For “A”

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For “A”

Perhaps I should explain. This is a real life, up to the minute account involving real people who, through many reasons, 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 names 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 important to me, is somewhat less of a consideration 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 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 work related topics. She keeps the rest private and under lock and key. I can understand that and, to a point, empathise with it as well. Coming from Poland and with the upbringing she has had in a strict family, sharing some 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 corners of her eyes. She is always dressed smartly and has a tendency to wear clothing 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 short and can show flashes of inner thigh that tantalises these senses that I suffer with. If I were being unkind, I would say that her hairstyle is not flattering. If I were really being unkind, I would say that it looks as if a myopic gardener, being many different lengths, had cut it. Who am I to discuss or comment on the fashion of hair? I cling on to my ultra-thin mop and have it cut as short as possible.

“A” has hazel coloured eyes that are large and expressive. They convey her moods by changing colour, deepening into a darker hazel when she is aroused or troubled. Her mouth has this lilt to it and is slightly asymmetrical. I find it endearing. Her regular visits to the fitness suite and Zumba dance exercises keep her body in great shape. She already had the right building blocks from which to work, the regime has just polished off the edges to a delightfully visual treat.

“A” is very much my junior in the organisation and years. 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 laugh. Joking can be a little difficult where her language, although extremely good, does not necessarily translate the nuances 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 common ground. I told her that I now had several stories published, but would not tell her where to find them. I wouldn’t want her to think I am some kind of pervert, writing erotica in my dotage. I am sixty-one, writing came late to me and I have tried to make up for lost time since. I eventually agreed to let her read one of my stories, putting it on a memory stick so she could read it at her leisure. “The Office” is a piece I wrote about a year ago, is humorous, but also tells the tale of a young man in an office environment, full of women who are street smart. A graphical deion of his sexual encounter is part of the story, but is not the whole piece, so is less than pornographic and I am rather more comfortable 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 alternatives to my marriage, I have had rather more than my fair share of alternative partners. Some of them have been one off affairs, but also some very much more intense liaisons that involved rather too much emotion for comfort. I love women. I love the feel, touch and smell of them. A good body excites me as does intelligence, wit and sensitivity. If freckles and green eyes are also in the mix, then I am completely blown away.

From this humble beginning of sharing my story with her and a few conversations that inevitably ended up about sex in one form or another, began the basis of what follows. “A” enjoyed the story and discovered a side 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 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 heart of a lioness, which would easily rip your heart out and feed it back to you in small amounts, just enough to keep your hopes and dreams alive. The trick is getting under that protective shield and then discovering just how deep you have been drawn in. It is frightening how quickly and totally you can be pulled into a funnel web with few options for escape.

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

Fantasy.

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

The 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, floor at the floor to ceiling windows. As far as possible, we were isolated in my office, a small space in this huge building. Alone at last and this was the moment that we have both desired and thought about. At last, we are about to consummate our collaboration and what we have been heading towards over these few short weeks.

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

I study you while I sit in my chair. Quietly appraising your body and thinking you would look amazing naked. Not for the first time, I was looking at you, admiring your feminine shape. My steady gaze was unnerving you. Perhaps it was the lack of activity, perhaps a slight impatience that was keeping you marginally off balance. Although we both knew what the immediate future held, the deliberate slowness I was adopting, was making you feel more and more nervous, giving you time to think, to worry that this might not be such a good idea. Was this the right 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 last, when I thought you had been standing long enough, I rose from my chair and crossed the room, stepping behind you. I remind you, whispering in your ear, to keep your hands behind your back and that they are to stay there unless I tell you otherwise. I am pleased by your compliance because, although we have spoken as colleagues and then friends, before becoming embroiled in this crazy prelude to this current situation, I was not sure that you would be compliant and, in fact, you have already stated you were not normally submissive.

You tremble. I do not know if it is nerves or fear or excitement or a combination of all of those emotions, rolled into a knot of tension. I do know that you will 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 time and delight in the effect every continuation has on you.

