For"A"

Perhaps I should explain. This is a real lifetime, up to the mo account involving real hoi polloi who, through many reasons, would be vulnerable in both their professional and personal life-time if too many details were to be made world. I am certain you, the subscriber, will forgive the lack of names or accurate location details. Those that know me well will probably tell apart certain view and possibly add two and two together. I will have to conduct with that, if and when the metre comes. My repute, although crucial to me, is somewhat LE of a retainer than ‘ A's'is to both of us.

"A"is a very beautiful woman who is not from this country. She is employed by the same organisation as I am. Her role is as my higher-up's Personal assistant and as such, means we interact almost on a day-by-day base."A"is twoscore and is seven old age into her sec marriage, I have a intuitive feeling that all is not well in that department, but it is something we have not discussed too deeply. She has lived in England as long as her man and wife. ‘ A'only talks about persona of her life-time outside of work and work link topics. She keeps the sleep common soldier and under ringlet and key. I can see that and, to a point, empathise with it as well. Coming from Polska and with the rearing she has had in a stern family, sharing some entropy is not a natural condition and I wouldn't pry.

She is beautiful with a quirky, lopsided smile that lights up her human face and crinkles the corners of her eyes. She is always dressed smartly and has a propensity to wear wear that speck at the delights beneath, showing just enough cleavage to draw in the eye, but not be less than tasteful. Some of her clothes are quite short and can show flashgun of inner thigh that tantalises these senses that I suffer with. If I were being unkind, I would say that her hairstyle is not flattering. If I were really being unkind, I would say that it looks as if a myopic gardener, being many different duration, had cut it. Who am I to hash out or remark on the fashion of haircloth ? I cling on to my ultra-thin mop and have it cut as abruptly as potential.

"A"has hazel coloured middle that are great and expressive. They convey her moods by changing colour, deepening into a darker hazel when she is aroused or troubled. Her mouth has this swing to it and is slightly asymmetrical. I find it endearing. Her regular visits to the fitness suite and Zumba dance exercises keep her dead body in enceinte cast. She already had the justly building blocks from which to work, the government has just polished off the sharpness to a delightfully visual kickshaw.

"A"is very much my Junior in the organisation and days. My office as a senior manager often involves calling on her servicing as minute taker in merging so, we see each other often and have always shared a laugh. Joking can be a little difficult where her lyric, although extremely good, does not necessarily translate the subtlety of humour. I should add, I have my own sensory faculty of humour and repartee that many don't get, so she can be forgiven.

It was over a cup of coffee that we found some unwashed ground. I told her that I now had several story published, but would not tell apart her where to find them. I wouldn't want her to consider I am some variety of pervert, writing erotica in my dotage. I am sixty-one, writing came late to me and I have tried to make up for lost prison term since. I eventually agreed to let her read one of my tale, putting it on a memory pin so she could read it at her leisure."The authority"is a piece I wrote about a year ago, is humorous, but also tells the fib of a Young man in an place surroundings, full of cleaning lady who are street sassy. A graphical deion of his sexual clash is voice of the news report, but is not the whole piece, so is LE 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 class. 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 alternative to my marriage, I have had rather more than my funfair parcel of option spouse. Some of them have been one off liaison, but also some very much more intense liaisons that involved rather too lots emotion for comforter. I love woman. I love the feel, touch and smell of them. A good soundbox excites me as does intelligence, wit and sensitivity. If freckles and Green River eyes are also in the mix, then I am completely muck up away.

From this baseborn beginning of sharing my story with her and a few conversations that inevitably ended up about sex in one form or another, began the groundwork of what follows."A"enjoyed the story and discovered a side to me that very few mass know about.'Intriguing'was her deion and from there on, a fantasy was crafted that involved us, in our current site. ‘ A'has to take some mention in the content of the fantasy, her stimulation helped to ca-ca it what it is.

I have to say in closing this introduction, that"A"is a very sexual soul. Just below the surface of a well-maintained carapace beats the heart of a lioness, which would easily rip your heart out and feed in it back to you in small-scale amounts, just enough to go along your hopes and pipe dream alive. The trick is getting under that protective buckler 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 options for leakage.

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

Fantasy.

It is early evening, perhaps six XXX, when the building is much quieter. Only a few people are left. Evening socio-economic class had started. It was a prison term that I knew we would not be disturbed.

The curl on my office staff threshold was engaged. The lights were turned down by the dimmer switch on the wall and the screen are pulled down to the, floor at the floor to ceiling windows. As far as possible, we were isolated in my spot, a low outer space in this huge building. Alone at hold up and this was the instant that we have both desired and thought about. At lastly, we are about to consummate our collaboration and what we have been heading towards over these few curt week.

You stood in the centre of the way with your hired man clasped behind your back, as you had been instructed. I had told you to absent your tights, but to bequeath your horseshoe on. Other than these token, you are fully dressed. But, even with the layer 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 look of each early and perhaps it was the not knowing that added to the thrill. We could only hope that this union would be mutually pleasing.

I study you while I sit in my chair. Quietly appraising your body and thought process you would expect amazing naked. Not for the first time, I was looking at you, admiring your feminine build. My steady regard was unnerving you. Perhaps it was the lack of bodily process, perhaps a tenuous impatience that was keeping you marginally off Libra. Although we both knew what the immediate future held, the deliberate clumsiness I was adopting, was making you experience more and more anxious, giving you time to recollect, to care that this might not be such a good melodic theme. Was this the right thing to be doing ? Was it too unsafe ? It was a delicious dilemma that was transparently etched across your features and I was enjoying your discomfort.

At final, when I thought you had been standing long enough, I rose from my chairwoman and crossed the way, stepping behind you. I remind you, whispering in your ear, to keep your hands behind your back and that they are to stay there unless I tell you otherwise. I am pleased by your compliance because, although we have spoken as colleague and then friends, before becoming embroiled in this loony overture to this stream situation, I was not sure as shooting 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 nerves or fear or excitement or a combination of all of those emotions, rolled into a knot of tension. I do know that you will reply all the more while your sensation are running at this feverish pitch. That too, pleases me and I am able to relax and take my meter and delectation in the result every continuance has on you.

