For"A"

Perhaps I should excuse. This is a real aliveness, up to the second account involving real people who, through many cause, would be vulnerable in both their professional and personal lives if too many details were to be made public. I am sure you, the reader, will forgive the lack of epithet or accurate location details. Those that know me well will probably recognise certain aspects and possibly add two and two together. I will have to deal with that, if and when the time comes. My reputation, although crucial to me, is somewhat less of a thoughtfulness 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 master's Personal supporter and as such, means we interact almost on a everyday basis."A"is forty and is seven years into her second marriage, I have a feeling 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 marriage. ‘ A'only talks about part of her animation outside of piece of work and work related theme. She keeps the ease private and under curl and key. I can sympathize that and, to a point, empathise with it as well. Coming from Republic of Poland and with the upbringing she has had in a strict family, sharing some info is not a instinctive shape and I wouldn't pry.

She is beautiful with a quirky, lopsided grinning that lights up her side and crinkles the quoin of her eye. She is always dressed smartly and has a propensity to wear wearable that hints at the delights beneath, showing just enough cleavage to attract the eye, but not be less than tasteful. Some of her dresses are quite unretentive and can depict flashes of inner thigh that tantalises these senses that I suffer with. If I were being unkind, I would say that her hairdo is not flattering. If I were really being unkind, I would say that it looks as if a myopic nurseryman, being many different lengths, had cut it. Who am I to discuss or annotate on the fashion of pilus ? I cling on to my ultra-thin mop and have it cut as short as possible.

"A"has hazel coloured center that are heavy and expressive. They convey her moods by changing colour, deepening into a darker hazel tree when she is aroused or troubled. Her lip has this lilt to it and is slightly asymmetrical. I find it endearing. Her regular visits to the fitness suite and Zumba dance exercises keep her body in dandy chassis. She already had the right hand building auction block from which to work, the regime has just polished off the bound to a delightfully visual treat.

"A"is very much my junior in the brass and years. My theatrical role as a senior manager often involves calling on her inspection and repair as minute taker in meetings so, we see each other often and have always shared a laughter. Joking can be a little unmanageable where her oral communication, although extremely good, does not necessarily read the nuances of humor. I should add, I have my own good sense of wit and repartee that many don't get, so she can be forgiven.

It was over a cup of coffee tree that we found some rough-cut footing. I told her that I now had several stories published, but would not assure her where to get hold them. I wouldn't want her to think I am some kind of deviant, writing erotica in my dotage. I am sixty-one, writing came tardy to me and I have tried to nominate up for lost sentence since. I eventually agreed to let her read one of my stories, putting it on a computer storage stick so she could scan it at her leisure."The Office"is a piece I wrote about a twelvemonth ago, is humorous, but also tells the tale of a young man in an berth surroundings, full of women who are street hurt. A in writing deion of his sexual skirmish is parting of the story, but is not the whole opus, so is less than pornographic and I am rather more well-to-do in having people read that than some of my other pieces.

I have been married for more than forty years. I admit to not having been entirely faithful… well actually, I have grasped almost every opportunity that has come my way. For whatever reason, and not from openly seeking alternative to my marriage ceremony, I have had rather more than my fair percentage of alternative partners. Some of them have been one off involvement, but also some very much more than intense liaison that involved rather too much emotion for comfort. I love women. I love the tactile property, touch and smell of them. A good trunk excites me as does intelligence service, wit and sensitivity. If freckle and green eye are also in the mix, then I am completely mishandle away.

From this humble root of sharing my story with her and a few conversations that inevitably ended up about sex in one figure or another, began the basis of what follows."A"enjoyed the narrative and discovered a incline 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 electric current state of affairs. ‘ A'has to take some credit in the content of the illusion, her input helped to make it what it is.

I have to say in closing this introduction, that"A"is a very sexual person. Just below the aerofoil of a well-maintained carapace beats the heart of a lioness, which would easily rip your heart out and feed it back to you in little amounts, just enough to keep your hopes and dreams alive. The magic trick is getting under that protective carapace 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 escape.

The insidious thing is, the deeper you become tangle, the less you care. Just do not intercept the drive to get off.

Fantasy.

It is ahead of time eve, perhaps six thirty, when the building is much quieter. Only a few masses are left. even socio-economic class had started. It was a meter that I knew we would not be disturbed.

The ignition lock on my office door was engaged. The lights were turned down by the dimmer switch on the wall and the blinds are pulled down to the, storey at the base to cap windows. As far as possible, we were isolated in my office, a small space in this huge construction. Alone at last and this was the second 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 hebdomad.

You stood in the centre of the room with your script clasped behind your back, as you had been instructed. I had told you to take away your tights, but to leave your skid on. Other than these detail, 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 wait of each former 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 soundbox and mentation you would bet awful naked. Not for the first clip, I was looking at you, admiring your womanly shape. My steady gaze was unnerving you. Perhaps it was the lack of activity, perhaps a cold-shoulder restlessness that was keeping you marginally off residuum. Although we both knew what the contiguous hereafter held, the deliberate slowness I was adopting, was making you experience more and more nervous, giving you time to recall, to worry that this might not be such a good idea. Was this the properly thing to be doing ? Was it too dangerous ? It was a Delicious quandary 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 professorship and crossed the room, stepping behind you. I remind you, whispering in your ear, to keep your script behind your spine and that they are to stay there unless I tell you otherwise. I am pleased by your abidance because, although we have spoken as colleagues and then friend, before becoming embroiled in this crazy prelude to this current site, I was not trusted 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 sleep with that you will respond all the more while your senses are running at this feverish pitch. That too, pleases me and I am able to relax and take my meter and delight in the event every continuation has on you.

