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The Small Bar

By: Ineedamuse



It was a quiet place, on the edge of the college campus, in an old building that had seen better days, with slightly slanted floors and an inevitable draft that seemed to disappear only on the hottest of summer days. It had been a speakeasy during Prohibition and the first owner made the not-so-successful transition to neighborhood bar, but through the years the locals had drifted out to the suburbs. 

The college kids, for the most part, found more attraction in the lights and excitement on campus or downtown, to the east. The old wooden bar itself was an old relic, polished by elbows and bar rags and bearing a scar or two in tribute to more colorful times. The lighting during the day was soft, sunlight fighting its way through old scratched windows with once-fashionable signage and during bad weather or at night by flickering fluorescents on the high ceiling. The floor was an easy-to-maintain institutional tile of a dark red color, never looking clean when polished nor exceptionally dirty when not. The barstools were a mix of the old shiny red leather with brass tacks and a few more recent replacements in black and chrome.

A succession of owners, bartenders, and customers had changed things little in the appearance of the place, as it never generated enough income to warrant renovation nor deteriorated enough to warrant closure.  It was a “shot and a beer joint” in the local parlance, with no blenders or fancy equipment, and except for the owner’s penchant for making his special Bloody Mary (with beer chaser, of course), the most complicated drink was a martini or maybe a Manhattan, a request for either still being met with some annoyance. 

It had avoided the fern craze of the eighties and, with its small bathrooms and inadequate ventilation, the crack cocaine epidemic that began in the nineties. An occasional hooker or two would stop in, but always on break, as they were welcome to drink (usually Crown Royal) but not to work. There wasn’t much hope, given the sparse clientele, of making much money anyway.

Mike was the latest owner, a former bartender at the place who’d developed an affection for the atmosphere and people of the neighborhood, and quite frankly found it cheaper and easier to drink from behind the bar than in front of it. Mike was a former seminarian, and his training and skills came in handy, both for hearing confessions and dispensing advice. He was a genuinely nice guy who had a repertoire of genuinely bad jokes. He’d be behind the bar all the time if he could have subsisted on the diet of stale chips, peanuts, and beef jerky that graced the back bar. But he was a man who loved his food, and that’s where I came in.

I’d been stopping on occasion each night after my classes, dropping in for a beer, which often led to another, then someone would buy a round, then Mike would return the favor. As a college student on very limited income, I was always a bit embarrassed that I couldn’t quite keep up, but nobody seemed to mind. One night, Mike mentioned that he was looking for a bartender to cover for him at dinner time, and well, what the heck, it didn’t look like a very challenging job and fit nicely with my schedule. The semester would be ending in a couple of weeks anyway and I’d go back to my day classes. So I went downtown, paid for my bartender’s license, and showed up at 3:00 PM the next day in the mandatory white shirt and tie to begin my apprenticeship.

Mike showed me how to work the cash register, pointed out an ancient book of Angostura Bitters drink recipes (which coincidentally called for a dash of Angostura in almost every recipe), watched me pour a few drinks and then headed out. He returned in about an hour and relieved me, pointing out a few things I’d screwed up (who came up with the idea that all the singles had to be George up and facing to the right?) and paying me, in cash, a total of five dollars. “Small bar, small wages!” he said with a smile. I wasn’t sure why but… well, nice guy, easy job, five bucks was okay. 

Had we a few more customers, I might have had a few tips, but the regulars (all three of them) seemed unwilling to part with their cash unless it was going directly into the till. Initially hard on me, asking for exotic drinks and laughing as I looked them up, they eventually began including me in their drink rounds – a compliment that I declined only once and for which I suffered significant verbal abuse. 

We continued like this for a few weeks, and Mike’s dinners became longer and longer, until eventually he was showing me how to close the bar and gave me a key. I found the work easy and enjoyable, learning the names and drinks of the regulars, improving greatly on Mike’s jokes, and starting to gain some confidence. 

Now I was a part-time student, working my way through college on the nine year plan, and I was taking a lot of interesting courses, including philosophy, theology, and political sociology. Discussions in the classroom invariable carried over to the bar, where Mike and I would share our views and attempt to enlighten each other, neither significantly changed by our arguments.  True, I usually thought up great responses to Mike’s platforms long after the bar had closed but I’d return to the classroom familiar with the opposition views and prepared to argue a bit more effectively.  

Between work and my studies, I’d little time for a social life, and my girlfriend of four years had gone to Boston for college, from where she’d send me first weekly, then monthly letters, the details unfamiliar to me and the affectionate words lessening with time. We’d dated throughout much of high school, both from strict old world families, and despite raging hormones we’d kept pretty much within the bounds set forth by our church and parents on acceptable premarital behavior.