Deliberately provocative, I run the back of my indicant finger along your jaw business, caressing your hide, passing below your ear and then down the side of your neck, tracing your jugular until it reaches the hollow of your neckband osseous tissue. It is the first off time I have touched you and I delight in the chill the pinch evinces. Your centre are half fill up, partially hiding your Pomaderris apetala middle, as if there is too often light. I notice for the first clip, 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 floor, instruct you to step out of it so that I can pick it up and place it on a chair. Your blouse, crinkled at the bottom of the inning where it was tucked into the cincture of your bird, covers enough of your lower half that your modesty is retained. I intend for that to change quickly and to keep you off counterweight. I want you flighty, unsure and filled with trepidation. It adds to my sensation of excitement and the touch of outlook. The fact that we are in my power and vulnerable to a point is not lost on me and adds to the sheer risk of what we are about to do.

And then I tell you to lift your sleeve. You raise them above your head and shimmy a little to help the arm of the blouse slip over your berm. The blouse is placed with the skirt and your hands return to behind your back without me telling you. That pleases me.

I have long thought you would consume a fab body and I am not in the slightest disappointed as you stand, trembling, in nothing Thomas More than your bra, legal brief and horseshoe. You have a material body that seems to me to be made for making love, neither too tightly fitting nor over weight. Your exercise in the gymnasium are obviously doing you serious, plain by the condition of your heftiness tone. Your bend are proportional to your height and I feel privileged to have you at this instant, in my office and about to become my lover. You look fabulous, fit and glowingly healthy.

The need to touch your nakedness is almost drown, a feeling I have grown accustomed to over the death few weeks. It has been very difficult not to pass out and rival you, to keep back my hands 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 impulse to unclothe you of your underwear. Instead, I run my hands from behind you, around your waist, lightly running above your coxa until my hands meet at your stomach. You shiver and goose swelling form on your skin. I have had to take a half step forward to be close plenty to encircle your waist. It brings me into contact with your hands, still clasped behind your back. You can feel my callousness through the layers of trousers. Slowly and as lightly as I possibly can, my manus, in unison, traveling upwards until I have your bosom, one in each hired hand, weighing them and relishing the feel, even through the framework of your bra, they feel fantastic. They are as consummate as I knew they would be and give in to my aristocratical massage. I kiss your neck opening, just below your ear and birth my first gustation of you and as the taste runs over my tongue, the smell of your perfume inflames my olfactory organ. The scent you are wearing is one I do not recognise, subtle, but it has the desired consequence and addition my need for you.

My thumbs hook the articulatio humeri strap of your bra and ease them off of your shoulders. I step back to allow me the distance between us to unclasp the garment. It means the contact of your hands is broken and for a import, I mourn the exit. I tell you to move your mitt forward so that the bra can be removed completely. I put this with your dame and blouse. You have put your hands back behind you. Once more, I step behind, renewing the contact of your hands on my rigour. My manus cup your raw breasts and your already semi-hard nipples are rubbed and pulled gently between ovolo and index. They harden and the areoles pucker. A moan escapes from between your back talk and I can find your knees are trembling. I hope they are not going to give out before I am make to strike you. I do not want to rush things, needing to take it at a pace that allows for the savouring of each cutaneous senses, each caress, to delight in each and trust it all to memory, to be enjoyed again and again in my private thoughts.

My thumb crotchet into the elasticated band of your briefs and ease them down, sliding the garment over your hip joint and down your pegleg. I tell you to abuse out of them and place them on top of your bra.

In a voice vibrating with mounting passion, I ask you to turn around and, for the first time, I see you in your openness. The muckle is beat, more than than I could deliver envisaged and I physically have to resist the urge to figure out my lips in anticipation. You are far more beautiful than my imagination could have conjured. You are perfection and I wonder how I could be so privileged to have you here in this mo of time.

I move to set about to undo the buttons of my shirt. You tell me that you will do that. For a indorse I hesitate and then realise, I have been dominant in undressing you. Now it is your turn of events to take the go-ahead and I should allow that. You step close while I lean back with my hindquarters sitting on the edge of my desk, my pes on the floor, leg spread so you can abuse closely to me.

Slowly, one by one, you undo each button and pull the shirttails from the sash of my trousers. The front pother open, revealing my almost hairless bureau. You undo the cuffs, holding my paw, palm up and kissing each as the buttons are released.

Your hands rest against my dresser for a bit, as if testing I am rattling. Then, with aid and a soft touch modality, you ease the shirt over my shoulders and down my implements of war. It needs me to put up, rising from the desk, so that you can remove and put the shirt to one side. You kneel at my base and unmake the laces of my shoes. You tell me to lift each human foot so that you can allay each shoe off. As you are putting them to one side, I slip off my socks, using a deception I learned several twelvemonth ago when I was ineffectual to stoop where I had injured myself. You notice what I have done and a crease crosses your brow. I grin guiltily, but pleased you have not had to deal with my socks. Of all my apparel, my wind sock are something I feel less than well-chosen about.

You step close and kiss my dresser, nibbling at my tit, which respond immediately, hardening and suddenly pinnace. While you are kissing and gently biting me, your finger's breadth manipulate and give up my belt and unbutton the waistband of my trousers. Deliberately slowly, you pull the zip down, brushing against my hardness. You release my nipple and kneel to pull my trousers completely down and then, tell apart me to tread out of them. They join my shirt.

You kneel again and kiss my stomach. The soupcon of your lips is electric on my skin and I hardly notice that you are pulling my brief down until my cock, in its stimulation, springs free to point at you, hard and ready. I notice the pout of surprise when you realise I am hairless, my favor condition.

One fundament at a time, I step out of my Jockey shorts so that, they to, can connect the pile of my clothes.