Deliberately provocative, I run the backrest of my index finger finger along your jaw bank line, caressing your pelt, passing below your ear and then down the side of your neck opening, tracing your jugular until it reaches the hollow of your collar os. It is the world-class time I have touched you and I delight in the thrill the trace evinces. Your eyes are half closed, partially hiding your hazel eyes, as if there is too often 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 slide fastener of your chick and, when it has fallen to the floor, instruct you to maltreat out of it so that I can pick it up and topographic point it on a death chair. Your blouse, crinkled at the bottom where it was tucked into the waistcloth of your skirt, covers decent of your lower half that your reserve is retained. I intend for that to change quickly and to keep you off proportionality. I want you nervous, unsure and filled with trepidation. It adds to my sense of turmoil and the feeling of prospect. The fact that we are in my situation and vulnerable to a dot is not lost on me and adds to the sheer peril of what we are about to do.

And then I tell you to lift your arms. You raise them above your principal and wobble a little to help the sleeves of the blouse shimmy over your berm. The blouse is placed with the annulus and your hands return to behind your rachis without me telling you. That pleases me.

I have long thought you would have a fabulous body and I am not in the slightest disappointed as you stand, trembling, in nada more than your bra, briefs and shoes. You have a shape that seems to me to be made for erotic love, neither too near nor over weight. Your workouts in the lycee are obviously doing you good, plain by the condition of your heftiness pure tone. Your curvature are relative to your height and I feel privileged to possess you at this present moment, in my place and about to become my fan. You look mythological, fit and glowingly healthy.

The motivation to relate your nakedness is almost sweep over, a feeling I have grown accustomed to over the last few weeks. It has been very hard not to reach out and touch on you, to keep my manpower 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 dismantle you of your underclothes. Instead, I run my hands from behind you, around your waist, lightly running above your rosehip until my handwriting receive at your belly. You shiver and goose bumps forge on your tegument. I have had to take a half step forward to be close enough to encircle your waist. It brings me into contact with your helping hand, still clasped behind your back. You can feel my hardness through the level of trousers. Slowly and as lightly as I possibly can, my hands, in unison, trip upwards until I have your titty, one in each hired hand, weighing them and relishing the look, even through the fabric of your bra, they feel wondrous. They are as perfect as I knew they would be and yield to my soft massage. I kiss your neck, just below your ear and have my beginning taste of you and as the taste runs over my natural language, the smell of your perfume inflames my nose. The odour you are wearing is one I do not recognise, insidious, but it has the desired upshot and increases my need for you.

My pollex hook the shoulder straps of your bra and ease them off of your articulatio humeri. I step back to allow me the distance between us to unclasp the garment. It means the touch of your hands is broken and for a moment, I mourn the going. I tell you to move your hands forward so that the bra can be removed completely. I put this with your skirt and blouse. You have put your hands back behind you. Once More, I step behind, renewing the liaison of your hands on my severity. My hands cup your naked chest and your already semi-hard nipples are rubbed and pulled gently between quarter round and index finger. They harden and the areoles ruck. A groan escapes from between your lips and I can feel your knees are trembling. I hope they are not going to fall in out before I am quick to deal you. I do not need to rush things, needing to take it at a tread that allows for the savouring of each touch, each caress, to enchant in each and commit it all to memory, to be enjoyed again and again in my private thoughts.

My thumbs hook into the elasticated ring of your briefs and still them down, sliding the garment over your pelvic girdle and down your legs. I tell you to step out of them and set them on top of your bra.

In a voice vibrating with mounting passion, I ask you to flex around and, for the first time, I see you in your nakedness. The sight is amazing, more than I could have envisaged and I physically have to jib the impulse to work out my backtalk in anticipation. You are far more beautiful than my imagery could have conjured. You are perfection and I wonder how I could be so favour to take you here in this bit of time.

I move to lead off to undo the push of my shirt. You tell me that you will do that. For a second I hesitate and then realise, I have been dominant in undressing you. Now it is your good turn to take the go-ahead and I should allow that. You step close while I lean back with my butt sitting on the edge of my desk, my metrical unit on the storey, legs paste so you can ill-use closely to me.

Slowly, one by one, you undo each button and pull the shirttails from the waistband of my trousers. The front man flaps open, revealing my almost hairless chest. You undo the cuffs, holding my hand, palm up and kissing each as the release are released.

Your hands respite against my chest for a here and now, as if testing I am rattling. Then, with forethought and a delicate touch, you ease the shirt over my articulatio humeri and down my sleeve. It needs me to stand, rising from the desk, so that you can remove and put the shirt to one side. You kneel at my animal foot and unmake the lacing of my brake shoe. You tell me to lift each invertebrate foot so that you can ease each skid off. As you are putting them to one face, I slip off my socks, using a trick I learned several years ago when I was unable to bow where I had injured myself. You notice what I have done and a bend crosses your hilltop. I grin guiltily, but pleased you have not had to deal with my windsock. Of all my apparel, my socks are something I feel less than happy about.

You step close and kiss my dresser, nibbling at my teat, which respond immediately, hardening and suddenly attendant. While you are kissing and gently biting me, your finger manipulate and unblock my bang and unbutton the waistband of my trouser. Deliberately slowly, you pull the zip down, brushing against my insensibility. You release my nipple and kneel to pull my pant completely down and then, distinguish me to abuse out of them. They join my shirt.

You kneel again and kiss my tummy. The touch of your lip is electric on my pelt and I hardly notice that you are pulling my briefs down until my cock, in its arousal, springs free to taper at you, hard and ready. I notice the moue of surprise when you realise I am hairless, my preferred condition.

One base at a meter, I step out of my briefs so that, they to, can join the pile of my clothes.

You reach toward me and contract my hardness in your paw while your hazel eyes look at me steadily. We are now equals. Neither one of us has authority and both as vulnerable as each early with the divesting of clothes.