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

Standing behind you once more, I pull down the zipper of your skirt and, when it has fallen to the floor, instruct you to step out of it so that I can pick it up and place it on a chair. Your blouse, crinkled at the bottom where it was tucked into the waistband of your skirt, covers enough of your lower half that your modesty is retained. I intend for that to change quickly and to keep you off balance. I want you nervous, unsure and filled with trepidation. It adds to my sense of excitement and the feeling of expectation. The fact that we are in my office and vulnerable to a point is not lost on me and adds to the sheer danger of what we are about to do.

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

I have long thought you would have a fabulous body and I am not in the slightest disappointed as you stand, trembling, in nothing more than your bra, briefs and shoes. You have a figure that seems to me to be made for love, neither too skinny nor over weight. Your workouts in the gymnasium are obviously doing you good, evident by the condition of your muscle tone. Your curves are proportional to your height and I feel privileged to have you at this moment, in my office and about to become my lover. You look fabulous, fit and glowingly healthy.

The need to touch your nakedness is almost overwhelming, a feeling I have grown accustomed to over the last few weeks. It has been very difficult not to reach out and touch you, to keep my hands off of you where you have inflamed my desire and intrigued me. Perhaps I am enthralled and enmeshed in your allure.

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

My thumbs hook the shoulder straps of your bra and ease them off of your shoulders. 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 moment, 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 hands on my hardness. My hands cup your naked breasts and your already semi-hard nipples are rubbed and pulled gently between thumb and forefinger. They harden and the areoles pucker. A moan escapes from between your lips and I can feel your knees are trembling. I hope they are not going to give out before I am ready to take you. I do not want to rush things, needing to take it at a pace that allows for the savouring of each touch, each caress, to delight in each and commit it all to memory, to be enjoyed again and again in my private thoughts.

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

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

I move to begin to undo the buttons 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 turn to take the initiative and I should allow that. You step close while I lean back with my arse sitting on the edge of my desk, my feet on the floor, legs spread so you can step closely to me.

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

Your hands rest against my chest for a moment, as if testing I am real. Then, with care and a soft touch, you ease the shirt over my shoulders 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 laces of my shoes. You tell me to lift each foot so that you can ease each shoe off. As you are putting them to one side, I slip off my socks, using a trick I learned several years ago when I was unable to bend where I had injured myself. You notice what I have done and a crease crosses your brow. I grin guiltily, but pleased you have not had to deal with my socks. Of all my apparel, my socks are something I feel less than happy about.

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

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

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

You reach toward me and take my hardness in your hand while your hazel eyes look at me steadily. We are now equals. 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 part your legs. I had not forgotten you telling me that receiving oral sex was not something you particularly enjoyed, but I also had in mind that you said you might want to try with me. My intention is really nothing more than to imprint you totally, into my memory. I kneel on the floor and take in your musk. Your natural scent excites my nose, a deep breath is all that is really needed, but the longing to go just that little further takes me. I savour your natural perfume and anticipate your taste. It is as enticing as I thought it escort kocaeli would be. You are pure manna from heaven, the elixir of life and a heady mix. My tongue registers your aroma as it slides over your sex, my nose pressed hard against your clit. Your taste is as nectar, I knew it would be and I recognise your readiness, tasting your wetness.

It is not yet the right time to explore my gift to you of satisfaction through the actions of my tongue. It is perhaps, something to explore when our situation is different, when we have time and the luxury of being able to really get to know each other’s bodies. It would need to be a hotel or something that would allow for complete 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 turgid member in your right hand. Then, you lower your head until your tongue caresses the end, dampening it. Deliciously slowly, your lips part and encircle my cock. The feeling, for me, is beyond sublime. For so long, I had imagined and dreamt of a moment like this with you. I could never have conjured up such a divine feeling. I don’t know how long you keep this up for, time slips by unmarked, I just know I want it to never end.