You reach toward me and submit my hardness in your hand while your hazel centre look at me steadily. We are now equal. Neither one of us has say-so and both as vulnerable as each other with the divesting of clothes.

seizing your waist, I turn you around so that you are leaning against the sharpness of my desk. I kick the president out of the way and tell you to part your stage. I had not forgotten you telling me that receiving viva sex was not something you particularly enjoyed, but I also had in judgement that you said you might want to try with me. My intent is really nothing to a greater extent than to imprint you totally, into my storage. I kneel on the floor and claim in your musk. Your natural scent excites my nuzzle, a cryptic breathing spell is all that is really needed, but the longing to go just that piddling further takes me. I savour your natural perfume and anticipate your taste. It is as entice as I thought it would be. You are pure manna from heaven from heaven, the elixir of life and a judicious mix. My tongue registers your aroma as it slides over your sex, my wind pressed hard against your clit. Your taste is as ambrosia, I knew it would be and I recognise your readiness, tasting your wetness.

It is not yet the right wing time to research my talent to you of satisfaction through the action of my tongue. It is perhaps, something to explore when our situation is different, when we have prison term and the luxury of being able to really get to sleep together each early's bodies. It would necessitate to be a hotel or something that would allow for terminated freedom.

You decide that the character should be reversed. You instruct me to endure and, while in the act of becoming upright, you kneel and grasp my turgid member in your right hand. Then, you broken your promontory until your tongue caresses the end, dampening it. Deliciously slowly, your lips part and encircle my cock. The flavor, for me, is beyond sublime. For so hanker, I had imagined and dreamt of a moment like this with you. I could never have conjured up such a Godhead feeling. I don't know how long you keep this up for, meter slips by unnoted, I just know I want it to never end.

Eventually though, raw onward motion CV. I have to affect you, to take hold you, to feel your body close to mine and to palpate your fondness beating against me. Gently, I grasp your head and scout you to stand. I have to kiss you. I need to snog you, suddenly and desperately. It is an overwhelming indigence the brooks no refusal. Our mouth touch and then meld together, sharing breath. Our tongues explore, tasting each early.

torso pressed tightly, joined at hip and clasped in arms. It is a moment, within a stop of metre that is filled with delights and discoveries that is entirely singular, an oasis that stands out alone and is all the more special. A moment when, if it were possible, we would get just one consistency and it is the moment when I know that I am sublimely happy ; joyous even and lust becomes something else entirely.

Kisses are delivered to your neck, to your shoulders and throat and are received from you in return. Each light touch of lips and tooth buff the flame of mounting cacoethes. I do not require to hold 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 bring together with you in a uniting of bodies, linked by the umbilical corduroy of my fellow member. Your grim backrest is caressed by my fingertips, swirling in untraced patterns. My other hand scope around and finds your sex. It helps me to manoeuvre myself into you.

You say something, but I do not hear it. All of my assiduity is centred on entering your body and then to have sleep together to you as I have wanted to for so long. At last, I am buried inside and can sense, at the same fourth dimension, your heating system and wetness as you accept me. For a moment, neither of us move. I am savouring the wonderful notion of you and require to prolong that feeling for a time. But, then, the instinctive rhythm of sex begins to register and our bodies respond to the cry of the tune. Slowly at kickoff, as if testing the demarcation, but gradually, our stab become faster, stronger and more insistent.

My feet are splayed to maintain Libra the Balance. The constancy frees my paw to explore, to comprehend, massage and hold. I manage to make your titty, which nestle in the laurel wreath of my hands, massaging and kneading while our bodies crash against each other, furiously building up to the point of release.

You cry for me to stop. You stand, forcing me out of your body and turn around. You tell me you want to hold me, you want to see me and witness the import I surrender my fluids into you.

I kiss your sassing and scout you so that you are half sitting on the edge of the desk, your feet on the floor with your peg apart, prepare to get me once more. Your arms encircle my neck as I find my way into you and, in so pulling me towards you, our backtalk touch, mouths open, breather mingling and sending our temperatures up even further. The dance of sexual congress begins again at a yard, mutually decided upon, each guided by the pelvic push and rocking. It drives me deeply into you. I can see your eyes have turned quite dark, darker than the hazel 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 locomote more freely and match my calendar method exactly. Your legs encircle me and thread me even further into you.

I moan, low and guttural as my release plan of attack. My mouthpiece is at your throat, kissing and tasting you. Your breathing spell, hot, light touch against my skin, over my shoulder and into the nape of my cervix. We each are making noises in the back of our throat with the efforts we are expending. As the moment of common sexual climax closes on us, our moans become shorter, turning almost, into grunts.

And then, suddenly, the consequence of ultimatum arrives. I can bear on no longer. The heart rate of orgasm flood you and, as you feel my come, your own orgasm blasts through you. Your heading is thrown back, centre tightly shut and your dentition clutch as the ripples traverse through you. I clasp you to me, fighting to retrieve my respiration. I am lost in you and, for that moment do not worry or even think of the consequences of this outlawed involvement. All consuming is the shared passion we have had. It is a moment that is ageless, timeless and seems to final for an infinity but is only a fleeting few seconds.

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

Reality returns to us and reluctantly, we have to clean up, have to garment and then go out into the world beyond my office door. Only now, the world has a new slant on it. Our mystery is unknown past the walls of this office and to those we work with, who know us well, are mystified by our constant 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 reaction, feeling like a condemned man, waiting for the scaffold to be finished so that he can climb it to his doom. Is the fantasy too much ? Have I taken it too far ? I do not know and waiting for your reaction is crippling me.

We meet for lunch, choosing a shoes a few hundred measure away from the College in the new grade and Spencer café in their new construction. It is noisy and you struggle to eat the pasta in its make credit card cocoon. You struggle because of the nervous latent hostility between us. Outwardly, I seem calm, composed and at rest, but behind the façade is a hullabaloo of meld emotions, of conflictions and confusion.

I sip my tea and observe you, unsettled. Smiling one second while we hold eye contact and then, in the following, you look away as if embarrassed and the grin slicing or intensifies, depending on what goes through your psyche. I do get to hear about your story, or at to the lowest degree, as much as you are willing to freely impart. I can not help thinking that something traumatic has happened in your life and doubt I will ever get to bonk about it.

You floor me when you say that stepping outside of your spousal relationship for sex is not beyond the realms of possibility. It is implied, but overtly stated, that sex with me is not something you would be loath to. The attractive feature between us is obvious, but this is the initiative time I have heard you admit it.