Grasping your waistline, I turn you around so that you are leaning against the bound of my desk. I kick the chair out of the way and tell you to part your pegleg. I had not forgotten you telling me that receiving oral exam sex was not something you particularly enjoyed, but I also had in intellect that you said you might want to try with me. My intent is really nothing More than to form you totally, into my store. I kneel on the base and take in your musk. Your rude scent excites my nose, a abstruse breath is all that is really needed, but the longing to go just that little promote takes me. I savour your natural perfume and anticipate your penchant. It is as tempt as I thought it would be. You are unadulterated manna from promised land, the philosophers' stone of life and a judicious mix. My tongue cash register your aroma as it slides over your sex, my nose pressed hard against your clit. Your preference is as nectar, I knew it would be and I recognise your readiness, tasting your wetness.

It is not yet the veracious meter to explore my giving to you of satisfaction through the actions of my spit. It is perhaps, something to explore when our situation is different, when we have time and the sumptuousness of being able to really get to know each early's dead body. It would need to be a hotel or something that would leave for complete freedom.

You decide that the roles should be reversed. You instruct me to stand and, while in the act of becoming vertical, you kneel and grasp my large member in your right hired man. Then, you lower your head word until your tongue caresses the end, dampening it. Deliciously slowly, your mouth component part and encircle my cock. The feel, for me, is beyond sublime. For so retentive, I had imagined and dreamt of a mo like this with you. I could never have conjured up such a Divine notion. I don't cognise how long you keep this up for, time slips by unmarked, I just know I want it to never end.

Eventually though, lifelike progression sketch. I have to touch on you, to guard you, to find your body close to mine and to find your heart lacing against me. Gently, I grasp your head and guidebook you to stand. I have to buss you. I need to buss you, suddenly and desperately. It is an overwhelming need the brooks no refusal. Our back talk touch and then combine together, sharing breathing time. Our tongues explore, tasting each early.

Bodies pressed tightly, joined at hip and clasped in weapons system. It is a moment, within a period of sentence that is filled with delights and discoveries that is entirely singular, an haven that stands out alone and is all the more special. A moment when, if it were possible, we would become just one body and it is the bit when I know that I am sublimely glad ; joyous even and hunger becomes something else entirely.

kiss are delivered to your neck opening, to your shoulder and throat and are received from you in return. Each brush of lips and teeth fans the flames of mounting Passion of Christ. I do not desire to hold in back any longer, the torment of not being within you is driving me insane. I need you. I want you and have it away that you feel the same.

You lean against my desk, bending at the hip. It is an invitation for me to conjoin with you in a labor union of bodies, linked by the umbilical cord of my appendage. Your lower back is caressed by my fingertips, swirling in untraced design. My former paw reaches around and finds your sex. It helps me to guide myself into you.

You say something, but I do not learn it. All of my concentration is centred on entering your consistency and then to make love to you as I have wanted to for so long. At close, I am buried inside and can feel, at the like clip, your heat and wetness as you accept me. For a mo, neither of us moves. I am savouring the wondrous feeling of you and desire to prolong that feeling for a time. But, then, the instinctive round of sex begins to register and our bodies respond to the call of the melodic line. Slowly at first, as if testing the limits, but gradually, our stab become faster, stronger and more insistent.

My infantry are splayed to maintain balance. The stability frees my hands to explore, to apprehend, massage and hold. I manage to contact your breast, which nestle in the palm of my hands, massaging and kneading while our bodies collapse against each former, furiously building up to the point of release.

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

I kiss your oral cavity and template you so that you are half sitting on the edge of the desk, your feet on the floor with your legs apart, ready to invite me once more. Your arms encircle my neck as I find my way into you and, in so pulling me towards you, our lip touch, mouths open, breath mingling and sending our temperatures up even further. The dancing of sex act 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 eyes have turned quite shadow, darker than the hazel tree they normally are. You smile at me and then clasp me closely in an embrace that helps to drop anchor you and give up your hips to run more freely and cope with my rhythm exactly. Your legs encircle me and draw me even further into you.

I moan, low and guttural as my tone ending approaches. My mouth is at your throat, kissing and tasting you. Your breath, hot, brushes against my skin, over my shoulder and into the nape of my cervix. We each are making dissonance in the back of our pharynx with the crusade we are expending. As the bit of common flood tide closes on us, our moans become shorter, turning almost, into grunts.

And then, suddenly, the moment of ultimatum arrives. I can hold on no longer. The pulsation of climax torrent you and, as you feel my seed, your own orgasm blasts through you. Your psyche is thrown back, eyes tightly shut and your teeth clench as the ripples traverse through you. I clasp you to me, fighting to regain my breathing. I am lost in you and, for that present moment do not handle or even think of the consequences of this illegitimate liaison. All consuming is the partake passion we have had. It is a moment that is ageless, timeless and seems to last for an timeless existence but is only a fleeting few seconds.

At last, I slip from your consistence, but do not want 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 smile that radiates in my heart.

Reality returns to us and reluctantly, we have to clean up, have to dress and then go out into the world beyond my place doorway. Only now, the world has a new slant on it. Our closed book is terra incognita past the rampart of this role and to those we work with, who know us well, are mystified by our constant quantity grinning 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 thinker that I am sure has always been reserved just for you. I wait for your response, feeling like a condemned man, waiting for the scaffold to be finished so that he can climb up it to his doomsday. 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 tiffin, choosing a lieu a few hundred metres away from the College in the new Marks and Spencer café in their new construction. It is noisy and you struggle to eat the pasta in its clearly plastic cocoon. You struggle because of the anxious tension between us. Outwardly, I seem calm, composed and at relaxation, but behind the façade is a turmoil of coalesce emotions, of conflictions and confusion.

I sip my tea and observe you, unsettled. Smiling one indorsement while we hold eye contact and then, in the future, you look away as if embarrassed and the grin disappearance or intensifies, depending on what goes through your nous. I do get to hear about your history, or at least, as much as you are willing to freely bring. I can not facilitate thinking that something traumatic has happened in your spirit and doubt I will ever get to fuck about it.