Though I had my first apartment, it was a small place sparsely furnished, with a sofa bed, a desk, and a small table and chair – the sum of my worldly possessions – and small stove and refrigerator that came with the place. It was cluttered often with books, papers, and piles of laundry in the corner, and was certainly not the place to entertain anyone.

This was not to imply that I didn’t have my share of impure thoughts, however. A neighbor woman, Marie, was constantly teasing me, winking at me and asking if I’d like to come over and spend a little time with her. I’d blush and stutter and she’d laugh as I politely declined and rushed into my apartment. What I assume she didn’t know is that I’d run inside to hide the rapid response that always sprang forward in my pants and wouldn’t subside until an appropriate amount of attention was paid to it. 

At nineteen, well over six-foot four and a then trim two hundred pounds, my blond hair, blue eyes and slight freckles might have been attractive to her, but I was plagued by all the self-consciousness of adolescence. 

I was also unable to resolve the conflicts between my idealistic respect for women and the sanctity of sex versus my vivid fantasies and raging sexual hunger. Some days I’d give in to my desires, usually after Marie’s teasing, and spend hours touching, stroking, and erupting again and again, falling asleep beside a cum-covered towel and awakening with a hard-on only to begin again, leaving for school with a sore arm, tired legs, and underlying exhaustion. Other days my guilt would lead to a resolve of abstinence and I’d sometimes last a week or more before waking erect from a vivid dream and falling back into my self-abusive ways. I must have spilled enough seed to populate a small country back then, and in my fantasies and dreams I was an accomplished lover, but in reality I’d never really seen, touched, or tasted the delights that I imagined.

One day, stopping home between class and work, I had stripped down to a pair of sweatpants and was cleaning my refrigerator, discarding a few items that seemed ready to mold and carrying the garbage out to the back before the smells could permeate my apartment. As I tossed the bag in the trash, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, and saw Marie looking at me through her open window on the second floor. Her facial expression suggested that she was in some pain, but as I waved to her, she smiled.


“Tony!” she called, waving back. “I was just going to empty my garbage, too – would you mind taking mine out for me?”

“Sure, glad to!” I replied, but I dreaded this. Running up to her apartment and grabbing her garbage was no problem, but these damn sweatpants would provide no cover for the hardon I could already feel rising in my pants. I tried to think of logic problems and recall parts of Cicero’s orations to distract myself as I ran up the stairs, but my cock paid little attention and seemed to delight in the friction my running caused between my leg and the cotton fleece. I knocked on Marie’s door and stood with my hands clasped in front of me, trying to look casual while suppressing and concealing my tenting pants.

She opened the door and invited me in, and I was greeted by the smell of fresh bread and some slightly musky undertone in the air. I don’t know much about pheromones but my body began to flush with excitement, embarrassment, and anticipation all at the same time. She was wearing a thin robe and pink satin nightgown that accentuated her breasts and stopped a bit above her knee. I averted my eyes as quickly as I could. “Are you okay?” she asked, seeing my skin redden from my neck up and flush across my chest.

“Yeah, I was working out before and I guess I overdid it,” I answered lamely. She smiled and said nothing, walking toward her kitchen where I could see a couple of garbage bags. I watched her as she walked, following closely but far enough back to admire the sensual movement of her fine behind, even through her robe and nightgown. I had a momentary urge to slide close to her and lift it, kissing up the backs of her legs to tongue the small of her back. My cock leapt at the thought and I said “Pray, dear Cataline, how long will you abuse our patience?” Cicero was my last defense against intrusive thoughts and I’d unwittingly spoken aloud as I recited him in my head.

“What?” she turned and asked, quizzically. 

“Oh, sorry, just something I’m trying to remember for my Rhetoric class later.” My hands were still clasped in front of me as Cicero seemed to fail me once again. 

“You are a strange one,” she said, laughingly. “When you take care of these,” she said, handing me the bags, “I’d like you to come back and change a light bulb for me? I just can’t reach it.” 

I took the bags and held them at waist-height, relieved for the cover, and said, “Sure, anything for you Mrs. Olsen.”

“Tony, you’re nineteen now, aren’t you? That makes you a man in the eyes of the law and I’d appreciate if you’d call me Marie. Mrs. Olsen was my mother before her son ran out on me, and I’d like you to call me Marie instead.”

Oh if she only knew how often I’d called her Marie in the privacy of my room. “Sure, okay Mrs.. uh, Marie,” I stuttered.