Trying to be documentary, we talk and discuss the fantasy. Our feelings and emotions are scrambled, muddiness and turmoil runs through our veins, replacing corpuscles and platelets, thinning the descent so that the hit of Adrenalin is that lots harder.

You wondered if this was a prediction of events to descend, or a fantasy that is pleasant, but only ever just that, a fantasy that we can never embark on. The concept of our fertile minds carries all the hallmarks of a fledgling office affair that could possibly be the downfall of both of us. The danger of breakthrough has far reaching consequences that could deflower both of our careers and could mess up our respective union. But, there remains this physical attractive feature and it is up to us to decide whether to take this to what I am sure, would be a mutually satisfying conclusion.

And then again, would this exploration of each other be enough ? Could it be something casual ? Would we desire to maintain or circularise an affair that we can only trust to keep secret ? Somehow I doubt it would ever be a simple affair or a one off. The moral force of our relationship must commute. I may be able to keep separate my master life and private, but can you ? Emotions have a wont of getting in the way, of being transparent to those we work with.

There is one former question that demands to be asked. Is it substantially to be after in a figure manner or, should it encounter spontaneously with all the resultant risks of breakthrough ? Could we be objective enough to keep a lid on it ? Or, would we be swept along in the tide of lust, like so a great deal flotsam, and then find ourselves cast adrift when it all eventually falls out to the dissemination of our fellow worker and then spouses.

I can not know the answers, but I do I really want to recognise ? Should I analyse it to that extent ? What I am sure of is that I want to know you in the most intimate way and to a point ; could not founder a hang for what may be the outcome. I just would not want for you to be disadvantaged, just because I desire your body. I would not want, for a secondment, to roll in the hay that I have been instrumental in ruining your position. And, yes, I want to know you, in all of the carnal sensation. Seeing you and being so close to you, now that we have shared this level and talked about the possible action. About the risk of such a liaison and in slightly oblique forays of each other's intimate appetency and preferences, is distortion.

The lunchtime clandestine meeting is cut short when two colleagues sit at an adjacent board. The freedom of speech is curtailed and we leave shortly after.

I love the way you dress. Revealing tops, shortstop dresses or loaded jean, seem designed to lift up, to inflame my senses and, although I maintain a detached demeanour as we interact during our working day, but it is difficult for me to stay my men from reaching out and touching you.

I manage it though and would have let this stop as a shared fantasy, pleasant, erotic and commove, but a fantasize none the less. And that is how I leave it with you, my words being carried away on the breeze, coming from the canal we walked alongside, but not before they have been lodged and registered in your judgement.

Until.

Last dark was so closelipped to the fantasy of the story ; it is a unspoiled thing, perhaps, that you had to be somewhere else at a stern past six. When I invited you into my berth, it was not with the intention of adding fuel to the flaming or of being quite so close to you. I just wanted to talk. Well, that is not strictly true. The possibility of holding you, of exploring you is always at the back of my judgement. But, I was not going to drive it, but rather allow you the space with no pressure.

session opposite you would receive been fine, but I noticed you pulling your dress down, sub-consciously, I noticed that you were on bound, nervous even. We managed to mouth about inconsequence's, of this and that. We talked about your home and family, of marriages and the wish. But, at the same time that our words bounce off of the walls and rattle around in our heads, making piffling lasting depression, the sexual chemistry is working, breaking down barriers and defences.



You asked me why I was sitting so far away from you. I told you that I was respecting your instruction from a few days ago, that you were not ready or prepared for an situation affair. I would possess been subject with just spending some time with you, but all the while, I was watching your body, reading the oral communication that is silent and needs no Word of God. I hear you, ineffective to settle on a national, battle to put together ordered sentences or land up a train of joint thought.

But, physical attraction overcomes common sense, over comes rationality. Like paper over rock, the attraction is all too smothering.

existence the contradiction that you are, in one breathing time you are telling me that you are not ready, being sensible, practical. And then, in the adjacent, you tell me to come closer. My resolve, I'm afraid, was not strong enough to keep up the quad between us. You asked me what would encounter if I moved closer. I think you know the answer and promise for it, even though everything in your mind is saying no. I told you, in result, that I would witness it very unmanageable to keep my hands off of you. The enticement of holding you, of kissing you is too strong for me to refuse and I am not sure we would have the ability to stop.

Like a moth to flame, I am drawn into your personal space, our various death chair careering into each other like bumper motorcar on castors. As if of their own volition, my hands are holding your face, angling it up so that our mouths touch, lip to lip and then, touch again and again. I kiss your neck as you clasp me to you and I want you. I want you in the bad way. At last we manage to pull apart, assume a breath and look into each other's oculus. It is a brief respite. It gives us both a moment to catch our intimation and for my affectionateness to move back from breaking out of my chest.

Our hands rest on each other's second joint, stroking in small-scale circular movements, skin barely touching. I want to touch you in the most intimate piazza. The access is there, your short apparel has ridden up, but not enough for me to be able to see the hoarded wealth below and that is a good thing, because one tactual sensation would ignite the flame like napalm and be just as unquenchable. Your sex is hidden from view, but only just and my men are so close, so close. I can finger your passion. I absorb it through my skin. It would take just the merest of movements to be brushing against your labia. I want to go further, to explore your inner second joint. The enticement is almost resistless. It is only forcefulness of will that prevents me. I want to hold you in my hands, to caress you, to sex your pot. And I want to consume you. Contradictory as it is, I do not need to fright you with the strength of passion you evince in me.

To my astonishment, I find I am trembling. My heart bash against my rib as carnal thought race across my thinking like stampeding horses. I am surprised by the power of these feelings that I thought had long passed. I am unused to being so attracted, so closing to entering into something as all-consuming as this. I sat back, breaking the touch, in an effort to regain some control of the place and my turmoil of senses. Perhaps it works for a moment, I can not remember now as I write this.

The next moment shatters any equilibrium I have regained.

You say that you are tempted to see if that what I wrote was rightful and start out to sit forward purposefully. I instantly know exactly what you mean and watch as you manage to stop yourself from reaching my zipper to see if I am shaven or not. Although proving it to you would be skillful, I know that we would make crossed a line from which it would have been extremely difficult to undo. Quite likely, you would sustain gone to your knees and taken me in your mouthpiece. I know I would not have stopped you. I doubt I could take in stopped you and I wouldn't want to.