You base 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 averse to. The attraction between us is obvious, but this is the first meter I have heard you admit it.

Trying to be objective, we talk and discuss the fancy. Our feelings and emotions are scrambled, mix-up and excitement running play through our vena, replacing corpuscles and blood platelet, thinning the blood line so that the hit of adrenalin is that much harder.

You wondered if this was a prediction of upshot to come, or a fantasy that is pleasant, but only ever just that, a phantasy that we can never enter on. The conception of our fertile minds carries all the stylemark of a freshman federal agency affair that could possibly be the downfall of both of us. The danger of discovery has far reaching aftermath that could smash both of our careers and could mess up up our various marriages. But, there remains this physical attracter and it is up to us to determine whether to subscribe this to what I am sure, would be a mutually hearty conclusion.

And then again, would this exploration of each early be sufficiency ? Could it be something insouciant ? Would we want to conserve or propagate an affair that we can only hope to go along mystery ? Somehow I doubt it would ever be a simple liaison or a one off. The moral force of our relationship must alter. I may be able to maintain separate my professional life and private, but can you ? Emotions have a riding habit of getting in the way, of being transparent to those we work with.

There is one other query that demands to be asked. Is it better to be after in a account manner or, should it happen spontaneously with all the ensuant jeopardy of discovery ? Could we be objective enough to keep back a lid on it ? Or, would we be swept along in the tide of lustfulness, like so much flotsam, and then chance ourselves cast adrift when it all eventually falls out to the diffusion of our colleagues and then spouses.

I can not get laid the resolution, but I do I really want to know ? Should I take apart it to that extent ? What I am certain of is that I want to know you in the most confidant way and to a period ; could not fall in a hang for what may be the outcome. I just would not need for you to be disadvantaged, just because I desire your body. I would not need, for a second, to screw that I have been instrumental in ruining your attitude. And, yes, I want to roll in the hay you, in all of the carnal senses. Seeing you and being so close to you, now that we have shared this storey and talked about the possibilities. About the danger of such a contact and in slightly oblique case forays of each other's sexual appetites and druthers, is twisting.

The lunch period clandestine meeting is cut short when two fellow sit at an adjacent board. The exemption of spoken communication is curtailed and we leave shortly after.

I love the way you dress. Revealing tops, curt attire or soaked jeans, seem designed to intoxicate, to kindle my senses and, although I maintain a detached behaviour as we interact during our working day, but it is difficult for me to last out my hands from reaching out and touching you.

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

Until.

Last night was so close to the fantasy of the story ; it is a good thing, perhaps, that you had to be somewhere else at a quartern 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 mouth. Well, that is not strictly true. The possibility of holding you, of exploring you is always at the backrest of my intellect. But, I was not going to beat back it, but rather allow you the blank space with no pressure.

Sitting opposite you would have been alright, but I noticed you pulling your dress down, sub-consciously, I noticed that you were on edge, nervous even. We managed to talk about inconsequence's, of this and that. We talked about your home and family, of man and wife and the comparable. But, at the same time that our words bounce off of the walls and rattle around in our heads, making little hold up impression, 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 affirmation from a few 24-hour interval ago, that you were not ready or prepared for an berth matter. I would have got been content with just spending some time with you, but all the while, I was watching your physical structure, reading the words that is silent and needs no Holy Writ. I hear you, unable to conciliate on a depicted object, struggle to put together coherent sentences or finish a geartrain of articulated thought.

But, strong-arm attraction overcomes usual sense, over comes rationality. Like paper over rock 'n' roll, the attractor is all too smothering.

existence the contradiction that you are, in one breathing space you are telling me that you are not ready, being sensible, virtual. And then, in the next, you tell me to come closer. My resolve, I'm afraid, was not stiff enough to defend the space between us. You asked me what would happen if I moved closer. I think you know the answer and Leslie Townes Hope for it, even though everything in your mind is saying no. I told you, in answer, that I would find it very hard to keep my hands off of you. The temptation of holding you, of kissing you is too stiff for me to resist and I am not trusted we would have the ability to arrest.

Like a moth to flame, I am drawn into your personal space, our respective chairs careering into each early like bumper auto on beaver. As if of their own volition, my hired hand 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 worse way. At lastly we manage to draw out apart, take a breath and depend into each other's eyes. It is a legal brief respite. It gives us both a moment to catch our breath and for my gist to lose from breaking out of my chest.

Our hands rest on each other's thighs, stroking in humble flier movements, skin barely touching. I want to touch you in the most versed places. The access is there, your short dress has ridden up, but not enough for me to be able to see the hoarded wealth below and that is a dependable thing, because one touch would ignite the flames like napalm and be just as unquenchable. Your sex is hidden from prospect, but only just and my paw are so close, so ending. I can find your heat. I absorb it through my hide. It would pick out just the merest of movements to be brushing against your labia. I want to go further, to explore your inner thighs. The enticement is almost resistless. It is only force of will that prevents me. I want to hold you in my hands, to caress you, to commove your senses. And I want to consume you. Contradictory as it is, I do not want to scare you with the strong point of Passion of Christ you evince in me.

To my astonishment, I find I am trembling. My nitty-gritty boot against my rib as carnal thoughts race across my mentation like stampeding horses. I am surprised by the power of these impression 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 middleman, in an sweat to regain some control of the situation and my convulsion of senses. Perhaps it works for a moment, I can not remember now as I write this.

The next import shatters any vestibular sense I have regained.

You say that you are tempted to see if that what I wrote was true and set about to sit forward purposefully. I instantly know exactly what you mean and watch as you manage to halt yourself from reaching my zip fastener to see if I am shaven or not. Although proving it to you would be nice, I know that we would sustain crossed a line from which it would own been extremely difficult to undo. Quite likely, you would have gone to your articulatio genus and taken me in your mouth. I know I would not own stopped you. I doubt I could have stopped you and I wouldn't want to.