I walked back down the stairs and my sense of shame and embarrassment had the effect of lessening the throbbing of my member. By the time I reached the garbage cans, I was almost flaccid, but as I leaned over to put her bags in I was hit by that same aroma that excited me when I’d opened her door. There, on the top of her trash and barely concealed in a sheet of newspaper was a pair of pink panties that matched her nightgown. The crotch was visibly stretched and soaked, and my cock sprang to new life with an intensity that make my knees weak. I debated taking them for a moment (to do what with I had no idea), then realized I’d no pockets or anywhere to conceal them. I also suspected that Marie might be watching me again, so I casually closed the can and walked backwards toward the door, pretending to be watching something that had caught my eye in the distance. 

There was no way to conceal my hard-on now and I’d have to get inside before she saw me. I walked slowly down the hallway and up the stairs, this time trying to translate and conjugate Latin verbs to English and back again, with enough success that by the time I reached Marie’s doorway I could push my still-hard prick far enough down between my legs to keep me from hitting her door with it. It made walking a bit difficult, but I was sure I’d be done with the light bulb and out of there in time to take it home and give it the relief it so badly needed.

She opened the door and invited me back in, this time shutting it behind me and locking it. I imagined that she was concerned about safety, and though the neighborhood was pretty nice, I figured it was an old habit and a good one for an older woman living alone. She led me to the kitchen, and pointed to the cabinet high above the sink. “The light bulbs are in there.” I opened the cabinet door and reached up, finding the corrugated paper sleeve and a 50 watt light bulb. 

“Is this one okay?” I asked.

“Well, it’s for my bedroom, and I guess I’d like something a little brighter. You never know who might be looking in!” she said, teasingly. 

Damn. My cock jumped at that like a trout for a wet fly on a clear summer day. I blushed again, coughed, and laughed uncomfortably. 

“Come on in here,” she said, leading the way and opening the door to her bedroom. “Come on in, said the spider to the fly!” she giggled, and again chuckling politely, I followed. 

Not in my wildest dreams had I imagined a room like hers. A large waterbed draped with a patterned quilt dominated much of the room. On one side there was a mahogany vanity with a large mirror, and on the other, beside the closet doors, stood a beautiful inlaid wardrobe, slightly open, revealing a mirror on the inside and reflecting various hanging “intimate wear” items that I’d seen only in magazines or in the window at Victoria’s Not So Secret. “So where is the fixture?” I asked, averting my eyes again and hoping my arousal wasn’t nearly as evident as it felt.

“Above the bed,” she said, “That’s why I couldn’t change the bulb, I can’t reach it and I can’t very well put a ladder on the waterbed. I should have thought of that when I moved in, but I thought you could reach it.”

This would be tricky. Despite my height, when I leaned forward from the side of the bed, the ceiling fixture was still a few inches beyond my reach. “Can I stand on this?” I asked, pointing at the waterbed.

“Sure, but let me steady you so you don’t fall,” she said. “Move slowly or you’ll get sloshed around by the waves – or would that be something you’d like?” she continued to tease.

By now I am sure I was as red as a beet, for I really would like that but didn’t dare say so. My swollen hard cock, however, tried to stand like a schoolchild raising his hand in answer to a question. “Um, I think I can reach it if I’m careful,” I said, avoiding her question. I stepped onto the bed carefully, and from the middle, I could reach well enough to unscrew the old bulb. The problem was the continued shifting of water in the bed which threatened my balance.

Marie was ‘steadying’ me as I reached, her hands at the small of my back and my stomach, her fingers just above my waistband. She applied pressure in front and back, and as the bed’s movements slowed, she continued to hold me. I knew that my cock was about eye-level for her now but she thankfully said nothing.

As I removed the old bulb, holding the new one in my mouth, I stuck the old one in the waistband of my sweats. As I said, I didn’t have pockets, didn’t want the thing to break, and frankly, I was enjoying the feel of both her hands on my skin too much to ask her to hold it. As I inserted the new bulb, I felt her hands trembling a bit and sliding down slightly. As I tightened it, I felt her hands slide a little lower, til she was unmistakably touching my cock, now swollen and arching to her touch. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do, so I stood there for what seemed an eternity while she squeezed my member lightly though my pants.

“Wow, you sure know how to screw,” she said, her voice a little throaty. She seemed to catch herself, not laughing this time, but looking rather intensely at me.

“I wish that were true,” I said, somewhat sheepishly. “I’m afraid you’d be disappointed – I’ve never been with a woman like that. But oh that feels good!” I moaned as continued to squeeze, then to caress my now straining cock. 