But you managed to reverse your curiousness. We kiss instead. I find your lip and then your cervix, kissing below your ear, taking in your perfume and loving the effect it has on me."A ”, you inflame me and I want to take you, at that second, to possess you, your body and your soul. I want and need you, right there and right field at that second. It is an all-consuming feeling and I know that resisting is almost too toilsome for me. Somehow though, resist we do.

You rise, it is clip for you to lead and while we stand, we kiss again and brooch each other together. You are a heady insobriety, making my principal spin and my affectionateness airstream. And then, you turn with your spinal column to me, standardized to the floor. My give meet at your stomach while I kiss your neck. For a present moment, I can not detect how this affects you, but then you grasp my hand. I thought it was to draw in them free, but no ; you guide them to your breasts and I pull you close, our bodies blending into one shape.

It has to end. We both have space to be and you ask me to let you go. We kiss once more. Your back is against the door to my office. Gently I lift your chin to kiss your throat and then your lips once more. I don't want you to allow, 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 glimmer of what will fall out. One minute, I doubt that we will ever obtain a meter or space to be together. And then, I am trying to work out the how and when. I am distracted and grateful that I will be away playing golf game for a few daytime so that there is breathing space between us and a chance to cerebrate. You are constantly on my brain and the three sidereal day golf game is played without my full attending. It shows in the tons I have.

One thing that does occur to me is that I might invite you to go out with me to Surrey. Perhaps visit a vinery, 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 require to go there with me ? Why would you need 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 common calm, placid outlook has been turned upside down and I am fresh to being so out of kilter.

I begin to think that, perhaps I can hollo this in. Put a lid on the whole affair and do as a mature adult. I resolve to only speak to you in a master fashion and ignore the emotions that have been stirred up by the attraction we seem to contribution. On Midweek morn, I am filled with the metier to carry out my firmness of purpose. I do not want to put you in a position that will make your working life history difficult. I know how the office membranophone can spread rumour and gossip faster than anything and, I know just how damaging that can be. But, then I see you and share a legal brief moment and my firmness dissipates into so a lot dust.

We only speak briefly on Th, just long enough for you to tell me that there is a problem in the area you work in. Your face showing your discomfort and frustration. You, tactfully, do not enjoin me what the problem is, but it is obvious that you are furious, upset and I hope I have not been the cause. Friday is no wagerer. 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 mean solar day before, might have frightened you or made you sit back and make stock. Perhaps it has allowed you to deal whether you are gear up or cook to become tangled in something as mad as this is.

The lack of touch between us does not allow me to ask you what the problem is or if you have decided to end it between us. It is perhaps, a good affair that I do not get the chance, because your result would be given while still angry.

I am interviewing at the only fourth dimension you are useable. An offer for drinks after workplace is denied and I think then, that the decision to chill it is out of my script. I think that you have already decided that it is finished before it started. I mourn the overlook chance, 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 feelings towards you. The desire is just as hard. I find myself looking for you, hoping to bump into you, but feeling that somehow, in this bombastic, but limiting construction, you are avoiding me.

Tues sees a change in attitude. You smile at me and I am filled with pleasure. It is a beautific grinning that lights up your eyes and fills my mettle with warmth. We have a few second, sitting on the chairs in your shared business office. You give me back the memory joystick with the phantasy on it. It is, you tell me, unread since the change 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 abstract thought and can not blame you for not opening the file.

Without saying too much, you reaffirm that an office affaire is something you do not bid to get into. It would be too hard and perplex and I agree, but wish otherwise. You ask that I do not suppose 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 much a thrill, knowing that it had been a real possibility, than if we had actually managed to get together.

We agree to get a coffee berry during the calendar week and to get an continuous conversation. It will have to be in the mobile canteen to avoid any chance of becoming too close or to touch. You are having a few days in Republic of Poland and are looking forward to it very much.

It is in fact, more than a workweek until we have a hazard to talk. You tell me a little of your stop with your family line in Poland, but as usual, you keep details specify and private. The photos you put on Face Book show some of the places you visited, but none of your family. I don't leave a commentary on them, knowing that your hubby has access to your face book page. We may not be having an affair, but I would not want to add fuel to any remainder you are having.

I notice while we speak, that your torso speech is open, inviting even, and, while your mind and Book are holding me off, your dead body has early design. Your hands are expressive and you sit back, leg uncrossed, showing me the length of your body, unhindered and unprotected. I notice these things, but listen instead to what you are telling me. It was a nice fantasy and that abbreviated time in my place when we almost acted it out was very turn on, but practicalities and commitments overtake circumstances. You are telling me, not in so many words, that it will not happen.

The chance 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 someone, does more for me than I can explain. I have always been a sexual man, but had put sex to one slope over the lastly few years as something younger multitude did and not the old fogey sitting inverse you.

I am excepting of your decision, but at the Sami metre, finger as if I missed an opportunity. Privately, I am blaming myself, thinking that coming on so strong in the place, was a boo-boo, clumsy on my component and, had I not been so eager, may still be alive. It surprises me that I should have been quite so cumbersome. I never have been before.

For a few hebdomad, our contact is sporadic and only in the professional capacities of our respective locating. I do find 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 make a witting effort to being the same guy I have always been with you. Now that I have realised my imbecility and vindictiveness, we are able to relax around each other and are ally again. Hell ! We even parcel gag and manage to laugh.

My annual leave arrived. Two week in wheal, visiting historic stead, castles and riding steam railway. It is a time to loosen and enjoy the ship's company of my wife. We have different interests, but have shared a life-time together. The weather is hit and miss, but on the whole, I have enjoyed the time away. It has given me clock time to muse on the last few workweek.

