For"A"

Perhaps I should excuse. This is a real life, up to the minute bill involving tangible people who, through many intellect, would be vulnerable in both their professional and personal lives if too many details were to be made public. I am sure you, the referee, will forgive the lack of names or accurate location contingent. Those that know me well will probably realize certain aspects and possibly add two and two together. I will have to make out with that, if and when the time comes. My repute, although important to me, is somewhat less of a consideration than ‘ A's'is to both of us.

"A"is a very beautiful fair sex who is not from this country. She is employed by the same constitution as I am. Her role is as my superior's Personal assistant and as such, means we interact almost on a daily basis."A"is forty and is seven years into her second marriage, I have a 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 marriage. ‘ A'only talks about parts of her life outside of work and study related issue. She keeps the rest private and under lock and key. I can infer that and, to a distributor point, empathise with it as well. Coming from Poland and with the upbringing she has had in a strict kinsperson, sharing some selective information is not a natural condition and I wouldn't pry.

She is beautiful with a quirky, lopsided smile that lights up her face and crinkles the recession of her eyes. She is always dressed smartly and has a tendency to wear clothing that hints at the delight beneath, showing just enough cleavage to pull the eye, but not be to a lesser extent than tasteful. Some of her dresses are quite short and can prove flashes of inner second joint 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 unlike length, had cut it. Who am I to discuss or comment on the fashion of whisker ? I cling on to my ultra-thin mop and have it cut as short as possible.

"A"has hazel coloured center that are large 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 sojourn to the fitness cortege and Zumba dance exercises keep her body in great physique. She already had the in good order construction blocks from which to function, the regime has just polished off the boundary to a delightfully visual treat.

"A"is very much my junior in the organisation and geezerhood. My role as a senior manager often involves calling on her services as minute taker in meetings so, we see each other often and have always shared a gag. Joking can be a little unmanageable where her words, although extremely serious, does not necessarily interpret the nuance of humour. I should add, I have my own sense 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 mutual earth. I told her that I now had respective stories published, but would not recite her where to witness them. I wouldn't want her to intend I am some form of pervert, writing erotica in my second childhood. I am lxi, writing came late to me and I have tried to make up for lost time since. I eventually agreed to let her read one of my stories, putting it on a memory stick so she could show it at her leisure."The function"is a small-arm I wrote about a year ago, is humourous, but also tells the tale of a young man in an position environs, full of fair sex who are street fresh. A graphic deion of his sexual encounter is portion of the report, but is not the whole piece, so is lupus erythematosus than adult and I am rather more comfortable in having people read that than some of my former pieces.

I have been married for more than than forty twelvemonth. 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 alternatives to my marriage, I have had rather Sir Thomas More than my fair part of choice mate. Some of them have been one off affairs, but also some very much more intense liaisons that involved rather too much emotion for comfort. I love cleaning woman. I love the tactile property, touch and flavor of them. A good body excites me as does intelligence, wit and sensitivity. If freckle and cat valium eyes are also in the mix, then I am completely fellate away.

From this humble source of sharing my story with her and a few conversations that inevitably ended up about sex in one manikin or another, began the basis of what follows."A"enjoyed the storey and discovered a position to me that very few people know about.'Intriguing'was her deion and from there on, a fantasy was crafted that involved us, in our electric current situation. ‘ A'has to take some credit in the content of the fantasy, 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 surface of a well-maintained carapace beats the centre of a lioness, which would easily rip your bosom out and feed it back to you in small amount of money, just enough to keep your hopes and dreams alive. The trick is getting under that protective shield and then discovering just how trench you have been drawn in. It is frightening how quickly and totally you can be pulled into a funnel web with few pick for dodging.

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

Fantasy.

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

The lock on my situation door was engaged. The visible light were turned down by the dimmer substitution on the wall and the blinds are pulled down to the, floor at the floor to cap windows. As far as potential, we were isolated in my office, a small distance in this huge building. Alone at hold up and this was the mo that we have both desired and thought about. At finally, we are about to consummate our quislingism and what we have been heading towards over these few short weeks.

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

I study you while I sit in my electric chair. Quietly appraising your body and thought process you would expect puzzle naked. Not for the showtime clip, I was looking at you, admiring your feminine shape. My stabilise gaze was unnerving you. Perhaps it was the lack of activity, perhaps a thin impatience that was keeping you marginally off correspondence. Although we both knew what the prompt future held, the deliberate slowness I was adopting, was making you feel more and more aflutter, giving you time to intend, to worry that this might not be such a good melodic theme. Was this the right hand thing to be doing ? Was it too dangerous ? It was a delicious dilemma that was transparently etched across your features and I was enjoying your discomfort.

At death, when I thought you had been standing long enough, I rose from my hot seat and crossed the elbow room, stepping behind you. I remind you, whispering in your ear, to keep your paw behind your back and that they are to stay on there unless I tell you otherwise. I am please by your deference because, although we have spoken as colleagues and then protagonist, before becoming embroiled in this crazy preliminary to this current office, I was not for certain that you would be compliant and, in fact, you have already stated you were not normally submissive.

You tremble. I do not experience if it is nerves or reverence or excitement or a compounding of all of those emotions, rolled into a gnarl of tension. I do know that you will respond all the more while your grass are running at this feverous pitch. That too, pleases me and I am able to slow down and take my meter and delight in the gist every continuation has on you.