“Does it now?” she asked. “Then I bet this will feel even better,” she said, sliding my sweats down and freeing me. The old light bulb fell to the quilt and she tossed it into the waste can, turning again to approach me. 

My cock bounced to attention as it began to throb and pulse with insistent desire. She cupped my balls lightly in her hand, slid her fingernail up behind them to my ass and then drew it, slowly, carefully, back up my shaft to the tip. “What it this?” she asked, pointing to the clear precum now brimming at my opening. “Let’s find out,” she said, and, leaning forward, touched her tongue to it. “Mmmm… I’m not sure what it is, but I sure hope there’s more, it tastes soooo good!” she said, opening her mouth and taking me between her inviting lips.

I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I felt my legs start to shudder and shake as she licked and sucked, grasping my shaft between her fingers and stroking lightly. I could feel myself filling and tightening and my eruption imminent. I put my hands on her gray hair and caressed it as her head moved with increasing rapidity. I warned, “I think I am about to cum,” my voice wavering. She suddenly stopped.

“If you really are going to become a knowledgeable screwer, my young man, you need to learn a few things!” she said. I was still so close that a word from her, a touch, or even a vivid mental image would have made me shoot hot jets from the very depth of my being. But she moved away, instead, and my excitement and arousal and edge of my orgasm seemed to follow her out of the room. 

Embarrassed, humiliated, and deeply ashamed, I wondered what I had done wrong, either to make her touch me so or to stop. That worked even better than Cicero to back me off from the brink, and though I was full and dripping precum, with what felt like a quart of cum tightened and ready to launch from within, my cock began to lower and soften in its shame and frustration. I pulled my sweats back up and headed out of the bedroom towards the door.

“I’m sssooo sorry,” I muttered as I tried the lock, only to realize it was deadbolted. I turned, and there she was, sitting on the couch with a rather smug look on her face.

“Sit down, Tony,” she said softly. “I have a confession to make and I would like you to hear it. When I’m done, if you still want to leave, I will let you out. But I need to explain a few things before you go, so that you won’t hate me.”

I didn’t hate her, but I wasn’t sure I liked her anymore, and frankly, I was so congested below that I couldn’t think straight and wasn’t sure I could stand much more. But her voice was so soft and pleading, and I was sure she was as embarrassed as I had been by what transpired in the bedroom.

“Look,” she said, “I am sorry about what happened in there but I was being unfair. I’ve lusted after you for the whole three months I’ve lived here. I really didn’t burn out the light bulb, I lied about that. I’m a woman who hasn’t been with a man for a long time, but my desires haven’t stopped – in fact, I think they’ve increased. You keep running around here with your shirt off, being so nice to me, well, I have to tell you. I’ve been fantasizing about you. As a matter of fact, I was touching myself and looking out the window, imagining being with you, when you came outside today. Just as I hit my orgasm you turned and waved, and I tore my panties slipping my hand out to wave back.”


The Small Bar Ch. 2



As I arrived at work, a few minutes late and slipping my tie on as I came through the door, Mike and a few regulars, Joey and Louie, were deep in conversation at the end of the bar. 

Joey was an old cab driver who’s been kicked out of most of the local bars, primarily because he’d get tanked up and engage in loud verbal arguments on a variety of subjects, but usually concerning the way liberals were driving the country to hell. He’d managed to offend pretty much everyone at one time or another, even those who might agree with him, and while he expected others to be tolerant of his opinions, he’d become a shouting tyrant at some point in the evening. The most successful ploy in controlling him was to wait until he was at his finest, then make some statement about Nixon being a crook, at which point he’d challenge me to a fight. I’d agree, and we’d step outside, where I’d sidestep his wild first punch (always a right hook, by the way) and he’d sprawl on the ground. I’d then help him up and send him on his way. No harm, no foul, and he’d return the next day with no memory of the events of the night before. He was a regular customer, and Mike needed the business. 

Louie, on the other hand, worked for a moving company, packing and hauling people’s belongings across the country, and showing up irregularly for a week or two at a time, only to disappear again, leaving one to wonder if he’d been sick, injured, or simply out of town on a job or a binge. He was classically educated and could carry on conversations about almost any topic, a brilliant man who’d traveled the country and the world, but had found his love for the liquor his only constant. 