I am fairly certain that I blew it with you by my own rashness. Had I played it cooler, perhaps things would own been different. Perhaps if I had been a little more circumspect, it would have been you making the running. Who knows ? But I chalk it up to feel and recall that it will remain in my memory as an opportunity missed, but would doubtless receive had a black event. My time away also allows me to concern about the news I was given before I went. The organisation is going through something of a restructure. I had a impression that my neck was on the block as a possible injured party. It was a bombshell to find that I was actually being promoted and would be adding the Computer backup Unit to my already far reaching remitment. In recognition for the growth of responsibleness, my plan to cut back on working time was accepted, but I would not turn a loss any salary entitlement or downgrade of annual leave. Wow ! My trouble was that the teams I am inheriting will be impeding ; their loyalty to a long terminus manager is likely to be quite a hurdle to overcome.

You are on my nous all the time I am away. Even though I know we will not be getting together, you have made that plain. I still can not root out the thought that it is something I want, badly. It is a selfish sentiment 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 materialise. I mean… what potential good to arrive out of it, former than sexual 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, high-flown lieu. The expected objection and impedimenta has been over-come. The team have eventually realised that, it has been at the demise of their several managers, the show goes on and the task they have devoted sentence to, will retain to pass completion. The severely obstacle for my new bursting charge is the precariousness of the future. Having to bring through one point two million pounds is no belittled feat ; much of what we have done and provided over the story of the administration will induce to change to more pop class. It means some base variety and going of recollective full term staff.

My interaction with you has been cool down since my return from holiday. curt conversations have been the only physical contact, passing of documents and a smile, but nothing Sir Thomas More. I am well-heeled with the spot, although I take the occasional expression at your body and wish I could get very much closer to your skin. You look fantastic and the news program that you are to act as interpreter to a new link with a Russian speaking shoal from Kazakh is wonderful. It secures your future in the organisation and I am pleased for you.

The shake- up of the senior director Team has caused quite a lot of upthrow and no small amount of disruption. The strategic aims of the organisation have shifted and perhaps, the long game has become a little lost in the fall-out.

The display board of regulator announce that we are all to attend a handler's conference weekend at the ‘ grove'in Hertfordshire. A retreat and function meat. The aim is to collectively decide how the College will go forward and to readjust the strategic heading for the future. It is sentence to get on the bus and part the future, or get off now and happen another grounds to follow, in another place.

I arrive early on to take vantage of the golf game course and a complimentary one shot.

The first round of talk of the town and motivational speaker is to take place the next dawn. I have attended a similar week end some eight years before so knew what to expect. I didn't feel like getting slaughtered in the bar with my peers, so showered and went to bed early. Tomorrow will be backbreaking in the least.

My bedside telephone hoop and a one eyed look at the clock let me know it is XI thirty. I had been asleep, happily dreaming, probably. I pick it up to get wind 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 devolve to whatever I had been dreaming of.

A few instant later, I hear a soft knock on my door. My center receptive and I wait to see if it was mental imagery. The bash comes again, a little more crying this meter. I throw back the bed concealment and grab a towelling robe from the back of the privy doorway. I have just knotted the belt when the knock comes again.

There you are, standing on the threshold to my room, dressed in jeans and a shirt, barefooted and carrying a large bundle of theme. I say your public figure as a head, what are you doing knocking on my room access at this clip of Nox ?

You are unsure of how these events go. As P.A. you will be providing the hinder up ; setting the papers for the day's subject, taking bank bill and so on. You are nervous you tell me and needed some reassurance. Would I go through the route with you as your most trusted friend ? I ask you to come 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 Order. We ran through the agenda and found that all the back theme are in order. A pretty slick job and I tell you that you should not be so unsure of your abilities when you rarely make mistakes.

I am thinking that, perhaps you had an posterior motive for knocking my door, That it isn't entirely about getting everything in monastic order for the next day's event. But, hold back 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 selection, a single malt whiskey, some red wine-coloured a toy bottle of Hennessey brandy and a few sociable. You settle on a brandy and swill it in the trash, like a cognoscente, sniffing the smell before taking a sip. You put the deoxyephedrine down and without saying anything, start out to undo the buttons of your shirt, starting from the top.

I am telling you that this is not a good theme. Privately, I am thinking that you are being very unfair, knowing that I will not be able-bodied to traverse you, but also knowing that, until now, it had been you who called a halt to things. I am reminded that the whole thing is inadequate and you are very much in the drive seat.

You ignore me and take the shirt. Your cutis looking at very white in the crude light coming from the pendant fitting and is made to face whiter in contrast to the bra you are wearing.

You unbutton your jeans and slither them over your hips. Your underclothes is also smutty and I admit, my eye is drawn to your sex, the vee shape of your panties acts like a pointer. Reaching behind your back, you unclasp your bra to reveal your white meat. You have small teat and areoles that are only slightly darker than your skin. The metre in the gym has toned your muscularity social structure. You are slender, but not skinny. The major muscularity are clearly identified. You look amazing and I tell you so. Your peel is flawless. Not having had tike helps.

You walk towards me, eyes locked on mine. I am still telling you that this is not a undecomposed idea and you tell me to quiesce. Your hands grasp the smash of my gown and unlace the international nautical mile, allowing the robe to precipitate spread out. I have cypher on underneath.

So, you are shaved you say, as if you hadn't believed me. My putz starts to season as your tending heart and soul on it.

You kneel and wrap your right hand around my solidifying ray of light, rubbing slowly and with a deft mite, encircle my rapidly stiffening prick. You look up into my eyes and open your mouth and work out me, pushing your knife into the prick, taking the pre-cum that slips from me. The sight is possibly the most erotic that I can remember. I have dreamt of just such a consequence. The reality is much better than the mental imagery could have conjured up.

Slowly, you take me into your mouth while your deal gently pumps me. You suck the inch that has passed your lips. It is a ecclesiastic belief and quickly has me as hard as I have ever been. You stick your tongue out and slide as often of me as you can between your tooth and make an mmm sound of pleasure. The echo creates a delicious feeling that change of location right up to my brain. I am trusted I groan at the sheer delectation of having you as I had hoped for, as I had dreamed.

You are unable to hold back eye contact and begin to suck in earnest. The force per unit area is wonderful, but I can not permit it to go on for lots longer. The tingling is so good that I know I will explode far too betimes. All pretence of denial has fled. I want this as lots 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 mouth, tasting myself on your sass and run my paw over your consistence. You feel exquisite. Your peel is soft to the tactual sensation and warm. You stand, facing me as I stroke your neck, articulatio humeri and cup your breasts in my paw. Your small teat harden under my palms. It is difficult to know what you are feeling, whether you like me touching you or not. You show very little outward reaction. Your breathing is steady. You look at me with a half-smile that crinkles the recession of your mouth.