Deliberately provocative, I run the backrest of my exponent finger along your jaw line, caressing your hide, passing below your ear and then down the side of your neck, tracing your jugular until it reaches the hollow of your arrest bone. It is the first time I have touched you and I delight in the tremble the sense of touch evinces. Your eyes are half fold, partially hiding your hazel eyes, as if there is too much spark. I notice for the get-go 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 skirt and, when it has fallen to the storey, instruct you to step out of it so that I can blame it up and stead it on a chair. Your blouse, crinkled at the bottom where it was tucked into the waistband of your skirt, covers enough of your gloomy half that your modestness is retained. I intend for that to alter quickly and to keep on you off balance. I want you spooky, unsure and filled with trepidation. It adds to my good sense of excitement and the smell of expectation. The fact that we are in my bureau and vulnerable to a distributor point is not lost on me and adds to the sheer danger of what we are about to do.

And then I tell you to rescind your sleeve. You raise them above your read/write head and shimmy a little to avail the sleeves of the blouse slip over your shoulder joint. The blouse is placed with the wench and your work force return to behind your back without me telling you. That pleases me.

I have long thought you would birth a mythic consistency and I am not in the slightest disappointed as you stand, trembling, in cypher Sir Thomas More than your bra, briefs and horseshoe. You have a material body that seems to me to be made for making love, neither too skinny nor over free weight. Your workouts in the gym are obviously doing you salutary, unmistakable by the condition of your muscle whole tone. Your curves are proportional to your summit and I feel privileged to have you at this moment, in my berth and about to become my lover. You look mythical, fit and glowingly healthy.

The need to bear on your nakedness is almost submerge, a feeling I have grown accustomed to over the in conclusion few weeks. It has been very hard not to reach out and touch you, to save my custody off of you where you have inflamed my desire and intrigued me. Perhaps I am enthralled and enmeshed in your allure.



But, somehow, I manage to resist the urge to strip you of your underwear. Instead, I run my hired hand from behind you, around your waist, lightly running above your hips until my hands meet at your stomach. You shiver and goose bumps take shape on your skin. I have had to demand a one-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 callosity through the layer of trousers. Slowly and as lightly as I possibly can, my hands, in unison, travel upwards until I have your white meat, one in each hand, weighing them and relishing the feel, even through the fabric of your bra, they feel fantastic. They are as arrant as I knew they would be and bear to my pacify massage. I kiss your neck, just below your ear and get my first taste of you and as the gustatory sensation runs over my spit, the olfactory modality of your aroma inflames my nose. The odour you are wearing is one I do not recognise, pernicious, but it has the desired gist and increases my pauperization for you.

My ovolo hook the shoulder shoulder strap of your bra and ease them off of your shoulder joint. I step back to allow me the space between us to unclasp the garment. It means the contact of your hands is broken and for a consequence, I mourn the loss. 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 contact of your men on my hardness. My hands cup your naked breast and your already semi-hard nipples are rubbed and pulled gently between thumb and index finger. They harden and the areoles pucker. A moan escapes from between your lips and I can feel your knee are trembling. I hope they are not going to give out before I am ready to film you. I do not want to pelt along things, needing to take it at a pace that allows for the savouring of each cutaneous senses, each caress, to delight in each and commit it all to memory, to be enjoyed again and again in my individual thoughts.

My thumbs come-on into the elasticated lot of your briefs and ease them down, sliding the garment over your pelvis and down your legs. I tell you to step out of them and post them on top of your bra.

In a interpreter vibrating with mounting passion, I ask you to turn around and, for the beginning time, I see you in your nakedness. The vision is amazing, more than I could have 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 receive you here in this moment of time.

I move to begin to undo the buttons of my shirt. You tell me that you will do that. For a mo I hesitate and then make, I have been rife in undressing you. Now it is your turn to lead the initiative and I should allow for that. You step close while I lean back with my tail end sitting on the sharpness of my desk, my human foot on the floor, wooden leg spread so you can step closely to me.

Slowly, one by one, you undo each clitoris and tear the shirttails from the waistband of my pant. The front pother open, revealing my almost hairless chest. You undo the cuffs, holding my bridge player, palm up and kissing each as the buttons are released.

Your hands residuum against my chest for a here and now, as if testing I am veridical. Then, with care and a soft touch, you ease the shirt over my shoulder and down my arms. It needs me to stand, rising from the desk, so that you can remove and put the shirt to one side. You kneel at my feet and undo the lacing of my shoes. You tell me to raise each pes so that you can relieve each shoe off. As you are putting them to one side, I slip off my socks, using a legerdemain I learned several years ago when I was unable to bend where I had injured myself. You notice what I have done and a plication crosses your forehead. I grin guiltily, but pleased you have not had to deal with my air sock. Of all my clothes, my wind sleeve are something I feel less than happy about.

You step close and osculate my chest, nibbling at my mamilla, which respond immediately, hardening and suddenly tender. While you are kissing and gently biting me, your fingerbreadth manipulate and release my bang and unbutton the girdle of my trousers. Deliberately slowly, you pull the zipper down, brushing against my severeness. You release my tit and kneel to rip my trousers completely down and then, differentiate me to step out of them. They join my shirt.

You kneel again and snog my abdomen. The touch of your lips is galvanising on my skin and I hardly notice that you are pulling my briefs down until my turncock, in its arousal, springs free to point at you, hard and ready. I notice the wry face of surprise when you realise I am hairless, my pet condition.

One human foot at a time, I step out of my briefs so that, they to, can join the sight of my clothes.

You reach toward me and have my rigour in your handwriting while your Pomaderris apetala eye look at me steadily. We are now equal. Neither one of us has dominance and both as vulnerable as each other with the divesting of clothes.

Grasping your waist, I turn you around so that you are leaning against the edge of my desk. I kick the chair out of the way and tell you to persona your legs. I had not forgotten you telling me that receiving oral exam sex was not something you particularly enjoyed, but I also had in judgment that you said you might want to try with me. My intention is really nothing more than to imprint you totally, into my retentivity. I kneel on the floor and fill in your musk. Your natural olfactory property excites my nose, a deep breath is all that is really needed, but the longing to go just that little foster takes me. I savour your natural essence and call your gustation. It is as beguiling as I thought it would be. You are virgin manna from heaven, the elixir of sprightliness and a heady mix. My tongue registers your odor as it slides over your sex, my nose adjure hard against your clitoris. Your tasting is as ambrosia, I knew it would be and I recognise your readiness, tasting your wetness.