But you managed to override your inquisitiveness. We kiss instead. I find your sassing and then your neck, kissing below your ear, taking in your odor and loving the burden it has on me."A ”, you inflame me and I want to take you, at that moment, to possess you, your consistence and your soul. I want and need you, right there and rightfulness at that second. It is an all-consuming feeling and I know that resisting is almost too gruelling for me. Somehow though, resist we do.

You rise, it is prison term for you to allow and while we stand, we kiss again and clasp each early together. You are a heady intoxication, making my head spin and my heart backwash. And then, you turn with your rachis to me, similar to the report. My hands meet at your tummy while I kiss your neck. For a minute, I can not observe how this affects you, but then you grasp my manpower. I thought it was to pull them innocent, but no ; you guide them to your bosom and I pull you close, our bodies blending into one shape.

It has to end. We both have places to be and you ask me to let you go. We kiss once more. Your cover is against the door to my office staff. Gently I lift your chin to osculate your throat and then your rim once more. I don't want you to forget, 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 happen. One minute, I doubt that we will ever obtain a time 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 for a few days so that there is breathing space between us and a chance to retrieve. You are constantly on my mind and the three days golf is played without my full attention. It shows in the loads I have.

One thing that does occur to me is that I might ask for you to travel out with me to Surrey. Perhaps visit a vinery, the steppingstones and summerhouse on top of the Leith Alfred Hawthorne, 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 want 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, unruffled prospect has been turned upside down and I am unused to being so out of kilter.

I begin to think that, perhaps I can call this in. Put a lid on the all 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 attractiveness we seem to percentage. On Wednesday morning, I am filled with the strength to carry out my resolution. I do not want to put you in a position that will make your working life difficult. I know how the situation tympan can spread rumour and chin wag faster than anything and, I know just how negative that can be. But, then I see you and part a brief import and my resoluteness dissipates into so much dust.

We only speak briefly on Thursday, just long enough for you to tell me that there is a job in the area you work in. Your face displays your uncomfortableness and frustration. You, tactfully, do not tell me what the problem is, but it is obvious that you are wild, trouble and I hope I have not been the crusade. Friday is no better. You are cool towards me, aloof and withdrawn. The dazzling smile is not there and I fear that the wallop on the evening a few twenty-four hour period before, might stimulate frightened you or made you sit back and take gunstock. Perhaps it has allowed you to look at whether you are make or ready to become require in something as mad as this is.

The lack of contact 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 good thing that I do not get the hazard, because your resolution would be given while still angry.

I am interviewing at the alone prison term you are available. An offer for swallow after employment is denied and I think then, that the decision to chill it is out of my mitt. I think that you have already decided that it is finished before it started. I mourn the missed luck, but completely realise. You are very much stronger than I am and you are completely aright. Knowing you are veracious though, does not diminish my smell towards you. The desire is just as unassailable. I find myself looking for you, hoping to bump into you, but feeling that somehow, in this enceinte, but limiting edifice, you are avoiding me.

Tuesday sees a alteration 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 heart with lovingness. We have a few moments, sitting on the chairs in your share berth. You give me back the memory board stick 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 signal. I understand your reasoning and can not charge you for not opening the file.

Without saying too much, you reaffirm that an office matter is something you do not wish to get into. It would be too hard and rarify and I agree, but wish 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 biography. It is almost as much a thrill, knowing that it had been a very 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 canteen to invalidate any fortune of becoming too close or to touch. You are having a few days in Poland and are looking forward to it very much.

It is in fact, more than a week until we have a chance to talk. You tell me a small of your stay with your sept in Poland, but as usual, you keep details special and individual. The photos you put on Face Book show some of the places you visited, but none of your kinsperson. I don't leave a remark on them, knowing that your husband has access to your face book page. We may not be having an thing, but I would not want to add fuel to any differences you are having.

I notice while we speak, that your soundbox speech communication is unfold, inviting even, and, while your intellect and words are holding me off, your body has other intentions. Your hands are expressive and you sit back, legs uncrossed, showing me the length of your consistence, unhindered and unprotected. I notice these matter, but listen instead to what you are telling me. It was a nice fantasy and that brief prison term in my position when we almost acted it out was very exciting, but practicalities and dedication overtake context. You are telling me, not in so many row, 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 train a partiality to my old somebody, does more than for me than I can explain. I have always been a intimate man, but had put sex to one face over the last few eld as something untested people did and not the old fossil sitting opposite you.

I am excepting of your decision, but at the Saami metre, palpate as if I missed an chance. Privately, I am blaming myself, thinking that coming on so solid in the office, was a blunder, clumsy on my part and, had I not been so eager, may still be alive. It surprises me that I should have been quite so inept. I never have been before.

For a few hebdomad, our tangency is sporadic and only in the professional capacitance of our several positions. I do find out though, that my discussion of you is bordering on the cruel. As if I have lost a supporter and gained an foeman. Fortunately, I realise what I am doing and make a conscious exploit to being the Sami guy I have always been with you. Now that I have realised my stupidity and vengefulness, we are able to slack around each early and are Quaker again. Hell ! We even share jokes and manage to laugh.

My yearbook leave arrived. Two calendar week in weal, visiting historic topographic point, castles and riding steam railways. It is a time to slow down and enjoy the ship's company of my wife. We have unlike interests, but have shared a life-time together. The atmospheric condition is hit and miss, but on the whole, I have enjoyed the meter away. It has given me metre to excogitate on the last few workweek.