I decide that it is my turn to give you the pleasure of oral sex. I do remember you telling me that you prefer to hold than receive and, I remember saying that you may not have ever had it done as it should be. Perhaps that was a little conceited of me, thinking that I might be better at it than any late devotee of yours. But, to me, it is a instinctive order of things. I do not just take without giving back.

I sit you on the edge of the armchair that is usual in in a standard hotel elbow room. But, before your rear rests on the shock absorber, I have tugged the waistband of your panties down. I would not sustain guessed that your natural coloring is brown. It is, at least, the colour of your pubic haircloth, neatly trimmed into a vee shape.

You shake your mind when you realise what I am about to do from my kneeling perspective, but like you, I ignore your objection and conciliate jimmy your knees apart.

You smell divine. That hint of musk which is intimate as of cleaning lady, but subtly dissimilar to any other, as it should be. I nuzzle against your pubic osseous tissue and imprint your aroma in my remembering and taste it as it passes over my sinus. Your taste, when my natural language reaches out to division your lips, is also committed to retention. You are wet already and it is the first real preindication I have that your trunk is responding.

It would be too tardily to just dive into you and perhaps, spoil the occasion with hurriedness. I managed to rent 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 tongue grazing against your nub. And, then when it flicks over that nerve centre of nerve endings, I hear a pocket-size inspiration of breath. I notice that you are gripping the arms of the death chair and that your knuckles are Patrick White. These are diminished indications 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 early lover I have had and means that I need to pay special attention and concentrate on the nicety of your reactions.

You shift forward on the edge of the hot seat and open up your legs wider to reserve a nifty accession to you. I take it as an invitation to enter you with my lingua. My right hired hand is flat on your depressed tummy, just above your pubic os. Gentle, with the least amount of money of pressure I can impart, I pull your tegument up which brings your lips and entree to an angle that is more comfortable for me with less tenor on the back of my neck. My mouth breaks impinging for a moment and I look into your eyes. The hazelnut has become quite dark, brown almost, as you stare steadily at me, pupils dilated as if to take in all and everything at once.

Slowly, I lower my head, closing the space between us and then push my draw out glossa between your sass. You rock your pelvis and suddenly, your hands are gripping the back of my mind, grinding my face into you. I suck you into my mouth, delving as deeply as I can and then pulling your rim between my dentition, sucking them and mashing my nozzle over your clit.

You shudder and draw out my caput away and narrate me that you can not hire any Thomas More of that. I do not postulate to ask if you liked it and perhaps, I felt a little triumph that you had enjoyed something you previously had not.

I stand up, human knee creaking and cracking and take the papers off of the bed, placing them on the fertilization tabular array carefully so that they do not get mixed up. You rise from the chairperson and accept the three or four steps to the bed. I realise again, that you have a fabulous consistency and evidence you so. A smile is my answer as your kneeling on the border of the bed, waiting for me to join you.

My robe hits the floor and is discarded. I have never been embarrassed by openness. I am fortunate that I am not heavy and even, for a man of my age, have kept reasonably fit. But somehow, in front of you, I am acutely cognisant that I am so often Old and fret momentarily, that you will not care what you see. I push it to one side and get on the bed as quickly as possible.



You fall into my arms, your dead body warmly and voiced. Your dishevelled blond coloured hair tickles the skin on my shoulder. I kiss you. Our mouths open and tongues caressing each other's. The heat between us builds up, reaching a fever pitch as our bodies meld into each other. Your breast fits into my hand. The hard nub of your nipple presses into my palm and feeling like it belongs there.

You throw a leg over me, pressing your pubic ivory against my thigh and rub yourself against me. Your normal reticence is being let loose, put to one face as basic instinct and need takes over. I can feel your heart tripping against your rib under my hand and your external respiration is speedy, drawn between our lips which are still joined.

You push me onto my back and range me. I enter you easily ; a perfect fit and I hold my breathing spell for a moment, waiting for you to impale yourself fully. It is deliciously slowly that your vertebral column archway and centimetre by centimetre, you sink down on my distance. You place your hands on my chest as a duad and set about to rock. I am contented to lay still and watch you, drink in your beauty. Your rima oris is open, dragging in air and your eyes are closed. You look beautiful and I marvel at your utter pattern, unmarred, pristine and fucking me.

I feel like I could stay like this forever, locked in sex act with you, buried deeply inside and it feels so right field, so resplendent and I do not want it to end.

You quicken the rate, your hip rocking, driving me deeply into you and rubbing your button against me, your need to orgasm is becoming bang-up. I decide, without really thinking about it, to put up towards your pursuit for fulfilment and begin to force up, increasing my profoundness and the pressure on your clitoris as we bang together.

You push up into a squatting position, your hands cup your breasts and you pinch your mammilla between thumb and the side of your index, pulling viciously as if punishing them as your sexual climax glide slope. Working in counterpoint, my organ dip deeply and then almost is withdrawn. It is a pace that I will not be able-bodied to maintain, but it will not matter too much. You are growling now, a deep throated growling which, at any early time, would hit me gag, but now is signifying your reaching. I can palpate your sex gripping me tightly, massaging my stopcock and your inner walls, bringing me to my own moment of exquisite bliss.

It hits you suddenly. Your nous is thrown back, haircloth flailing. Your claw like hands grip your breasts, far heavily than I would experience done. Knuckles white as the form is tortured. I think you will scream, but instead you groan and grit your teeth. Your eyes squeezed tightly shut. Knowing you have reached your goal, my own culmination is realised. In almost painful blasts, my seed is pumped cryptic inside you. I grasp your thighs and try to turn over even deeper, as if trying to be completely steep inside of your body, subsumed and joined for all time.

We stay, joined and immobile for many minutes. I am trying to regain control of my breath and deoxidise my heart rate to something near normal. Your eyes open and regard me silently in a stabilise gaze. And then I see a tear slide over your cheek. I reach up and cup your cheek in my manus. You lean into my palm as another tear leaves your eyes.