It is not yet the decently clip to explore my giving to you of expiation through the actions of my spit. It is perhaps, something to explore when our situation is unlike, when we have time and the luxury of being able to really get to bang each other's bodies. It would involve to be a hotel or something that would allow for perfect freedom.

You decide that the roles should be reversed. You instruct me to stand and, while in the act of becoming upright, you kneel and grasp my intumescent member in your right hired man. Then, you lower your head until your tongue caresses the end, dampening it. Deliciously slowly, your lips region and encircle my cock. The feel, for me, is beyond sublime. For so long, I had imagined and dreamt of a moment like this with you. I could never make conjured up such a God Almighty feeling. I don't roll in the hay how long you keep this up for, clock time slickness by unnoted, I just know I want it to never end.

Eventually though, innate advancement sketch. I have to touch you, to hold you, to feel your body close to mine and to experience your eye drubbing against me. Gently, I grasp your read/write head and guide you to put up. I have to kiss you. I need to kiss you, suddenly and desperately. It is an overpower need the brooks no refusal. Our lips touch and then meld together, sharing breathing spell. Our tongues explore, tasting each early.

Bodies pressed tightly, joined at hip and clasped in implements of war. It is a moment, within a full stop of time that is filled with delights and uncovering 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 become just one organic structure and it is the mo when I know that I am sublimely happy ; joyous even and lust becomes something else entirely.

Kisses are delivered to your neck opening, to your shoulders and throat and are received from you in return. Each light touch of lips and teeth fans the flaming of mounting Passion of Christ. I do not want to hold back any longer, the torment of not being within you is driving me insane. I need you. I want you and know that you feel the same.

You lean against my desk, bending at the hip. It is an invitation for me to join with you in a brotherhood of soundbox, linked by the umbilical cord of my member. Your lower back is caressed by my fingertips, swirling in untraced blueprint. My other hand reaches around and finds your sex. It helps me to guide myself into you.

You say something, but I do not find out it. All of my absorption is centred on entering your body and then to shit love to you as I have wanted to for so long. At terminal, I am buried inside and can find, at the same meter, your heat and wetness as you accept me. For a import, neither of us motion. I am savouring the wondrous feeling of you and want to prolong that feeling for a meter. But, then, the natural rhythm of sex begins to cross-file and our bodies respond to the vociferation of the line. Slowly at first, as if testing the terminus ad quem, but gradually, our thrusts become faster, unattackable and more insistent.

My feet are splayed to maintain symmetry. The stability frees my helping hand to explore, to savvy, massage and hold. I manage to reach 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 plough around. You tell me you want to hold me, you want to see me and witness the moment I surrender my fluids into you.

I kiss your mouth and template you so that you are half sitting on the sharpness of the desk, your infantry on the flooring with your stage apart, ready to pick up me once more. Your arms encircle my neck opening as I find my way into you and, in so pulling me towards you, our lips touch, oral fissure open, breath mingling and sending our temperatures up even further. The dance of sexual intercourse begins again at a pace, mutually decided upon, each guided by the pelvic driving force 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 bosom that helps to cast anchor you and allow your rosehip to act more freely and match my rhythm method of birth control exactly. Your leg encircle me and string me even further into you.

I moan, low and guttural consonant as my vent approach shot. My oral cavity is at your pharynx, kissing and tasting you. Your breath, hot, brushes against my cutis, over my shoulder and into the scruff of my cervix. We each are making racket in the back of our pharynx with the endeavor we are expending. As the moment of mutual climax close on us, our groan become shorter, turning almost, into grunts.

And then, suddenly, the moment of ultimatum arrives. I can hold on no longer. The pulsing of orgasm flood you and, as you feel my seed, your own orgasm blasts through you. Your headway is thrown back, heart tightly shut and your teeth clench as the ripples traverse through you. I clasp you to me, fighting to regain my ventilation. I am lost in you and, for that consequence do not care or even recollect of the aftermath of this outlaw liaison. All consuming is the shared heat we have had. It is a moment that is ageless, timeless and seems to last for an eternity but is only a fade few seconds.

At last, I slip from your body, 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 delicious smile that radiates in my heart.

realism returns to us and reluctantly, we have to scavenge up, have to dress and then go out into the universe 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 grin 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 intellect that I am sure has always been reserved just for you. I wait for your reaction, feeling like a reprobate man, waiting for the scaffold to be finished so that he can climb it to his doom. Is the illusion too much ? Have I taken it too far ? I do not eff and waiting for your reaction is crippling me.

We meet for lunch, choosing a place a few hundred meter away from the College in the new mug and Spencer café in their new building. It is noisy and you struggle to eat the pasta in its clear plastic cocoon. You struggle because of the unquiet latent hostility between us. Outwardly, I seem calm, composed and at ease, but behind the façade is a turmoil of mixed 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 next, you look away as if embarrassed and the grinning fades or intensifies, depending on what goes through your mind. I do get to hear about your chronicle, or at least, as much as you are willing to freely carry. I can not help thinking that something traumatic has happened in your lifetime and dubiety I will ever get to have it away about it.

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

Trying to be object lens, we talk and discuss the phantasy. Our tactile sensation and emotions are scrambled, muddiness and turmoil runs through our veins, replacing corpuscles and platelets, thinning the blood so that the hit of adrenalin is that much harder.

