above your pubic bone. Gentle, with the least amount of force per unit area I can impart, I pull your skin up which brings your backtalk and entryway to an angle that is more comfortable for me with to a lesser extent melodic phrase on the back of my neck. My sass rift tangency for a moment and I look into your eyes. The Hazel has become quite coloured, Brown almost, as you stare steadily at me, pupils dilated as if to take in all and everything at once.

Slowly, I lower my caput, closing the blank space between us and then push my extended tongue between your lips. You rock your pelvis and suddenly, your deal are gripping the spine of my head, grinding my fount into you. I suck you into my back talk, delving as deeply as I can and then pulling your brim between my teeth, sucking them and mashing my nose over your clit.

You shudder and pull my headland away and tell me that you can not take any more of that. I do not require to ask if you liked it and perhaps, I felt a little victory that you had enjoyed something you previously had not.

I stand up, knees creaking and cracking and conduct the document off of the bed, placing them on the bandaging tabular array carefully so that they do not get mixed up. You rise from the chair and take the three or four stride to the bed. I realise again, that you have a fabulous eubstance and tell you so. A grin is my answer as your kneeling on the border of the bed, waiting for me to join you.

My robe hits the level and is discarded. I have never been embarrassed by nakedness. I am fortunate that I am not overweight and even, for a man of my age, have kept reasonably fit. But somehow, in nominal head of you, I am acutely aware that I am so much older and fret momentarily, that you will not like what you see. I push it to one side of meat and get on the bed as quickly as possible.



You fall into my arms, your torso warm and balmy. Your tousled blonde coloured pilus tickles the hide on my shoulder. I kiss you. Our mouths spread out and tongues caressing each other's. The heat between us builds up, reaching a feverishness pitch as our trunk meld into each former. Your breast fits into my helping hand. The hard nub of your mammilla wardrobe into my palm tree and feeling like it belongs there.

You throw a leg over me, pressing your pubic bone against my second joint and rub yourself against me. Your normal reserve is being let loose, put to one side as basic instinct and need takes over. I can find your bosom tripping against your ribs under my script and your ventilation is rapid, drawn between our brim which are still joined.

You push me onto my binding and range me. I enter you easily ; a perfect fit and I hold my breath for a import, waiting for you to spike yourself fully. It is deliciously slowly that your binding arches and centimetre by centimetre, you sink down on my distance. You place your script on my chest as a brace and begin to rock. I am subject to lay still and watch you, fuddle in your mantrap. Your mouth is open, dragging in air and your eyes are closed. You look beautiful and I marvel at your perfect chassis, unmarred, pristine and fucking me.

I feel like I could delay like this forever, locked in coitus with you, buried deeply inside and it feels so right, so glorious and I do not want it to end.

You quicken the pace, your hips rocking, driving me deeply into you and rubbing your clitoris against me, your demand to orgasm is becoming greater. I decide, without really thinking about it, to contribute towards your pursuance for fulfilment and begin to thrust up, increasing my depth and the atmospheric pressure on your clit as we bang together.

You push up into a squatting office, your hands cup your bosom and you pinch your nipples between ovolo and the English of your forefinger, pulling viciously as if punishing them as your orgasm advance. Working in counterpoint, my organ plunges deeply and then almost is withdrawn. It is a step that I will not be able to preserve, but it will not matter too a good deal. You are growling now, a deep throated growl which, at any other clock time, would take me laugh, but now is signifying your arrival. I can feel your sex gripping me tightly, massaging my cock and your inner wall, bringing me to my own bit of dainty bliss.

It hits you suddenly. Your principal is thrown back, hair flailing. Your claw like hired hand grip your breasts, far intemperately than I would accept done. Knuckles white as the flesh is tortured. I think you will yell, but instead you groan and grit your teeth. Your eye squeezed tightly shut. Knowing you have reached your goal, my own culmination is realised. In almost painful good time, my seed is pumped late inside you. I grasp your second joint and try to dig even deeper, as if trying to be completely bury inside of your body, subsumed and joined for all time.

We stay, joined and immobile for many mo. I am trying to recover control condition of my breathing place and reduce my heart rate to something near normal. Your eyes open and regard me silently in a sweetheart gaze. And then I see a tear slide over your cheek. I reach up and cup your cheek in my paw. You lean into my medal as another tear leaves your eyes.

This will never occur again you tell me as my hammer and semen slip from your body. It can never ever happen again you repeat as if to reward your discussion. You get up off of me and silently get dressed. I tell you that I understand, but once again, I am obnubilate. I had been resigned to our not getting together, to heeding your words when you told me you did not desire to record into an involvement. But, then, tonight, you arrive at my room access and withdraw the lead, only to tell me afterwards, that that is it. Never to be repeated. Do you expect me to just bury it ? Chalk it up to experience ? Call it a pleasant interlude ? Because, yes, it was all of those, but also, it was something limited for me. Unexpected and a sheer pleasure and a reaffirmation that I love you, wholeheartedly, but know that it will not be returned in the like way. I can't help wondering why you came to my room. Why you gave yourself to me or rather, took me for yourself. I ask you why, what changed your judgement. What made you come to my way ? I do not expect an solution and do not get one.

Instead, you say to me, thank you for being so patient with you. As if this brief interlude was by way of wages for not pushing you too hard.

You pick up the papers you brought with you. kiss my lips and then slip from the room as silently as you came, leaving me to manage with the aftermath of our sex and the confusion you have caused.

I can not help but feel that this was more about your own gratification ; that, where there was a trenchant want of stretch out stimulation or preamble, you were satisfying yourself and zero else. Away from home and husband, knowing you would have a will spouse, you took the opportunity to pick out reward of my inability to say no to you. The whole instalment took less than an hour, the sex less than half of that time and quite different from how I envisaged it might be. For me, the sex was prissy, a pleasant freeing and an unexpected climax, but it lacked that sealed something which makes it great. Perhaps it is that there was no romance in the event, a quickie almost, devoid of intuitive feeling or emotion, no tenderness or mutual stimulation. It had zip to do with making love and that I find, hard to take.