This will never happen again you tell me as my hammer and semen slip from your soundbox. It can never ever happen again you repeat as if to reinforce your words. You get up off of me and silently get dressed. I tell you that I understand, but once again, I am confused. I had been resigned to our not getting together, to heeding your words when you told me you did not want to enter into an affair. But, then, tonight, you arrive at my room access and take the lead, only to tell me afterwards, that that is it. Never to be repeated. Do you expect me to just block it ? Chalk it up to experience ? Call it a pleasant entr'acte ? Because, yes, it was all of those, but also, it was something special 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 same 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 mind. What made you total to my elbow room ? I do not expect an solution and do not get one.

Instead, you say to me, thank you for being so affected role 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 moorage from the way as silently as you came, leaving me to deal with the wake of our sex and the confusion you have caused.

I can not help but find that this was more about your own gratification ; that, where there was a distinct lack of extended foreplay or preamble, you were satisfying yourself and naught else. Away from home and hubby, knowing you would induce a willing partner, you took the opportunity to hold advantage of my unfitness to say no to you. The whole episode took LE than an time of day, the sex less than half of that clip and quite dissimilar from how I envisaged it might be. For me, the sex was prissy, a pleasant acquittance and an unexpected climax, but it lacked that certain something which makes it expectant. Perhaps it is that there was no romance in the result, a quickie almost, devoid of touch or emotion, no tenderness or mutual stimulation. It had null to do with love and that I find, operose to take.

The Management weekend passes in a hectic rung of inspirational talks. It is a officious fourth dimension, punctuated by meal breakout and another night. You pretty much ignore me and when we do need to interact in the context of the weekend, you are aloof and keep me at arm's length. I feel as if I have served my purpose and are now, no longer of interest.

The following calendar week, back at the College, you refuse my whirl of coffee and are quite frigidness toward me. I feel as if I have done something awry, done something to upset you or didn't touchstone up. I ask you point blank. You tell me that you have made up your creative thinker, I will not figure in your thought process again. It is cold and my sentiment of you changes a bit. I could understand the blowing hot and coldness, putting that down to nerves, but find this complete shut out beyond me. I back off and try to hold open our meetings to the very minimum possible.

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

I noticed that you seem to be spending time 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 sort it out for himself. I do wonder though, what it is you are looking for or are you just thrill seeking ? I feel some shame for him and know what he is potential to go through.

I wish you good chance in your quest, if that is what it is and hope that one day, you will receive that which you seek. I know it is not I and I believe you do not have sex 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 realise why you chose to get involved with me. Why you were keen and then did a one hundred and eighty grade round around. I kept your name out of the story, for that is what it has now become, to save you from any kind of embarrassment. Now, as affair are and after that single Nox, I considered changing the title, but decided against it.

You might wonder why I bothered to write anything beyond the fantasy. fountainhead, in the true, it is my way of sorting it all out, trying to realise and washing it all away. By putting it down on the screen, I can record it and try to see the pattern.

It may appear to be a befuddle story to read, but that is how it happened. It was a confusing clock time for me and I thought it was for you too. But, now I believe you had an subterranean need from the start. One I can not guess at perhaps, but I do opine you had some form of innovation. Then again, your tears after consummation were quite veridical and the lone meter I have seen literal emotion from you.

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

The report has taken months to write. Not because I am a sluggish writer, but because it has been done as the events unfolded. It started out as a phantasy we might have shared and ends in that one, for me, exceptional Nox. I don't know whether to give thanks you or cuss you.

yield care my love and well luck with your lookup. I truly hope you find what your heart desires.

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

Several months later, when you had either become bored with my replacement illusion, you inform me that you and your hubby of seven days have amicably parted. Both of your marriages lasted the Lapplander amount of time. Privately, I think that you have experienced that infamous seven-year itch. Thinking boost, I realise that you are still seeking something, a goal or dream, but are unaware of what it is.

At your asking, we ploughshare an afternoon tea in Hyde Park. Walking around the lake while I listen to you explain your aspiration and wishing for your time to come. How you have recently started to paint and are thinking about embarking on becoming a motivational Speaker. Of course, I make encouraging remarks and severalise you that you can turn whatever your nitty-gritty desires.

At cobbler's last, after a tour 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 serious, less flighty or frivolous. It is then that you almost flooring me when you ask if I want you. If I could be with you ; could I eff you ?

My result, when it eventually comes, after a few transactions thought, is a negative response. I hasten to tell you that it isn't because you are not suitable ; God knows you are, but you have a way to go on this journey that you have embarked upon. A journeying 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 innate sensory faculty, but I fully realise that I would also end up like your married man and the man and wife before, that I would not last with you and that you are driven by an terra incognita need. It is a need that does not set aside you to sink. You will never become domesticated.

I answer that, yes, I would have intercourse to make do it to you once more when you asked if I would like that. The positive result is qualified in that it would be devoid of emotion. I had realised that we would never be anything more than sexual better half in the basest sense and even that, limited to opportunity.

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

Our lunchtime excursion around Hyde parking area ended up at your new plane in South West London. The flat is component part of a changeover of a Georgian house in a fashionable part of town that was well furnish and overlooked a huge park.

We made love. Actually, we fucked each other, spending a lot sentence on mutually stimulating each former's organic structure. It was a pleasant time and provided a much needed release. However, when we were dressed, I could not facilitate flavour that, somehow, I had been used to ease your tautness and was now discarded.

I told you goodbye just before the door closed on me. Goodbye it was. A parting that seemed to be final. Within a few twenty-four hour period, you had changed jobs and then, shortly after that, you left to pursue a new life history motivationally speaking. The final I heard of you was a font ledger message from Australia.

So, I say unto you…

You have never ceased to vex me. confound me and somehow, leave me feeling as if I had escaped a circumstances. At the same time, you are so desirable, intoxicating and an enigma that baffles the mind.

I hope that one day, you will recover your dead on target calling. I hope that you will happen that for which you search. I hope that you will, at last, be happy. I wish for you that it is within this lifetime.

Bon voyage !