You wondered if this was a prognostication of upshot to come, or a phantasy that is pleasant, but only ever just that, a fancy that we can never venture on. The construct of our fertile mind carries all the authentication of a fledgling office affair that could possibly be the dilapidation of both of us. The risk of find has far reaching effect that could ruin both of our career and could mess up our various marriages. But, there remains this forcible attraction and it is up to us to decide whether to take this to what I am sure, would be a mutually live up to conclusion.

And then again, would this geographic expedition of each former be enough ? Could it be something nonchalant ? Would we want to exert or propagate an occasion that we can only hope to proceed secret ? Somehow I doubt it would ever be a simple affair or a one off. The dynamics of our relationship must change. I may be able to observe sort out my master lifespan and private, but can you ? Emotions have a habit of getting in the way, of being transparent to those we work with.

There is one other question that demands to be asked. Is it better to plan in a count manner or, should it come about spontaneously with all the resultant peril of find ? Could we be objective enough to keep a lid on it ? Or, would we be swept along in the lunar time period of lust, like so a good deal flotsam, and then find ourselves cast adrift when it all eventually falls out to the spreading of our colleagues and then spouses.

I can not make love the solution, but I do I really want to know ? Should I analyse it to that extent ? What I am certain of is that I want to bonk you in the most intimate way and to a point ; could not founder a hang for what may be the termination. I just would not desire for you to be disadvantaged, just because I desire your body. I would not want, for a second, to know that I have been subservient in ruining your view. And, yes, I want to live you, in all of the carnal senses. Seeing you and being so close to you, now that we have shared this story and talked about the possibilities. About the peril of such a liaison and in slightly oblique forays of each other's sexual appetency and preferences, is torture.

The lunchtime clandestine meeting is cut short-change when two fellow sit at an neighboring table. The freedom of talking to is curtailed and we leave shortly after.

I love the way you dress. Revealing tiptop, short dress or tight jean, seem designed to intoxicate, 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 workforce from reaching out and touching you.

I manage it though and would have let this stop as a shared fantasy, pleasant, erotic and rouse, but a fancy 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 mind.

Until.

Last Nox was so close to the illusion of the storey ; it is a sound thing, perhaps, that you had to be somewhere else at a one-fourth past six. When I invited you into my billet, it was not with the aim of adding fuel to the fire or of being quite so stuffy to you. I just wanted to talk. Well, that is not strictly true. The possibleness of holding you, of exploring you is always at the back of my head. But, I was not going to push back it, but rather allow you the place with no pressure.

seance opposite you would have been amercement, but I noticed you pulling your garb down, sub-consciously, I noticed that you were on edge, nervous even. We managed to talk about illogic's, of this and that. We talked about your home and family, of wedding and the like. But, at the same meter that our password bounce off of the bulwark and rattle around in our heads, making small survive impression, the sexual chemical science 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 statement from a few daylight ago, that you were not prepare or prepared for an situation affair. I would hold been content with just spending some time with you, but all the spell, I was watching your body, reading the voice communication that is understood and needs no watchword. I hear you, unable to adjudicate on a subject, battle to put together coherent sentences or finish a train of articulated thought.

But, physical attractor overcomes common sense, over comes rationality. Like paper over rock 'n' roll, the attracter is all too smothering.

Being the contradiction that you are, in one breathing place you are telling me that you are not ready, being sensible, practical. And then, in the following, you tell me to come closer. My declaration, I'm afraid, was not strong enough to assert the blank space between us. You asked me what would happen if I moved closer. I think you know the result and Hope for it, even though everything in your mind is saying no. I told you, in resolution, that I would find it very difficult to celebrate my hands off of you. The enticement of holding you, of kissing you is too strong for me to withstand and I am not sure we would have the ability to block.

Like a moth to flame, I am drawn into your personal space, our respective chairs careering into each other like bumper gondola on genus Castor. 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 tough way. At finish we manage to pull apart, take a breath and look into each other's oculus. It is a brief respite. It gives us both a moment to see our breath and for my heart to move back from breaking out of my chest.

Our hired man rest on each other's thighs, stroking in small handbill movements, skin barely touching. I want to stir you in the most intimate places. The access is there, your short wearing apparel has ridden up, but not enough for me to be able to see the treasures below and that is a good thing, because one touch would ignite the flames like napalm and be just as quenchless. Your sex is hidden from position, but only just and my bridge player are so close, so closemouthed. I can feel your heating system. I absorb it through my skin. It would submit just the merest of movements to be brushing against your labia. I want to go further, to research your inner thighs. The temptation is almost irresistible. It is only forcefulness of will that prevents me. I want to accommodate you in my hands, to caress you, to excite your grass. And I want to go through you. Contradictory as it is, I do not want to frighten you with the military posture of passion you evince in me.

To my amazement, I find I am trembling. My spirit charge against my ribs as carnal thoughts raceway across my thinking like stampeding horse cavalry. I am surprised by the great power of these spirit that I thought had long passed. I am unused to being so attracted, so stuffy to entering into something as all-consuming as this. I sat back, breaking the touch, in an effort to recover some control of the position and my turmoil of sensation. Perhaps it works for a moment, I can not think of now as I write this.

The side by side moment shatters any equilibrium I have regained.

You say that you are tempted to see if that what I wrote was dead on target and start out to sit forward purposefully. I instantly know exactly what you mean and watch as you manage to quit yourself from reaching my zipper to see if I am shaven or not. Although proving it to you would be overnice, I know that we would hold crossed a line from which it would have been extremely difficult to undo. Quite likely, you would have gone to your stifle and taken me in your mouth. I know I would not let stopped you. I doubt I could have stopped you and I wouldn't want to.

But you managed to overturn your inquisitiveness. We kiss instead. I find your mouth and then your neck, kissing below your ear, taking in your odour and loving the effect it has on me."A ”, you inflame me and I want to get you, at that moment, to possess you, your body and your somebody. I want and need you, right there and right wing at that second. It is an all-consuming notion and I know that resisting is almost too hard for me. Somehow though, resist we do.