Louie was always a little rough on arrival, unless he’d stopped somewhere else first, but between about the third and twelfth drinks he was both a great conversationalist and an expert pool player. I know only because I’d seen him once at another bar, won about $100 as his partner from drinks four through eleven, and, with the stakes raised, lost it all during that thirteenth drink. At his best, he could make the cue ball curve completely around the ball in front of it to sink his target ball. At his worst, he played like I usually do. He, too, would become belligerent at some point in the night, though he’d usually just hurl invectives and stomp out at some point. 

“I can’t believe she’d do that, and besides,” said Mike, “He’s too young for her by a long shot.” I hated coming into the middle of conversations, especially between these guys, because asking for an explanation usually led to a much longer story than could hold anyone’s interest, which would digress further into arguments about the details and relationships and events, the speakers themselves losing the thread of the original story. So I moved behind the bar and Mike grabbed a stool, and while I took inventory and checked the register, I listened in discreetly.

“I’m telling ya,” bellowed Joey, “She took him in the back and did something to him! She walked back out, it musta been five minutes later, with her wig askew and her lipstick smeared. When he came out, carrying a couple cases of beer, he had a smile on his face, not unlike the grin that Tony came in with.”  I was unaware that my presence had been even noticed, much less that my smile had been observed. I’d just been introduced to the pleasures of a woman that afternoon, and had little doubt that Joey had been inaccurate in his description of me, but now they all turned and I blushed.

“What have YOU been up to?” Mike asked, a sly smile on his face. Louie looked at me and laughed.

Joey said “I know a smile like that, boy, you got laid, didn’t you!”

“A gentleman would not talk about such things,” I protested, turning redder still.

“Ah, I KNEW it!” said Joey. “See, I told you something was going on in the back room and that’s the same look Tommy had on his face when he came out.”

Tommy was another regular who served as interim bartender when neither Mike nor I were available. He was a quiet, nice guy with a pleasant manner, not much personality, but from what I was catching of the story, he’d committed a mortal sin in the bartending business. No, not having sex in the back room, but leaving the bar unattended.

“Marsha wouldn’t do such a thing,” proffered Mike, “And Tommy… well, I’ll have to talk to him about it tomorrow.” Mike finished his drink and turned to me. “All in order?” he asked, pointing toward the till. 

“Perfect as always, boss,” I said. “Do you think you’ll be in later?” I was hoping that he’d want to close tonight, as I had a promise of dinner and more awaiting me next door to my apartment. On top of that, my legs felt sore and weak from my afternoon’s activities, and I didn’t relish the thought of standing behind the bar all night.

“I dunno, you seem to be doing a pretty good job,” said Mike. “I think I’ll let you close again.” Mike got off his barstool and walked a little unsteadily toward the door. He must have been drinking with Joey and Louie for some time. “Good night and make sure you lock up tight when you leave.”

“We’ll keep an eye on him and get him trained up right,” called Joey as Mike left. Damn. This meant I’d have these guys teasing me and arguing for a couple more hours. All I wanted to do was rush back to those beautiful arms and willing body that had given me so much pleasure. That, it seemed, was on hold, however. 

The evening progressed, a few new customers trickling in and out, Joey and Louie arguing as usual, and we kept the banter light-hearted. I was in a generous mood and even bought them a few drinks, and they seemed to appreciate it, leaving together for a place down the street where they could shoot pool and stumble home.

I was alone in the bar when she came in about midnight, and I was shocked to see her. 

“Marie!” I said, stunned. When I’d left her that afternoon, she’d been sleepy and disheveled, her gray hair long on her shoulders and her expression content.

Now she was dressed to the nines, a short black dress that seemed to enhance her beauty and accentuate her cleavage. Her hair was up, and her blue eyes were piercing as she smiled at me, posing for a moment and moving her legs in such a way that I could see a bit of thigh and the garter belt which held up her dark nylons.

“I missed you,” she said, smiling. “I was going to relive our afternoon, and I did a bit, but after the real thing it just wasn’t as good,” she said naughtily. My cock was as happy to see her as the rest of me, suddenly tenting my pants as my mouth grew dry.

“I’m glad to see you too!” I said, though I was suddenly nervous. This was just the kind of thing that got one in trouble, what might cost Tommy his job tomorrow, and I needed no gossip or rumors complicating my work and reputation. While there was nobody in the place besides the two of us, anyone could walk in at any time, and anything untoward would be reported to Mike, probably before I could show up for the morning shift. Okay, this job wasn’t a partnership in a law firm but it was the only one I had, and I’d just made it through the necessary initiation by regular customers giving me a hard time, I didn’t need any more trouble.