Eventually though, natural progression resumes. I have to touch you, to hold you, to feel your body close to mine and to feel your heart beating against me. Gently, I grasp your head and guide you to stand. I have to kiss you. I need to kiss you, suddenly and desperately. It is an overwhelming need the brooks no refusal. Our lips touch and then meld together, sharing breath. Our tongues explore, tasting each other.

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

Kisses are delivered to your neck, to your shoulders and throat and are received from you in return. Each brush of lips and teeth fans the flames of mounting passion. 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 union of bodies, linked by the umbilical cord of my member. Your lower back is caressed by my fingertips, swirling in untraced patterns. My other hand reaches around and finds your sex. It helps me to guide myself into you.

You say something, but I do not hear it. All of my concentration is centred on entering your body and then to make love to you as I have wanted to for so long. At last, I am buried inside and can feel, at the same time, your heat and wetness as you accept me. For a moment, neither of us moves. I am savouring the wondrous feeling of you and want to prolong that feeling for a time. But, then, the instinctive rhythm of sex begins to register and our bodies respond to the call of the tune. Slowly at first, as if testing the limits, but gradually, our thrusts become faster, stronger and more insistent.

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

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

I kiss your mouth and guide you so that you are half sitting on the edge of the desk, your feet on the floor with your legs apart, ready to receive me once more. Your arms encircle my neck as I find my way into you and, in so pulling me towards you, our lips touch, mouths open, breath mingling and sending our temperatures up even further. The dance of copulation 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 dark, darker than the hazel they normally are. You smile at me and then clasp me closely in an embrace that helps to anchor you and allow your hips to move more freely and match my rhythm exactly. Your legs encircle me and draw me even further into you.

I moan, low and guttural as my release 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 neck. We each are making noises in the back of our throats with the efforts we are expending. As the moment of mutual climax 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 pulses of orgasm flood you and, as you feel my seed, your own orgasm blasts through you. Your head 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 moment do not care or even think of the consequences of this illicit liaison. All consuming is the shared passion we have had. It is a moment that is ageless, timeless and seems to last for an eternity but is only a fleeting few seconds.

At last, I slip from your body, but do not 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 office door. Only now, the world has a new slant on it. Our secret is unknown past the walls of this office and to those we work with, who know us well, are mystified by our constant smile as we go through our days.

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

We meet for lunch, choosing a place a few hundred metres away from the College in the new Marks 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 nervous tension 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 smile fades or intensifies, depending on what goes through your mind. I do get to hear about your history, or at least, as much as you are willing to freely impart. I cannot help thinking that something traumatic has happened in your life and doubt I will ever get to know about it.

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

Trying to be objective, we talk and discuss the fantasy. Our feelings and emotions are scrambled, confusion and excitement 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 prediction of events to come, or a fantasy that is pleasant, but only ever just that, a fantasy that we can never embark on. The construct of our fertile minds carries all the hallmarks of a fledgling office affair that could possibly be the ruin of both of us. The danger of discovery has far reaching consequences that could ruin both of our careers and could mess up our respective marriages. But, there remains this physical attraction and it is up to us to decide whether to take this to what I am sure, would be a mutually satisfying conclusion.

And then again, would this exploration of each other be enough? Could it be something casual? Would we want to maintain or propagate an affair that we can only hope to keep 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 keep separate my professional life 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 calculated manner or, should it happen spontaneously with all the resultant risks of discovery? Could we be objective enough to keep a lid on it? Or, would we be swept along in the tide of lust, like so much flotsam, and then find ourselves cast adrift when it all eventually falls out to the dissemination of our colleagues and then spouses.

I cannot know the answers, 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 know you in the most intimate way and to a point; could not give a hang for what may be the outcome. I just would not want for you to be disadvantaged, just because I desire your body. I would not want, for a second, to know that I have been instrumental in ruining your position. And, yes, I want to know 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 danger of such a liaison and in slightly oblique forays of each other’s sexual appetites and preferences, is torture.

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

I love the way you dress. Revealing tops, short dresses or tight jeans, 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 hands from reaching out and touching you.