I am fairly sealed that I blew it with you by my own rashness. Had I played it cooler, perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps if I had been a little more circumspect, it would take been you making the running. Who knows ? But I chalk it up to experience and recollect that it will remain in my computer storage as an chance missed, but would doubtless have had a disastrous issue. My time away also allows me to worry about the news I was given before I went. The organization is going through something of a restructure. I had a feel that my neck opening was on the engine block as a possible injured party. It was a bombshell to bump that I was actually being promoted and would be adding the Computer supporting Unit to my already far reaching remit. In recognition for the increase of responsibleness, my architectural plan to cut back on working sentence was accepted, but I would not lose any salary entitlement or downgrade of annual parting. Wow ! My worry was that the teams I am inheriting will be clogging ; their trueness to a long terminal figure handler is likely to be quite a hurdle to overcome.

You are on my mind all the clock time I am away. Even though I know we will not be getting together, you have made that champaign. I still can not extinguish the view that it is something I want, badly. It is a selfish opinion and even while wanting it, I am berating myself for the saphead I am being. Slowly, bit by bit, I am convincing myself that it should not happen. I mean… what potential good to get along out of it, other 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, bring up attitude. The expected 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 completion. The hardest obstacle for my new rush is the uncertainty of the future. Having to save one point two million pounds is no small feat ; much of what we have done and provided over the history of the organisation will have to change to more popular courses. It means some root word change and losings of foresightful terminus staff.

My interaction with you has been cool since my return from holiday. unretentive conversations have been the only contact, loss of written document and a grinning, but nothing Sir Thomas More. I am comfortable with the situation, although I take the occasional look at your dead body and regard I could get very much closer to your hide. You look wondrous and the news that you are to act as spokesperson to a new link with a Russian speaking school from Kazakhstan is howling. It secures your future in the governance and I am please for you.

The shake- up of the senior Manager team has caused quite a lot of upthrow and no humble amount of disruption. The strategic purpose of the establishment have shifted and perhaps, the long game has become a little lost in the fall-out.

The board of Governors announce that we are all to attend a coach's Conference weekend at the ‘ Grove'in Hertfordshire. A retirement and function nerve center. The aim is to collectively decide how the College will go forward and to reset the strategical aims for the future. It is meter to get on the bus and contribution the time to come, or get off now and find another cause to follow, in another place.

I arrive early to take advantage of the golf course and a gratuitous round of drinks.

The world-class cycle of talks and motivational speaker is to take lieu the next morning. I have attended a alike calendar week end some eight class before so love what to gestate. I didn't feel like getting slaughtered in the bar with my peer, so showered and went to bed too soon. Tomorrow will be arduous in the least.

My bedside telephone rings and a one eyed look at the clock let me recognise it is eleven thirty. I had been asleep, happily dreaming, probably. I pick it up to pick up a fleeting suspension and then the bur of an unconnected telephone set. I growl at the break of my quietus 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 eyes open and I wait to see if it was imagination. The knocking comes again, a little more insistent this time. I throw back the bed covert and grab a towelling robe from the dorsum of the bathroom room access. I have just knotted the belt when the knock comes again.

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

You are timid of how these events go. As P.A. you will be providing the rachis up ; setting the newspaper for the day's issue, taking bill and so on. You are nervous you tell me and needed some reassurance. Would I go through the travel plan with you as your most trusted acquaintance ? 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 cover document are in order. A pretty slick job and I tell you that you should not be so incertain of your ability when you rarely make mistakes.

I am thinking that, perhaps you had an later motive for knocking my door, That it isn't entirely about getting everything in guild for the succeeding day's event. But, go along it to myself and hold back to see how things pan out.

You ask if I have anything to imbibe. The miniskirt bar doesn't have a great excerpt, a bingle malt whiskey, some red wine a miniature feeding bottle of Hennessey brandy and a few mixers. You settle on a brandy and swill down it in the glass, like a connoisseur, sniffing the aroma before taking a sip. You put the shabu 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 stay to things. I am reminded that the whole thing is inadequate and you are very much in the driving seat.

You ignore me and dispatch the shirt. Your skin looks very white in the stark spark coming from the pendant fitting and is made to look whiter in contrast to the bra you are wearing.

You unbutton your jean and slip them over your hips. Your underwear is also Negro and I admit, my eye is drawn to your sex, the vee bod of your panties acts like a pointer. Reaching behind your back, you unclasp your bra to reveal your breasts. You have minor teat and areoles that are only slightly dreary than your hide. The time in the gym has toned your muscle structure. You are slender, but not skinny. The major brawn are clearly identified. You look amazing and I tell you so. Your skin is flawless. Not having had children helps.

You walk towards me, eyes locked on mine. I am still telling you that this is not a good idea and you tell me to hush. Your hands grasp the belted ammunition of my gown and untie the gnarl, allowing the robe to fall open. I have aught on underneath.

So, you are shaved you say, as if you hadn't believed me. My hammer starts to harden as your tending eye on it.

You kneel and wrap your right mitt around my solidification ray of light, rubbing slowly and with a deft touch, circle my rapidly stiffening pecker. You look up into my eyes and spread your backtalk and lick me, pushing your tongue into the puss, taking the pre-cum that slips from me. The sight is possibly the most titillating that I can remember. I have dreamt of just such a moment. The realism is much amend than the imaginativeness could let conjured up.

Slowly, you take me into your sass while your hand gently pumps me. You suck the in that has passed your mouth. It is a divine feeling and quickly has me as laborious as I have ever been. You stick your glossa out and slither as lots of me as you can between your teeth and make an mmm sound of pleasure. The reverberation creates a delicious belief that travels right up to my brain. I am sure I groan at the sheer delight of having you as I had hoped for, as I had dreamed.

You are ineffective to retain eye striking and begin to suck in earnest. The pressure is rattling, but I can not leave it to go on for much longer. The tingling is so in force that I know I will burst far too early. All pretension of denial has fled. I want this as much as I have wanted anything.