“Why don’t you come down here and let me make you a drink?” I said, motioning Marie toward the far end of the bar, where we had a hinged section that lifted to allow the bartenders to pass in and out. If she sat there, I alone could steal a look at her legs while I worked, and they were indeed a thing of beauty, especially with those dark nylons.

“How about a kiss to help me decide what else I want to drink?” she said, seductively. This was going to be a long three hours, I thought. She walked to the place I’d suggested, took my hands and leaned across the bar to kiss me. As my mouth met hers she pulled my hands to her breasts and I was about to lose myself in her as I heard the front door open. Startled, I stood up, again blushing, as a few college students, evidently on a “Death March” – a tour of the street from a bit west all the way to the lake – stumbled in, laughing and slurring and calling to their friends outside, began to pile into the bar.

With an authorized (by the fire department) capacity of twenty-five, the Small Bar was pretty quickly filled by the twenty or so students who filed in. “Some pitchers of beer!” they said, and I started filling pitchers and distributing glasses and counting customers, setting the beer on the bar to be passed around. The students were mostly guys, somewhat past sobriety but not quite beyond tolerable limits, some rushing to the bathroom and a couple others looking at our antique jukebox. They plugged in a few quarters and I cranked up the box from behind the bar, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band filling the air with “Born To Run”. I collected for the beer and returned to Marie, suddenly realizing that I’d not given her a drink.

“I’m sorry, what can I get you?” I asked. 

“I was thinking of something milky, what do you recommend?” she teased. My cock leapt again, remembering how her sodden love petals had dripped with my milk just a few hours before. I knew we had some heavy cream in the cooler, and I made her a White Russian. I slipped in a little more vodka and Kahlua than usual, wanting her both relaxed and awake at closing time, when I’d give her a little payback for teasing me so badly while I was busy.

The kids called for another round, and one of the two girls with them called for shots. “I want an Orgasm!” called one, and another “I want Sex on the Beach!” I lined up the shot glasses and tried to buy some time. 

“Does anybody know how to make those?” I asked. They looked at each other – they’d evidently had those downtown, but I hadn’t a clue. I paged through the Angostura Bitters drink guide. Nope, neither drink there, but we did have a few liquors on the back bar. They were grumbling and I heard overheard some comment about bad bartenders.

“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll pour you a shot of a new drink – Tony’s Demise – and if you don’t like it, you don’t have to pay.” The promise of a few drink seemed to assuage their displeasure, and I reached back for some Midori Melon Liquor. Sweet and colorful seemed the thing for most kids, and though I was pretty much the same age, a lot of years of work and a few living on my own had leant some maturity. Since I had the Kaluha out anyway, I poured a bit into each glass, dark and chocolate colored, then added a touch of Midori. Hmmm. It looked like sludge. I poured a little vodka on top of that, creating an oddly layered parfait of alcohol, then put just a drop of the heavy cream on top of that. I’d forgotten that cream seemed to curdle when added to alcohol, but it was an inventive and interesting solution to my dilemma and the students seemed entranced. 

“Don’t I get one?” asked Marie. 

“Sure, lady, have one with us!” one of the boys said. I poured two more, and so armed, we all toasted and drank in one motion.

“That’s really good!” one of the boys yelled. Marie and I exchanged a glance. I wouldn’t have used the word ‘good’ – it was not unpleasant but I don’t think I’d ever order it on purpose. 

“I tell you what, you can have that one on me!” I said. “Just order a ‘Tony’s Demise’ at your next stop, and when they don’t know how to make it, tell everybody where to get one!” Free marketing for the cost of liquors we hardly used. 

“We’ve got to get going or we’ll never make it to the lake!” shouted one of the girls, evidently remembering they were on a Death March and had little time to linger. 

Had this been some other night, had Marie not been there, I would have encouraged them to stay. The profits from the beers alone were welcome, and as they left, they threw bills on the bar for my tip. I counted them up – almost twenty dollars – twice what I’d make in a usual night. I grabbed the glasses and pitchers I could reach, and stacked them near the sink on Marie’s end of the bar.

“That was nice!” I said. 

“You know what would have been nicer?” Marie asked. “If you could have given me an Orgasm. You must know the recipe, because you gave me a couple of very strong ones before.” 

Gawd! How that woman could excite me. Her blue eyes met mine and she pursed her lips slightly. I glanced up at the clock – 1:30 AM bar time. If it stayed this quiet I could close up early. I leaned across the bar and kissed her again, and jumped a bit as I felt her arm reach beneath the hinged section and grasp my cock through my pants.