You rise, it is clip for you to leave and while we stand, we kiss again and clasp each other together. You are a wise intoxication, making my head spin and my heart race. And then, you turn with your dorsum to me, exchangeable to the taradiddle. My hands meet at your stomach while I kiss your cervix. For a moment, I can not observe how this affects you, but then you grasp my paw. I thought it was to pull them free, but no ; you guide them to your breasts and I pull you close, our body blending into one shape.

It has to end. We both have station to be and you ask me to let you go. We kiss once more. Your spine is against the door to my agency. Gently I lift your Kuki-Chin to kiss your throat and then your lips once more. I don't want you to leave, I don't want it to end, but know that it must and so, I open the door for you and like you goodnight and regret that it had to be so.

I do not eff where this is going to go. I have absolutely no inkling of what will happen. One minute of arc, I doubt that we will ever happen a time or blank space to be together. And then, I am trying to work out the how and when. I am distracted and thankful that I will be away playing golf game for a few days so that there is breathing space between us and a chance to think. You are constantly on my judgment and the three daylight golf game is played without my full care. It shows in the scores I have.

One thing that does occur to me is that I might invite you to jaunt out with me to surrey. Perhaps visit a vineyard, the steppingstones and gazebo 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 pudden-head. Why would you require to go there with me ? Why would you desire to go anywhere with me ? I am acting and thinking like a schoolboy and at my age that does not fit very well. It is confusing to me. My usual calm, even-tempered outlook has been turned upside down and I am fresh to being so out of kilter.

I begin to think that, perhaps I can call this in. Put a lid on the unit affair and behave as a mature adult. I resolve to only verbalize to you in a professional personal manner and ignore the emotions that have been stirred up by the attractor we seem to share. On Wednesday morning, I am filled with the strength to extend out my resolution. I do not want to put you in a stead that will make your working life difficult. I know how the post membranophone can scatter rumor and gab faster than anything and, I know just how damaging that can be. But, then I see you and parcel a brief moment and my declaration dissipates into so lots dust.

We only speak briefly on Thursday, just long enough for you to say me that there is a problem in the expanse you work in. Your grimace exhibit your discomfort and frustration. You, tactfully, do not tell me what the problem is, but it is obvious that you are angry, upset and I hope I have not been the movement. Fri is no better. You are sang-froid towards me, aloof and withdrawn. The dazzling smile is not there and I fear that the impact on the evening a few Clarence Shepard Day Jr. before, might have frightened you or made you sit back and need neckcloth. Perhaps it has allowed you to consider whether you are set up or ready to become take in something as mad as this is.

The lack of middleman between us does not allow me to ask you what the job is or if you have decided to end it between us. It is perhaps, a in force matter that I do not get the chance, because your answer would be given while still angry.

I am interviewing at the solitary time you are usable. An crack for beverage after study is denied and I think then, that the decision to cool it is out of my mitt. I think that you have already decided that it is finished before it started. I mourn the missed prospect, 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 strong. I find myself looking for you, hoping to kick downstairs into you, but feeling that somehow, in this large, but limiting building, you are avoiding me.

Tuesday sees a change in position. You smile at me and I am filled with pleasure. It is a beautific grinning that lights up your eye and fills my core with warmheartedness. We have a few present moment, sitting on the chairs in your apportion berth. You give me back the remembering joystick with the fantasy on it. It is, you tell me, unread since the alterations were made. I am okay with that, but would give liked it if you had read it, if only for your input. I understand your reasoning and can not charge you for not opening the file.

Without saying too much, you reaffirm that an office intimacy is something you do not wish to get into. It would be too difficult and perplex and I agree, but wish otherwise. You ask that I do not intend of you badly and I ask how I could. I found it flattering, exciting and I found it to be a surprisal at this stage of my life. It is almost as much a frisson, knowing that it had been a real hypothesis, than if we had actually managed to get together.

We agree to get a coffee berry during the hebdomad and to get an uninterrupted conversation. It will have to be in the canteen to avoid any probability of becoming too close or to refer. 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 probability to verbalise. You tell me a little of your stay with your family in Poland, but as usual, you keep contingent limited and private. The photos you put on font Book show some of the places you visited, but none of your phratry. I don't leave a input on them, knowing that your husband has access to your aspect book Page. We may not be having an affair, but I would not want to add fuel to any dispute you are having.

I notice while we speak, that your trunk language is subject, inviting even, and, while your mind and words are holding me off, your consistency has early intentions. Your hands are expressive and you sit back, ramification uncrossed, showing me the duration 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 brief metre in my office when we almost acted it out was very turn on, but practicalities and commitments overtake lot. You are telling me, not in so many quarrel, that it will not happen.

The opportunity was for me, thrilling, confusing and did something for my aging ego. The fact that a beautiful charwoman, such as you are, should learn a fancy to my old somebody, does more for me than I can explain. I have always been a sexual man, but had put sex to one side of meat over the conclusion few old age as something younger multitude did and not the old fogey sitting paired you.

I am excepting of your conclusion, but at the Lapplander time, find as if I missed an opportunity. Privately, I am blaming myself, thinking that coming on so strong in the office, was a blunder, clumsy on my region and, had I not been so eagre, may still be alive. It surprises me that I should accept been quite so cumbersome. I never have been before.

For a few weeks, our contact is sporadic and only in the professional capacities of our various positions. I do ascertain though, that my discussion 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 conscious effort to being the same guy I have always been with you. Now that I have realised my folly and vengefulness, we are capable to relax around each former and are friends again. Hell ! We even share jokes and manage to laugh.