I grasp your header and impulse you to stand up which you do, but it seemed, reluctantly. I kiss your mouth, tasting myself on your brim and run my hands over your dead body. You feel exquisite. Your skin is soft to the feeling and warm. You stand, facing me as I stroke your neck, articulatio humeri and cup your breasts in my workforce. Your small nipples harden under my palm. It is difficult to live what you are feeling, whether you like me touching you or not. You show very little outward reaction. Your breathing is truelove. You look at me with a half-smile that crinkles the corner of your mouth.

I decide that it is my tour to give you the pleasure of oral sex. I do recall you telling me that you prefer to give than receive and, I remember saying that you may not stimulate 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 previous lover of yours. But, to me, it is a natural 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 touchstone hotel elbow room. But, before your fanny relief on the cushion, I have tugged the waistband of your panty down. I would not have guessed that your raw people of colour is brown. It is, at least, the colour of your pubic tomentum, neatly trimmed into a vee shape.

You shake your fountainhead when you realise what I am about to do from my kneeling lieu, but like you, I ignore your objection and gentle esteem your knee joint apart.

You smell divine. That breath 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 sinus. Your sense of taste, when my tongue reaches out to part your lips, is also committed to memory. You are wet already and it is the first of all genuine sign I have that your physical structure is responding.

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

I am rewarded by a tenuous lift of your pelvis as you anticipate my tongue grazing against your nub. And, then when it flicks over that kernel of nerve endings, I hear a small intake of breath. I notice that you are gripping the arms of the chair and that your knuckle joint are lily-white. These are small reading that I am pleasing you and I think to myself that, these small signaling maybe all I get as indicant in someone who is so undemonstrative as you are. It is something quite different from other buff I have had and means that I need to pay special attention and concentrate on the refinement of your reactions.

You shift forward on the edge of the chairwoman and open your legs wider to allow a bully access code to you. I take it as an invitation to enter you with my glossa. My right hand is mat on your lower stomach, just above your pubic bone. Gentle, with the least amount of pressure I can impart, I pull your hide up which brings your lips and entranceway to an angle that is more comfortable for me with less line on the back of my cervix. My backtalk intermission contact for a moment and I look into your eye. The hazelnut has become quite dark, chocolate-brown almost, as you stare steadily at me, pupils dilated as if to take away in all and everything at once.

Slowly, I lower my head, closing the space between us and then push my extended lingua between your lips. You rock your pelvis and suddenly, your hands are gripping the backrest of my headland, grinding my face into you. I suck you into my lip, delving as deeply as I can and then pulling your back talk between my teeth, sucking them and mashing my nose over your clit.

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

I stand up, articulatio genus creaking and cracking and take the newspaper off of the bed, placing them on the binding table carefully so that they do not get shuffle up. You rise from the chair and take the three or four pace to the bed. I realise again, that you have a mythological soundbox and secern you so. A smile is my result as your kneeling on the boundary of the bed, waiting for me to link up you.

My robe hits the storey 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 figurehead of you, I am acutely cognisant that I am so much older and worn spot momentarily, that you will not like what you see. I push it to one face and get on the bed as quickly as possible.



You fall into my implements of war, your organic structure warm and delicate. Your tousled blond coloured hair tickles the skin on my berm. I kiss you. Our rima oris open and tongues caressing each former's. The heat between us builds up, reaching a fever pitch as our dead body meld into each other. Your white meat fits into my hand. The hard nub of your teat presses into my palm and tone like it belongs there.

You throw a leg over me, pressing your pubic off-white against my thigh and rub yourself against me. Your normal reserve is being let liberal, put to one English as basic inherent aptitude and motive takes over. I can feel your heart tripping against your rib under my paw and your breathing is rapid, drawn between our lips which are still joined.

You push me onto my spinal column and straddle me. I enter you easily ; a perfect fit and I hold my hint for a moment, waiting for you to impale yourself fully. It is deliciously slowly that your book binding arches and centimetre by centimetre, you sink down on my distance. You place your hands on my chest as a brace and begin to rock. I am contentedness to lay still and ascertain you, tope in your beauty. Your mouth is unfold, dragging in air and your heart are closed. You look beautiful and I marvel at your arrant shape, unblemished, pristine and fucking me.

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

You quicken the pace, your rose hip rocking, driving me deeply into you and rubbing your clit against me, your need to orgasm is becoming groovy. I decide, without really thinking about it, to lend towards your quest for fulfilment and begin to pierce up, increasing my depth and the insistence on your clit as we bang together.

You push up into a squatting emplacement, your hands cup your breasts and you pinch your nipples between thumb and the side of your index, pulling viciously as if punishing them as your orgasm access. Working in counterpoint, my reed organ plunges deeply and then almost is withdrawn. It is a tempo that I will not be able to observe, but it will not matter too much. You are growling now, a oceanic abyss throated growl which, at any other clip, would piddle me laugh, but now is signifying your arrival. I can feel your sex gripping me tightly, massaging my cock and your inner bulwark, bringing me to my own moment of exquisite bliss.

It hits you suddenly. Your nous is thrown back, hair flailing. Your chela like hands grip your breasts, far heavily than I would get done. Knuckles flannel as the flesh is tortured. I think you will scream, but instead you groan and grit your dentition. Your optic squeezed tightly shut. Knowing you have reached your end, my own climax is realised. In almost awful gust, my seed is pumped deep inside you. I grasp your thighs and try to delve even deeper, as if trying to be completely swallow inside of your body, subsumed and joined for all time.

We stay, joined and immobile for many transactions. I am trying to retrieve control of my breathing space and cut back my nitty-gritty charge per unit to something near rule. Your eyes open and regard me silently in a steady gaze. And then I see a pluck microscope slide over your cheek. I reach up and cup your cheek in my bridge player. You lean into my palm as another pull leaves your eyes.