I was working, this was dangerous, but oh it felt so good. I braced myself on the bar and continued to kiss her while she grasped and stroked me. I could feel myself filling and aching for release when the front door opened again.

“Um, is this the place where you make the ‘Tony’s Demise’?” a small voice with a British accent asked. We both turned to see the small man shuffle in. I straightened and walked toward him. 

“Sure is,” I said, though I was tempted to send him up the street. “How can I help you?”

“Well, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Chester Farnsworth from the Angostura Bitters Company,” he said, holding out his hand, “We’re putting together a new recipe book. I just ran into some college students who said you had a winner here!” He smiled as I shook his hand. 

“Just call me Tony,” I said. He held out a leather folder, opening it to a letter of introduction. Under a multi-colored embossed seal and the Angostura Bitters letterhead, it read, in part:

To Whom It May Concern:

The Bearer of this Letter has the authority to enter into binding agreement with such persons or parties as he deems appropriate for the establishment of contract and transfer of ownership of such intellectual property….

It went on and on but seemed to be a legitimate letter, referencing Her Majesty the Queen and containing all sorts of legalese. I showed the letter to Marie, who reread it more intensely while I spoke with the stranger.

“Excuse me, sir, but why would an international company be sending someone out to a college campus in the US this late at night?” I was trying to be polite, but something just didn’t add up.

“Oh, you must realize, Mr. Tony, if people knew we were coming, or if we didn’t make surprise surveys in the heart of the colonies, we’d never find what people were really drinking!” he exclaimed. “What better place than small college bars? I really wouldn’t even have come in here if I hadn’t heard about you up the lane a pace.”

Still dubious, I asked, “Well, what now?”

“Well,” he said, “If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like to try this ‘Tony’s Demise’ that I’ve heard so much about.”

I racked my brain briefly, trying to remember the ingredients. “I’ll tell you what,” I said, “If this is a story to get a free drink, you’ve more than earned it.” I set the shot glass on the bar. Suddenly I had a brainstorm.

“I begin with one dash of Angostura Bitters,” I lied. “Then one part Kaluha,” I said, pouring some in the glass. “An equal part Midori Melon Liquor” I added, “then two parts vodka.” “Last, a drop or two of heavy cream.” What the heck, it was my own recipe, I could change it if I wanted.

Farnsworth seemed even more enthused, and lifted his glass “Bottom’s up” he said. I watched as he sipped, then tilted his head back to empty the glass. “My, that was interesting!” he said. “The Angostura Bitters clearly gives it a special flavour, don’t you think? Please, join me in another if you would be so kind!”

I filled three glasses, making the drink as I had for Farnsworth, and Marie and I toasted to Farnsworth this time, and he to our hospitality. Strangely, the bitter seemed to improve the drink, balancing the sweetness of the kaluha and helping integrate the flavors. “Heck,” I thought, “I MIGHT order this someplace. It’s good!”

Now it was close to closing time, but Farnsworth had some papers for me to sign, and offered me fifteen thousand pounds for exclusive rights to my recipe. I wasn’t sure of the exchange rate, but I figured I could catch up with my tuition for this year and next if it was anything close to fifteen thousand dollars. Farnsworth thanked me for my time, gave me a vellum copy of our agreement, and left. I locked the door behind him and turned off the flashing neon sign, the overhead lights, and drew the blinds.

“Do you think he was legitimate?” I asked Marie. She seemed almost to glow in the dim lights of the back bar and exit sign.

“I don’t know,” she said, “But I’ve been waiting to do this all night and we keep getting interrupted.” She took my face in her hands and drew me to her, opening my mouth with her tongue and kissing me with unbridled passion. She slid her hand roughly into my shirt, a button popping off as she did so, and caressed, then pinched my nipple. It felt like electricity running through me as she pulled my tie loose, almost choking me for a minute, then ripped my shirt open to my waist. Sitting on the barstool, she began to kiss my chest, nibbling on my nipples and tugging.

It was pain and it was ecstatic at the same time. I started to reach for her but she pushed my hands back, pinning them against the bar, a clear message that this was her time, her move, and I was simply to comply. Leaning back, I braced myself against the bar rail as her kisses covered my smooth chest and her hand slipped between my legs, cupping my balls and then working their way up my now rigid shaft. She fumbled a bit with my belt and pants before opening them and ripping the zipper open, pushing them forcefully down to my knees, then shoving my shorts down as I sprang free. 

“Ohhh, what have we here?” she asked, her voice a throaty growl. She took my shaft in her hand and began stroking as she kissed to my navel, where she began to lick and probe with her tongue. She reached up with her other hand and began to pinch my nipple, hard, and despite the pain I could feel my tension and pleasure and the electric tingle growing and merging into an almost audible hum. 