My annual leave arrived. Two weeks in Wales, visiting historic places, rook and riding steam railways. It is a time to slacken and enjoy the company of my wife. We have dissimilar interests, but have shared a life-time together. The weather is hit and miss, but on the unit, I have enjoyed the time away. It has given me time to reflect on the cobbler's last few weeks.

I am fairly certain 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 in been you making the running. Who knows ? But I chalk it up to experience and think that it will remain in my memory as an opportunity missed, but would doubtless receive had a disastrous outcome. My time away also allows me to worry about the news I was given before I went. The organisation is going through something of a restructure. I had a feeling that my neck opening was on the block as a possible casualty. It was a bombshell to find that I was actually being promoted and would be adding the Computer Support social unit to my already far reaching remits. In recognition for the increase of obligation, my plan to cut back on working time was accepted, but I would not miss any earnings entitlement or downgrade of yearbook leave. Wow ! My headache was that the team I am inheriting will be impeding ; their trueness to a long term manager is likely to be quite a hurdle to overcome.

You are on my mind all the meter I am away. Even though I know we will not be getting together, you have made that champaign. I still can not eradicate the thought that it is something I want, badly. It is a selfish thought 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 befall. I mean… what possible undecomposed to come out of it, early than sexual pleasure ? By the end of the vacation, I am resigned and accepting of how it needs to be.

Weeks have gone by now and I have adopted my new, elevated status. The expected objection and impedimenta has been over-come. The teams have eventually realised that, it has been at the dying of their respective managers, the display goes on and the project they have devoted time to, will remain to mop up. The intemperate obstruction for my new charges is the doubt of the future. Having to relieve one point two million hammering is no small feat ; much of what we have done and provided over the chronicle of the constitution will have to switch to more popular courses. It means some radical changes and red of tenacious term staff.

My interaction with you has been cool since my rejoinder from holiday. forgetful conversations have been the exclusively contact, passing of papers and a grin, but cipher more. I am comfortable with the billet, although I take the occasional look at your body and wish well I could get very much closer to your skin. You look fantastic and the newsworthiness that you are to act as voice to a new link with a Russian speech production school from Kazakhstan is wonderful. It secures your future tense in the organisation and I am pleased for you.

The shake- up of the elder Manager Team has caused quite a lot of upheaval and no diminished amount of disruption. The strategic aims of the organisation have shifted and perhaps, the long biz has become a little doomed in the fall-out.

The board of Governors announce that we are all to assist a managing director's group discussion weekend at the ‘ orchard'in Hertfordshire. A retreat and mapping core. The aim is to collectively decide how the College will go forward and to readjust the strategic aims for the future. It is time to get on the bus and share the future, or get off now and find another causal agent to espouse, in another place.

I arrive early to take advantage of the golf course of action and a free beat.

The first of all bout of talks and motivational utterer is to take place the next morning. I have attended a similar calendar week end some eight long time before so bed what to bear. I didn't smell like getting slaughtered in the bar with my compeer, so shower down and went to bed too soon. Tomorrow will be arduous in the least.

My bedside telephone rings and a one eyed smell at the clock let me cognise it is xi thirty. I had been asleep, happily dreaming, probably. I pick it up to get a line a momentaneous pause and then the Aaron Burr of an unconnected phone. I growl at the interruption of my eternal rest and nest down under the eiderdown to try and return to whatever I had been dreaming of.

A few second later, I hear a easy knock on my door. My center open and I wait to see if it was vision. The bash comes again, a little more insistent this fourth dimension. I throw back the bed screening and grab a towelling robe from the back of the bathroom threshold. I have just knotted the whack 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 sheaf of papers. I say your public figure as a motion, what are you doing knocking on my door at this metre of dark ?

You are unsure of how these events go. As P.A. you will be providing the endorse up ; setting the papers for the day's topics, taking notes and so on. You are nervous you tell me and needed some reassurance. Would I go through the itinerary with you as your most trusted friend ? I ask you to fall in and I make a cup of tea while you spread your newspaper publisher all over the bed.

It was quickly obvious that you had everything in Holy Order. We ran through the agenda and found that all the back papers are in order. A pretty slick job and I tell you that you should not be so shy of your power when you rarely make mistakes.

I am thinking that, perhaps you had an ulterior motivation for knocking my door, That it isn't entirely about getting everything in lodge for the adjacent day's event. But, keep it to myself and wait to see how things pan out.

You ask if I have anything to drink in. The mini bar doesn't have a great option, a ace malt whisky, some red wine a toy feeding bottle of Hennessey brandy and a few mixers. You settle on a brandy and swill it in the glass, like a cognoscente, sniffing the aroma before taking a sip. You put the chicken feed down and without saying anything, begin to undo the button 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 traverse you, but also knowing that, until now, it had been you who called a halt to thing. I am reminded that the whole matter is unequal and you are very much in the driving seat.

You ignore me and take the shirt. Your pelt looks very white in the austere light source coming from the pendant fitting and is made to calculate whiter in contrast to the bra you are wearing.

You unbutton your jean and slide them over your hips. Your underclothes is also black-market and I admit, my eye is drawn to your sex, the vee shape of your panties acts like a cursor. Reaching behind your back, you unclasp your bra to reveal your breasts. You have small nipples and areoles that are only slightly blue than your skin. The time in the gym has toned your musculus structure. You are svelte, but not scraggy. The major musculus 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 manpower grasp the belt of my robe and untie the knot, allowing the robe to fall open. I have cipher on underneath.

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

You kneel and wrap your rectify helping hand around my hardening peter, rubbing slowly and with a deft ghost, circle my rapidly stiffening cock. You look up into my oculus and afford your mouth and lick 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 recall. I have dreamt of just such a moment. The reality is much better than the vision could take conjured up.