This will never happen again you tell me as my cock and seed slip from your body. It can never ever happen again you repeat as if to reenforce 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 lyric when you told me you did not want to figure into an affair. But, then, tonight, you arrive at my doorway and take the pencil lead, only to tell me afterwards, that that is it. Never to be repeated. Do you expect me to just draw a blank it ? Chalk it up to experience ? Call it a pleasant interlude ? Because, yes, it was all of those, but also, it was something special for me. Unexpected and a sheer delight 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 elbow room. Why you gave yourself to me or rather, took me for yourself. I ask you why, what changed your head. What made you come to my room ? I do not carry an answer and do not get one.

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

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

I can not help oneself but feel that this was more about your own gratification ; that, where there was a clear-cut want of go foreplay or preamble, you were satisfying yourself and nothing else. Away from menage and husband, knowing you would give a willing pardner, you took the opportunity to take advantage of my inability to say no to you. The totally instalment took less than an 60 minutes, the sex less than one-half of that time and quite dissimilar from how I envisaged it might be. For me, the sex was courteous, a pleasant handout and an unexpected climax, but it lacked that sure something which makes it nifty. Perhaps it is that there was no Latinian language in the upshot, a quickie almost, devoid of look or emotion, no tenderness or reciprocal stimulation. It had nothing to do with love and that I find, tough to take.

The direction weekend passes in a hectic bout of inspirational talks. It is a busy clock time, punctuated by meal recess and another Nox. You pretty much ignore me and when we do need to interact in the context of the weekend, you are aloof and hold back me at arm's distance. I feel as if I have served my purpose and are now, no longer of interest.

The following week, back at the College, you refuse my offer of coffee and are quite cold toward me. I feel as if I have done something wrong, done something to tip over you or didn't measure up. I ask you point blank. You tell me that you have made up your thinker, I will not cipher in your thinking again. It is frigidness and my opinion of you changes a bit. I could understand the blowing hot and coldness, putting that down to nerve, but find this arrant shut out beyond me. I back off and try to keep on our meetings to the very minimal possible.

That was five workweek 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 time with a colleague. He too is a senior manager, married and about the Lapplander age as me. I think about warning him, but decide he is old enough to screen it out for himself. I do marvel though, what it is you are looking for or are you just tickle pink seeking ? I feel some pity for him and know what he is likely to go through.

I wish you ripe fate in your pursuance, if that is what it is and hope that one day, you will find out that which you seek. I know it is not I and I believe you do not have it away what it is either.

When this started, my emotions were smashed beyond control. It started out as something exciting, thrilling even and a encouragement to my ego. I could not understand why you chose to become require with me. Why you were keen and then did a one hundred and eighty degree turn around. I kept your public figure out of the story, for that is what it has now become, to hold open you from any kind of embarrassment. Now, as thing are and after that one night, I considered changing the title, but decided against it.

You might question why I bothered to drop a line anything beyond the fantasy. Well, in true statement, it is my way of sorting it all out, trying to sympathise and washing it all away. By putting it down on the screen, I can understand it and try to see the pattern.

It may appear to be a perplexing story to read, but that is how it happened. It was a confusing time for me and I thought it was for you too. But, now I believe you had an ulterior motive from the outset. One I can not guess at perhaps, but I do think you had some kind of purpose. Then again, your tears after consummation were quite rattling and the only time I have seen real emotion from you.

‘ A ’, you are an enigma to me ; A riddle and quite frankly, the woman of my dream, but a nightmare to be with. I could never finger any kind of symmetry and that is quite disconcerting for me.

The story has taken months to drop a line. Not because I am a slow writer, but because it has been done as the result unfolded. It started out as a fancy we might take in shared and ends in that one, for me, extra night. I don't know whether to thank you or curse you.

proceeds care my lovemaking and good luck with your search. I truly hope you find what your heart desires.

That, my friends, would appear 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 hubby of seven old age have amicably parted. Both of your marriages lasted the Sami amount of time. Privately, I think that you have experienced that ill-famed seven-year scabies. Thinking further, I realise that you are still seeking something, a goal or ambition, but are unaware of what it is.

At your request, we part an afternoon tea in Hyde ballpark. Walking around the lake while I listen to you excuse your dreams and indirect request for your future. How you have recently started to paint and are thinking about embarking on becoming a motivational verbaliser. Of path, I make encouraging comment and tell you that you can become whatever your heart desires.

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

Suddenly, your demeanour has changed and you become quite serious, less flighty or frivolous. It is then that you almost floor me when you ask if I want you. If I could be with you ; could I do it you ?

My answer, when it eventually comes, after a few moment thought, is a negative response. I hasten to tell you that it isn't because you are not desirable ; God knows you are, but you have a way to go on this journey 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 reliable solution even though you tell me you could. Call it inherent aptitude or some born sense, but I fully realise that I would also end up like your husband and the marriage before, that I would not last with you and that you are driven by an unknown need. It is a pauperism that does not tolerate you to settle. You will never get domesticated.

I answer that, yes, I would love to make get laid to you once more when you asked if I would wish that. The positive 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 lunchtime digression around Hyde Park ended up at your new flat in Dixieland West London. The flat is constituent of a changeover of a Georgian family in a fashionable contribution of townspeople that was well furnished and overlooked a huge park.

We made dear. Actually, we fucked each former, spending much meter on mutually stimulating each former's bodies. It was a pleasant time and provided a much needed expiration. However, when we were dressed, I could not avail feeling that, somehow, I had been used to relieve your tensions 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 exam. Within a few mean solar day, you had changed caper and then, shortly after that, you left to go after a new life history motivationally speaking. The last I heard of you was a Face Book message from Australia.

So, I say unto you…

You have never ceased to amaze me. Confound me and somehow, give me feeling as if I had escaped a fate. At the same clip, you are so desirable, intoxicating and an enigma that baffles the judgement.

I hope that one day, you will find your true calling. I hope that you will come up 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 !