I manage it though and would have let this stay as a shared fantasy, pleasant, erotic and exciting, but a fantasy 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 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 quarter past six. When I invited you into my office, it was not with the intention of adding fuel to the fire or of being quite so close to you. I just wanted to talk. Well, that is not strictly true. The possibility of holding you, of exploring you is always at the back of my mind. But, I was not going to drive it, but rather allow you the space with no pressure.

Sitting opposite you would have been fine, 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 marriages and the like. But, at the same time that our words bounce off of the walls and rattle around in our heads, making little lasting 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 statement from a few days ago, that you were not ready or prepared for an office affair. I would have been content with just spending some time with you, but all the while, I was watching your body, reading the language that is silent and needs no words. I hear you, unable to settle on a subject, struggle to put together coherent sentences or finish a train of articulated thought.

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

Being the contradiction that you are, in one breath you are telling me that you are not ready, being sensible, practical. And then, in the next, you tell me to come closer. My resolve, I’m afraid, was not strong enough to maintain the space between us. You asked me what would happen if I moved closer. I think you know the answer and hope for it, even though everything in your mind is saying no. I told you, in answer, that I would find it very difficult to keep my hands off of you. The temptation of holding you, of kissing you is too strong for me to resist and I am not sure we would have the ability to stop.

Like a moth to flame, I am drawn into your personal space, our respective chairs careering into each other like bumper cars on castors. As if of their own volition, my hands are holding your face, angling it up so that our mouths touch, lip to lip and then, touch again and again. I kiss your neck as you clasp me to you and I want you. I want you in the worse way. At last we manage to pull apart, take a breath and look into each other’s eyes. It is a brief respite. It gives us both a moment to catch our breath and for my heart to recede from breaking out of my chest.

Our hands rest on each other’s thighs, stroking in small circular movements, skin barely touching. I want to touch you in the most intimate places. The access is there, your short dress 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 unquenchable. Your sex is hidden from view, but only just and my hands are so close, so close. I can feel your heat. I absorb it through my skin. It would take just the merest of movements to be brushing against your labia. I want to go further, to explore your inner thighs. The temptation is almost irresistible. It is only force of will that prevents me. I want to hold you in my hands, to caress you, to excite your senses. And I want to consume you. Contradictory as it is, I do not want to frighten you with the strength of passion you evince in me.

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

The next moment shatters any equilibrium I have regained.

You say that you are tempted to see if that what I wrote was true and begin to sit forward purposefully. I instantly know exactly what you mean and watch as you manage to stop yourself from reaching my zipper to see if I am shaven or not. Although proving it to you would be nice, I know that we would have crossed a line from which it would have been extremely difficult to undo. Quite likely, you would have gone to your knees and taken me in your mouth. I know I would not have 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 mouth and then your neck, kissing below your ear, taking in your aroma and loving the effect it has on me. “A”, you inflame me and I want to take you, at that moment, to possess you, your body and your soul. I want and need you, right there and right at that second. It is an all-consuming feeling and I know that resisting is almost too hard for me. Somehow though, resist we do.

You rise, it is time for you to leave and while we stand, we kiss again and clasp each other together. You are a heady intoxication, making my head spin and my heart race. And then, you turn with your back to me, similar to the story. My hands meet at your stomach while I kiss kocaeli anal yapan escort your neck. For a moment, I cannot detect how this affects you, but then you grasp my hands. I thought it was to pull them free, but no; you guide them to your breasts and I pull you close, our 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 back is against the door to my office. Gently I lift your chin to kiss your throat and then your lips once more. I don’t want you to leave, 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 find 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 think. You are constantly on my mind and the three days golf is played without my full attention. It shows in the scores I have.