Slowly, you take me into your mouth while your bridge player gently pumps me. You suck the inch that has passed your brim. It is a divine smell and quickly has me as hard as I have ever been. You stick your glossa out and slide as much of me as you can between your tooth and make an mmm strait of delight. The reverberation creates a delightful feeling that travels right up to my mental capacity. I am sure as shooting I groan at the sheer delight of having you as I had hoped for, as I had dreamed.

You are unable to keep eye contact and set out to suck in earnest. The pressure is wonderful, but I can not take into account it to go on for much longer. The tingling is so unspoiled that I know I will detonate far too former. All pretence of defence has fled. I want this as practically as I have wanted anything.

I grasp your forefront and impulse you to stand up which you do, but it seemed, reluctantly. I kiss your oral cavity, tasting myself on your lips and run my workforce over your body. You feel exquisite. Your hide is soft to the touch and warm. You stand, facing me as I stroke your neck, shoulders and cup your knocker in my hands. Your small teat harden under my thenar. It is difficult to do it 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 corner of your mouth.

I decide that it is my turn to give you the pleasure of unwritten sex. I do recall you telling me that you prefer to give 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 lover of yours. But, to me, it is a lifelike Order of affair. I do not just accept without giving back.

I sit you on the edge of the armchair that is usual in in a stock hotel elbow room. But, before your bottom balance on the cushion, I have tugged the waistband of your panties down. I would not have guessed that your instinctive colour is brown. It is, at least, the colouration of your pubic hair, neatly trimmed into a vee shape.

You shake your head when you realise what I am about to do from my kneeling position, but like you, I ignore your objection and patrician pry your stifle apart.

You smell divine. That hint of musk which is intimate as of cleaning lady, but subtly unlike to any other, as it should be. I nuzzle against your pubic pearl and imprint your aroma in my memory and taste it as it passes over my sinus. Your taste, when my tongue reaches out to parting your lips, is also committed to memory. You are wet already and it is the first gear very signboard I have that your soundbox is responding.

It would be too slow to just plunk into you and perhaps, spoil the social function with hurry. I managed to take it slowly, just licking you with the tip of my lingua, over and around your vulva and then to your clit while my hands stroke your thighs.

I am rewarded by a thin lift of your pelvis as you anticipate my tongue grazing against your nub. And, then when it flicks over that heart and soul of cheek endings, I hear a small intake of breath. I notice that you are gripping the arms of the electric chair and that your knuckles are white. These are small indications that I am pleasing you and I think to myself that, these lowly signs maybe all I get as indicant in mortal who is so undemonstrative as you are. It is something quite different from former lovers I have had and means that I need to pay special attention and concentrate on the subtlety of your reactions.

You shift forward on the boundary of the death chair and open your branch wider to allow a large access to you. I take it as an invitation to get into you with my knife. My right helping hand is straight on your lower stomach, just above your pubic bone. Gentle, with the least amount of insistence I can convey, I pull your tegument up which brings your mouth and incoming to an angle that is more comfortable for me with less strain on the back of my neck opening. My mouth interruption contact lens for a moment and I look into your optic. The hazelnut tree has become quite dark, brown almost, as you stare steadily at me, pupils dilated as if to study in all and everything at once.

Slowly, I lower my fountainhead, closing the outer space between us and then campaign my extended tongue between your lips. You rock your pelvis and suddenly, your bridge player are gripping the backbone of my head, grinding my face into you. I suck you into my mouth, delving as deeply as I can and then pulling your lips between my tooth, sucking them and mashing my nose over your clit.

You shudder and pull my nous 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 little triumph that you had enjoyed something you previously had not.

I stand up, knees creaking and cracking and consume the papers off of the bed, placing them on the medical dressing table carefully so that they do not get mixed up. You rise from the death chair and take on the three or four whole step to the bed. I realise again, that you have a fabulous body and say you so. A smile is my answer as your kneeling on the boundary of the bed, waiting for me to link you.

My gown hits the floor and is discarded. I have never been embarrassed by bleakness. I am golden that I am not corpulence and even, for a man of my age, have kept reasonably fit. But somehow, in movement of you, I am acutely aware that I am so much sometime and fret momentarily, that you will not wish what you see. I push it to one side and get on the bed as quickly as possible.



You fall into my arms, your consistence warm and soft. Your frowzled blond coloured haircloth tickles the pelt on my berm. I kiss you. Our back talk open and glossa caressing each other's. The heat between us builds up, reaching a fever pitch as our bodies meld into each early. Your breast fits into my hand. The hard nub of your nipple presses into my palm and look like it belongs there.

You throw a leg over me, pressing your pubic bone against my thigh and rub yourself against me. Your pattern reserve is being let loose, put to one side as basic instinct and indigence takes over. I can feel your heart tripping against your ribs under my hand and your ventilation is rapid, drawn between our lips which are still joined.

You push me onto my dorsum and straddle me. I enter you easily ; a perfective fit and I hold my breath for a present moment, waiting for you to impale yourself fully. It is deliciously slowly that your back arch and centimetre by centimeter, you sink down on my duration. You place your workforce on my pectus as a brace and start to rock. I am subject to lay still and look out you, wassail in your beauty. Your mouth is open, dragging in air and your oculus are closed. You look beautiful and I marvel at your perfect bod, unblemished, pristine and fucking me.

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

You quicken the pace, your hips rocking, driving me deeply into you and rubbing your clit against me, your need to orgasm is becoming greater. I decide, without really thinking about it, to chip in towards your quest for fulfilment and start to thrust up, increasing my profoundness and the pressure on your clit as we bang together.

You push up into a squatting stance, your hands cup your breasts and you pinch your nipples between thumb and the side of your forefinger, pulling viciously as if punishing them as your orgasm access. Working in counterpoint, my organ plunges deeply and then almost is withdrawn. It is a pace that I will not be able-bodied to maintain, but it will not weigh too much. You are growling now, a mysterious throated growl which, at any other time, would make me laugh, but now is signifying your reaching. I can feel your sex gripping me tightly, massaging my cock and your inner walls, bringing me to my own moment of keen bliss.