The management weekend passes in a hectic round of inspirational talk of the town. It is a busy metre, punctuated by repast geological fault and another night. You pretty much ignore me and when we do need to interact in the circumstance of the weekend, you are aloof and keep me at arm's length. I feel as if I have served my aim and are now, no foresighted of interest.

The following hebdomad, back at the College, you refuse my whirl of coffee tree and are quite cold toward me. I feel as if I have done something wrong, done something to upset you or didn't measure up. I ask you point blank. You tell me that you have made up your creative thinker, I will not estimate in your thinking again. It is cold and my judgment of you changes a bit. I could interpret the blowing hot and cold, putting that down to nerves, but find this complete shut out beyond me. I back off and try to keep our encounter to the very lower limit possible.

That was five weeks ago. Time for me to get used to the way things are and go beyond the feeling of us. There never was an ‘ us'was there ?

I noticed that you seem to be spending fourth dimension with a colleague. He too is a senior manager, married and about the same age as me. I think about warning him, but decide he is old enough to screen it out for himself. I do wonder though, what it is you are looking for or are you just thrill seeking ? I feel some pity for him and know what he is in all likelihood to go through.

I wish you unspoilt chance in your quest, if that is what it is and Hope that one day, you will regain that which you seek. I know it is not I and I believe you do not know what it is either.

When this started, my emotions were smashed beyond control. It started out as something exciting, thrilling even and a boost to my ego. I could not read why you chose to become necessitate with me. Why you were keen and then did a one hundred and eighty point turning around. I kept your name out of the story, for that is what it has now become, to economize you from any form of embarrassment. Now, as things are and after that single nighttime, I considered changing the statute title, but decided against it.

You might inquire why I bothered to write anything beyond the illusion. Well, in truth, it is my way of sorting it all out, trying to see and washing it all away. By putting it down on the screen, I can understand it and try to see the pattern.

It may seem to be a confusing story to read, but that is how it happened. It was a confusing meter for me and I thought it was for you too. But, now I believe you had an later motivation from the start. One I can not judge at perhaps, but I do consider you had some kind of design. Then again, your weeping after consummation were quite real and the merely sentence I have seen real emotion from you.

‘ A ’, you are an brain-teaser to me ; A enigma and quite frankly, the woman of my aspiration, but a nightmare to be with. I could never feel any kind of balance and that is quite disconcerting for me.

The story has taken months to save. Not because I am a dense writer, but because it has been done as the upshot unfolded. It started out as a fancy we might give shared and ends in that one, for me, special night. I don't know whether to thank you or anathemize you.

take care my sexual love and good fate with your lookup. I truly hope you find what your warmheartedness desires.

That, my champion, would seem to be the end of the story. Not so.

Several months later, when you had either become tire with my replacement fantasy, you inform me that you and your married man of seven geezerhood have amicably parted. Both of your marriages lasted the same quantity of time. Privately, I think that you have experienced that notorious seven-year itch. Thinking further, I realise that you are still seeking something, a goal or ambition, but are incognizant of what it is.

At your request, we ploughshare an afternoon tea in Hyde park. Walking around the lake while I listen to you explicate your dreams and wishes for your future. How you have recently started to paint and are thinking about embarking on becoming a motivational verbaliser. Of course, I make encouraging remarks and secernate you that you can become whatever your heart desires.

At last, after a circuit of the lake, you sit down on a vacant bench, one-half turned towards me, looking fabulous as you always do.

Suddenly, your conduct has changed and you become quite grievous, less flighty or frivolous. It is then that you almost story me when you ask if I want you. If I could be with you ; could I love you ?

My answer, when it eventually comes, after a few moment thought, is a negative response. I hasten to severalize you that it isn't because you are not desirable ; God knows you are, but you have a way to go on this journeying that you have embarked upon. A journey with an, as yet, determined destination.

And then, I ask you if you could love me as unconditionally as you asked of me. I already know the true answer even though you tell me you could. Call it instinct or some unlearned sense, but I fully realise that I would also end up like your husband and the wedding before, that I would not last with you and that you are driven by an unknown need. It is a demand that does not allow you to settle. You will never become domesticated.

I answer that, yes, I would sleep with to make make out to you once More when you asked if I would like that. The irrefutable answer is qualified in that it would be devoid of emotion. I had realised that we would never be anything More than intimate partners in the basest sensation and even that, limited to opportunity.

You accept that and agree that that is how it has to be.

Our lunch period outing around Hyde commons ended up at your new flat in South Occident London. The flat is component of a rebirth of a Georgian house in a fashionable part of town that was well furnished and overlooked a huge park.

We made erotic love. Actually, we fucked each other, spending much time on mutually stimulating each other's bodies. It was a pleasant time and provided a much needed spill. However, when we were dressed, I could not assist notion that, somehow, I had been used to ease your tensions and was now discarded.

I told you goodbye just before the door closed on me. Goodbye it was. A leave that seemed to be net. Within a few Clarence Day, you had changed jobs and then, shortly after that, you left to pursue a new career motivationally speaking. The hold out I heard of you was a Face Book content from Australia.

So, I say unto you…

You have never ceased to mystify me. Confound me and somehow, leave me feeling as if I had escaped a lot. At the same prison term, you are so desirable, intoxicating and an enigma that baffles the mind.

I hope that one day, you will determine your reliable calling. I hope that you will find that for which you search. I hope that you will, at last, be well-chosen. I wish for you that it is within this lifetime.

Bon voyage !