One thing that does occur to me is that I might invite you to travel out with me to Surrey. Perhaps visit a vineyard, the steppingstones and summerhouse on top of the Leith Hill, where I grew up. I plan it while driving back from Lincolnshire, but then, think I am being stupid. Why would you want to go there with me? Why would you 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 usual calm, placid outlook 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 whole affair and behave as a mature adult. I resolve to only speak to you in a professional manner and ignore the emotions that have been stirred up by the attraction we seem to share. On Wednesday morning, I am filled with the strength to carry out my resolve. I do not want to put you in a position that will make your working life difficult. I know how the office drums can spread rumour and gossip faster than anything and, I know just how damaging that can be. But, then I see you and share a brief moment and my resolve dissipates into so much dust.

We only speak briefly on Thursday, just long enough for you to tell me that there is a problem in the area you work in. Your face displays 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 cause. Friday is no better. You are cool towards me, aloof and withdrawn. The dazzling smile is not there and I fear that the impact on the evening a few days before, might have frightened you or made you sit back and take stock. Perhaps it has allowed you to consider whether you are prepared or ready to become involved in something as mad as this is.

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

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

Tuesday sees a change in attitude. You smile at me and I am filled with pleasure. It is a beautific smile that lights up your eyes and fills my heart with warmth. We have a few moments, sitting on the chairs in your shared office. You give me back the memory 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. I understand your reasoning and cannot blame you for not opening the file.

Without saying too much, you reaffirm that an office affair is something you do not wish to get into. It would be too difficult and complicated 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 life. It is almost as much a thrill, knowing that it had been a real possibility, than if we had actually managed to get together.

We agree to get a coffee during the week and to get an uninterrupted conversation. It will have to be in the canteen to avoid any chance 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 little of your stay with your family in Poland, but as usual, you keep details limited and private. The photos you put on Face Book show some of the places you visited, but none of your family. I don’t leave a comment on them, knowing that your husband has access to your face book page. We may not be having an affair, but I would not want to add fuel to any differences you are having.

I notice while we speak, that your body language is open, inviting even, and, while your mind 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 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 time in my office when we almost acted it out was very exciting, but practicalities and commitments overtake circumstances. You are telling me, not in so many words, that it will not happen.

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

I am excepting of your decision, but at the same time, feel 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 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 weeks, our contact is sporadic and only in the professional capacities of our respective positions. I do find though, that my treatment of you is bordering on the cruel. As if I have lost a friend and gained an enemy. Fortunately, I realise what I am doing and make a conscious effort to being the same guy I have always been with you. Now that I have realised my stupidity and vengefulness, we are able to relax around each other and are friends again. Hell! We even share jokes and manage to laugh.

My annual leave arrived. Two weeks in Wales, visiting historic places, castles and riding steam railways. It is a time to relax and enjoy the company of my wife. We have different interests, but have shared a life-time together. The weather is hit and miss, but on the whole, I have enjoyed the time away. It has given me time to reflect on the 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 have 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 have 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 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 Unit to my already far reaching remits. In recognition for the increase of responsibility, my plan to cut back on working time was accepted, but I would not lose any salary entitlement or downgrade of annual leave. Wow! My worry was that the teams I am inheriting will be obstructive; their loyalty to a long term manager is likely to be quite a hurdle to overcome.

You are on my mind all the time I am away. Even though I know we will not be getting together, you have made that plain. I still cannot 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 happen. I mean… what possible good to come 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, elevated position. 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 show goes on and the projects they have devoted time to, will continue to completion. The hardest obstacle for my new charges 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 radical changes and losses of long term staff.

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

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

The board of Governors announce that we are all to attend a Manager’s Conference weekend at the ‘Grove’ in Hertfordshire. A retreat and function centre. The aim is to collectively decide how the College will go forward and to reset 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 cause to follow, in another place.

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

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

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

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

There you are, standing on the threshold to my room, dressed in jeans and a shirt, barefooted and carrying a large sheaf of papers. I say your name as a question, what are you doing knocking on my door at this time of night?

You are unsure of how these events go. As P.A. you will be providing the back 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 come in and I make a cup of tea while you spread your papers all over the bed.

