collection of stories you shouldn't read at work
He might have fallen in love with her two heartbreaks ago. But it wasn’t two heartbreaks ago it was now. And now he just wanted her in his bed naked and spread wide apart at the hips, moaning and gasping as he pushed her sweet ass into the mattress again and again. Someone else could give her chocolates and roses. He didn’t hate women, he just didn’t trust them.
Drinks. Laughs. Sex. Perfect. Nothing more. The only long term relationship he had or wanted was with his dog.
She was the type of woman he never imagined being with in any situation; certainly not in his bed. Yet, he caressed and kissed and filled her during six Autumn weeks five years ago. Tasted her lips and touched her soft and pliant body. Heard her moan as she raised her full hips to meet his deep thrusts. Felt her contract on him as she climaxed, her dark eyes closed, her brown cheeks flushed, and her breath ragged gasps as she was engulfed in repeated waves of pleasure that pulsed through her writhing young body; the depth and fullness of her lust exposed to him without inhibition. Raw and absolutely genuine, with what seemed to him a strange innocence.
His life until that Autumn had been solitary; he had been touched so few times a part of him had shriveled like a dead brown leaf, curled in on itself. He taught literature and wrote unpublished novels and poems, collected in drawers, like the sad yearning pleas of gray passed over spinsters, losing more life with each passing year.