It hits you suddenly. Your head is thrown back, pilus flailing. Your nipper like hands grip your breasts, far firmly than I would have done. knuckle duster gabardine as the flesh is tortured. I think you will scream, but instead you groan and grit your dentition. Your eyes squeezed tightly shut. Knowing you have reached your goal, my own climax is realised. In almost painful blasts, my source is pumped inscrutable inside you. I grasp your thighs and try to delve even deeply, as if trying to be completely immersed inside of your eubstance, subsumed and joined for all time.

We stay, joined and immobile for many minutes. I am trying to retrieve control of my breath and reduce my essence rate to something near normal. Your centre open and see me silently in a steady gaze. And then I see a teardrop glide over your buttock. I reach up and cup your cheek in my hand. You lean into my palm as another buck leaves your eyes.

This will never happen again you tell me as my pecker and germ faux pas from your body. It can never ever occur 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 words when you told me you did not want to participate into an liaison. But, then, tonight, you arrive at my door and choose the lead, only to state me afterwards, that that is it. Never to be repeated. Do you expect me to just bury it ? Chalk it up to live ? foretell it a pleasant interlude ? Because, yes, it was all of those, but also, it was something special for me. Unexpected and a sheer delectation and a reassertion 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 come to my room ? I do not wait an answer and do not get one.

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

You pick up the newspaper publisher you brought with you. Kiss my mouth and then mooring from the room as silently as you came, leaving me to deal with the aftermath of our sex and the muddiness you have caused.

I can not serve but feel that this was more about your own gratification ; that, where there was a distinct lack of extended arousal or preamble, you were satisfying yourself and nothing else. Away from home and husband, knowing you would have a will partner, you took the opportunity to take advantage of my inability to say no to you. The altogether episode took less than an hour, the sex less than half of that clock time and quite different from how I envisaged it might be. For me, the sex was nice, a pleasant acquittance and an unexpected climax, but it lacked that certain something which makes it great. Perhaps it is that there was no romance in the event, a band aid almost, devoid of feelings or emotion, no fondness or common foreplay. It had cipher to do with love and that I find, difficult to take.

The Management weekend passes in a hectic circle of inspirational talk. It is a in use clip, punctuated by meal rupture and another dark. 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 duration. 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 frigidness 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 mind, I will not figure in your thinking again. It is frigidity and my ruling of you changes a bit. I could understand the blowing hot and frigidity, putting that down to heart, but find this utter shut out beyond me. I back off and try to keep our meetings to the very minimum possible.

That was five weeks ago. metre 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 same age as me. I think about warning him, but decide he is old enough to assort it out for himself. I do wonder though, what it is you are looking for or are you just vibrate seeking ? I feel some pity for him and know what he is likely to go through.

I wish you good luck in your quest, if that is what it is and Bob Hope that one day, you will see that which you seek. I know it is not I and I believe you do not know what it is either.

When this started, my emotions were smashed beyond control. It started out as something exciting, thrilling even and a encouragement to my ego. I could not understand why you chose to get take with me. Why you were keen and then did a one hundred and eighty degree good turn 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 things are and after that undivided Nox, I considered changing the title, but decided against it.

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

It may seem to be a confusing storey to read, but that is how it happened. It was a fox prison term for me and I thought it was for you too. But, now I believe you had an ulterior motif from the start. One I can not think at perhaps, but I do think you had some form of design. Then again, your tears after consummation were quite rattling and the exclusively time I have seen actual emotion from you.

‘ A ’, you are an riddle to me ; A conundrum and quite frankly, the cleaning woman of my pipe dream, but a nightmare to be with. I could never sense any form of correspondence and that is quite disconcerting for me.

The story has taken months to save. Not because I am a dim writer, but because it has been done as the events unfolded. It started out as a phantasy we might throw shared and ends in that one, for me, extra Nox. I don't know whether to give thanks you or swear you.

Take care my sexual love and good chance with your search. I truly hope you find what your heart desires.

That, my protagonist, would seem to be the end of the account. Not so.

Several months later, when you had either become drill with my surrogate fantasy, you inform me that you and your husband of seven twelvemonth have amicably parted. Both of your marriages lasted the same measure of time. Privately, I think that you have experienced that notorious seven-year itch. Thinking further, I realise that you are still seeking something, a goal or ambitiousness, but are unaware of what it is.

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

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

Suddenly, your deportment has changed and you become quite serious, less skittish 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 be intimate you ?

My response, when it eventually comes, after a few second thought, is a negative response. I hasten to state 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 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 unfeigned resolution even though you tell me you could. Call it instinct or some innate common sense, but I fully realise that I would also end up like your husband and the marriage before, that I would not go with you and that you are driven by an obscure need. It is a need that does not reserve you to settle. You will never become domesticated.

I answer that, yes, I would love to make jazz to you once Thomas More when you asked if I would like that. The positive answer is qualified in that it would be devoid of emotion. I had realised that we would never be anything Thomas More than sexual mate in the humble 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 parkland ended up at your new categorical in Confederacy Mae West London. The flat is portion of a conversion of a Georgian house in a fashionable part of town that was well supply and overlooked a huge park.

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

I told you goodbye just before the door closed on me. Goodbye it was. A parting that seemed to be final examination. Within a few twenty-four hours, you had changed jobs and then, shortly after that, you left to prosecute a new career 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 perplex me. discombobulate me and somehow, pull up stakes me feeling as if I had escaped a fate. At the Same time, you are so desirable, intoxicating and an secret that baffles the mind.

I hope that one day, you will find your unfeigned calling. I hope that you will chance 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 !