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

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

You ask if I have anything to drink. The mini bar doesn’t have a great selection, a single malt whisky, some red wine a miniature bottle of Hennessey brandy and a few mixers. You settle on a brandy and swill it in the glass, like a connoisseur, sniffing the aroma before taking a sip. You put the glass 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 halt to things. I am reminded that the whole thing is unequal and you are very much in the driving seat.

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

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

You walk towards me, 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 belt of my robe and untie the knot, allowing the robe to fall open. I have nothing on underneath.

So, you are shaved you say, as if you hadn’t believed me. My cock starts to harden as your attention centres on it.

You kneel and wrap your right hand around my hardening shaft, rubbing slowly and with a deft touch, encircle my rapidly stiffening cock. You look up into my eyes and open your mouth and lick me, pushing your tongue into the slit, taking the pre-cum that slips from me. The sight is possibly the most erotic that I can remember. I have dreamt of just such a moment. The reality is much better than the imagination could have conjured up.

Slowly, you take me into your mouth while your hand gently pumps me. You suck the inch that has passed your lips. It is a divine feeling and quickly has me as hard as I have ever been. You stick your tongue out and slide as much of me as you can between your teeth and make an mmm sound of pleasure. The reverberation creates a delicious feeling 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 unable to keep eye contact and begin to suck in earnest. The pressure is wonderful, but I cannot allow it to go on for much longer. The tingling is so good that I know I will explode far too early. All pretence of denial has fled. I want this as much as I have wanted anything.

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

I decide that it is my turn to give you the pleasure of oral sex. I do remember you telling me that you prefer to 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 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 standard hotel room. But, before your bottom rests on the cushion, I have tugged the waistband of your panties down. I would not have guessed that your natural colour is brown. It is, at least, the colour 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 gentle prise your knees apart.

You smell divine. That hint of musk which is familiar as of woman, but subtly different to any other, as it should be. I nuzzle against your pubic bone and imprint your aroma in my memory and savour it as it passes over my sinus. Your taste, when my tongue reaches out to part your lips, is also committed to memory. You are wet already and it is the first real sign I have that your body is responding.

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

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

You shift forward on the edge of the chair and open your legs wider to allow a greater access to you. I take it as an invitation to enter you with my tongue. My right hand is flat on your lower stomach, just above your pubic bone. Gentle, with the least amount of pressure I can impart, I pull your skin up which brings your lips and entrance to an angle that is more comfortable for me with less strain on the back of my neck. My mouth breaks contact for a moment and I look into your eyes. The Hazel has become quite dark, brown almost, as you stare steadily at me, pupils dilated as if to take in all and everything at once.

Slowly, I lower my head, closing the space between us and then push my extended tongue between your lips. You rock your pelvis and suddenly, your hands are gripping the back 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 teeth, sucking them and mashing my nose over your clit.

You shudder and pull my head away and tell me that you cannot 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 take the papers off of the bed, placing them on the dressing table carefully so that they do not get mixed up. You rise from the chair and take the three or four steps to the bed. I realise again, that you have a fabulous body and tell you so. A smile is my answer as your kneel on the edge of the bed, waiting for me to join you.

My robe hits the floor 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 front of you, I am acutely aware that I am so much older and fret momentarily, that you will not like what you see. I push it to one side and get on the bed as quickly as possible.

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

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

You push me onto my back and straddle me. I enter you easily; a perfect fit and I hold my breath for a moment, waiting for you to impale yourself fully. It is deliciously slowly that your back arches and centimetre by centimetre, you sink down on my length. You place your hands on my chest as a brace and begin to rock. I am content to lay still and watch you, drink in your beauty. Your mouth is open, dragging in air and your eyes are closed. You look beautiful and I marvel at your perfect 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 glorious 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 contribute towards your quest for fulfilment and begin to thrust up, increasing my depth and the pressure on your clit as we bang together.

You push up into a squatting position, 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 approaches. Working in counterpoint, my organ plunges deeply and then almost is withdrawn. It is a pace that I will not be able to maintain, but it will not matter too much. You are growling now, a deep throated growl which, at any other time, would make me laugh, but now is signifying your arrival. I can feel your sex gripping me tightly, massaging my cock and your inner walls, bringing me to my own moment of exquisite bliss.

It hits you suddenly. Your head is thrown back, hair flailing. Your claw like hands grip your breasts, far harder than I would have done. Knuckles white as the flesh is tortured. I think you will scream, but instead you groan and grit your teeth. Your eyes squeezed tightly shut. Knowing you have reached your goal, my own climax is realised. In almost painful blasts, my seed is pumped deep inside you. I grasp your thighs and try to delve even deeper, as if trying to be completely immersed inside of your body, subsumed and joined for all time.

We stay, joined and immobile for many minutes. I am trying to regain control of my breath and reduce my heart rate to something near normal. Your eyes open and regard me silently in a steady gaze. And then I see a tear slide over your cheek. I reach up and cup your cheek in my hand. You lean into my palm as another tear 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 reinforce your words. You get up off of me and silently get dressed. I tell you that I understand, but once again, I am confused. I had been resigned to our not getting together, to heeding your words when you told me you did not want to enter into an affair. But, then, tonight, you arrive at my door and take the lead, only to tell me afterwards, that that is it. Never to be repeated. Do you expect me to just forget 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 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 expect an answer and do not get one.

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

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

I cannot help but feel that this was more about your own gratification; that, where there was a distinct lack of extended foreplay or preamble, you were satisfying yourself and nothing else. Away from home and husband, knowing you would have a willing partner, you took the opportunity to take advantage of my inability to say no to you. The whole episode took less than an hour, the sex less than half of that time and quite different from how I envisaged it might be. For me, the sex was nice, a pleasant release 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 quickie almost, devoid of feelings or emotion, no tenderness or mutual arousal. It had nothing to do with love and that I find, hard to take.

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

The following 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 upset 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 cold and my opinion of you changes a bit. I could understand the blowing hot and cold, putting that down to nerves, but find this complete shut out beyond me. I back off and try to keep our meetings to the very minimum possible.

That was five weeks ago. Time for me to get used to the way things are and go beyond the 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 sort it out for himself. I do wonder though, what it is you are looking for or are you just thrill seeking? I feel some 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 hope that one day, you will find that which you seek. I know it is not I and I believe you do not know what it is either.

When this started, my emotions were smashed beyond control. It started out as something exciting, thrilling even and a boost to my ego. I could not understand why you chose to become involved with me. Why you were keen and then did a one hundred and eighty degree 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 single night, I considered changing the title, but decided against it.

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

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

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

The story has taken months to write. Not because I am a slow writer, but because it has been done as the events unfolded. It started out as a fantasy we might have shared and ends in that one, for me, special night. I don’t know whether to thank you or curse you.

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

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

Several months later, when you had either become bored with my replacement fantasy, you inform me that you and your husband of seven years have amicably parted. Both of your marriages lasted the same amount of time. Privately, I think that you have experienced that infamous seven-year itch. 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 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 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 love you?

My answer, when it eventually comes, after a few minutes 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 true answer even though you tell me you could. Call it instinct or some innate 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 need that does not allow you to settle. You will never become domesticated.

I answer that, yes, I would love to make love to you once 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 more than sexual partners in the basest sense and even that, limited to opportunity.

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

Our lunchtime excursion around Hyde Park ended up at your new flat in South West London. The flat is part of a conversion of a Georgian house in a fashionable part of town that was well furnished and overlooked a huge park.

We made love. Actually, we fucked each other, spending much time on mutually stimulating each other’s bodies. It was a pleasant time and provided a much needed release. However, when we were dressed, I could not help feeling 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. Within a few days, you had changed jobs and then, shortly after that, you left to pursue 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 amaze me. Confound me and somehow, leave me feeling as if I had escaped a fate. At the same time, you are so desirable, intoxicating and an enigma that baffles the mind.

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

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