She looked down at my cock, now red and throbbing, the bulbous head shiny in the dim light, and said, “I think you are about ready.” 

She got up, motioning for me not to move, and slid one of the old red leather barstools right in front of me. She straddled it, hooking her heels into the rungs, and spread her legs. She slid her dress up to her waist and moved to the edge of the barstool, where I could see that she was naked above her garterbelts, her sweet pussy dripping onto the leather.  She grabbed my cock and pulled me into her and I arched my back to slide deep into her hot slickness. We began to rock together, faster, and her moans and grunts and cries got louder. I was on the edge of no return when she suddenly opened her mouth on my nipple and bit down, the flash of pain triggering my eruption into her. 

I came like I’d never cum before, shooting deep inside her as spasm after spasm seemed to grip my balls and force my fluids out. She rocked on the stool, grasping and milking me with her wetness as my cum squeezed out of her and dripped down the side of the barstool. She stood on the rungs then and embraced me, and I wrapped my arms around her and held her. She leapt into my arms then, the barstool clattering to the floor, supported only by my strong embrace and my cock still inside her. 

We stood like that for a long while, and I could feel her heart and mine pounding together, and feel our juices running down my balls and onto my thighs. As I stated to soften she asked me to set her down, but instead I lifted her onto the bar, her dripping pussy at the edge, and righted her barstool. “Mustn’t leave a mess,” I said, and put the stool in front of her, sitting where she’d been and feeling the cold leather and our slickness on my ass and balls as I leaned forward.

I pulled the hem of her dress forward and up, and slid a little closer. She looked at me with some curiosity as I slid the dress over my head, and in that cloaked darkness, I followed my nose to her sodden lips. As I kissed her soaking mound I heard her gasp, but her hands pressed me closer. I started to lick her slick lips and she started to moan again, shifting her hips back and forth to give me better access. I licked deep then parted her with my tongue, piercing her and humming again as my tongue circled her clit. She moaned her encouragement from above and I began to suck, my mouth quickly filling with her fluid and my spent cum, the thick nectar sweet and I swallowed then began licking and sucking harder. Gawd, how good she tasted and how warm she was. I could feel my own excitement growing again as it stretched and swelled against my thigh. 




The Small Bar Ch. 2



I slid my hand beneath her dress and up to her breast, feeling her nipple hard and slipping my fingers in her bra and rubbing it. She came again, her “YES” reverberating through the empty place and her hands pushing me away from beneath her dress.

I stood, smiling, my face wet and flushed with my now insistent excitement. She was still sitting on the bar, seemingly satiated, but her eyes were drawn to my arching manhood. 

“Ooohhh,” she said, enticingly, “I see that somebody has something that I want!” She slid her dress off her shoulders and her full breasts fell free. She motioned for me, and I took her hand, but instead of getting off of the bar, she got up on it, standing before me. I was aching now and I grabbed myself and started to stroke while she slid her clothes off, dressed now only in her stockings and garters, dancing for me slowly. “Don’t cum yet,” she said, “I have something else I’d like you to do with that.” I stopped stroking reluctantly, because a bit more and I’d have lost it again. 

She moved away from me down the bar a bit, slowly getting to her knees, and bracing herself on one hand she showed me her tight bum, spreading her cheek. “Like what you see?” she asked. Even in the dim light I could see her swollen pussy glistening with wetness. 

“Oh yes”, I said.

“Then come up here and get some”, she challenged. I climbed up onto the bar behind her, and kissed her full round cheek as I approached, nipping a little, then kissing again. She moved against my mouth, pushing her rosebud bunghole closer to my kisses, and I took the hint, spreading her cheeks with my hands and looking at the clean soft pucker, then kissing it. “Oh, yes”, she moaned, “Be my dirty boy. Kiss my ass. Lick it.”  

I was a little hesitant, I must say, but my cock was arching and throbbing and was clearly in control of this situation anyway. I slipped my hand between her legs and began to massage her wetness again, only to have my hand fill with our juices as soon as I touched it. A thick glob of my cum plopped into my hand and I used to caress her taint, to massage my way closer to her tight entry. I flicked my tongue on her pink ring and slipped the tip of my pinkie in, caressing her sopping pussy all the while with my other hand. 

“Wiggle it, push it deeper”, she growled, “Open my behind and then… fuck me in the ass, my dirty boy!” She wriggled and seemed to relax somehow, and my cum-lubed pinkie slid deep, only to be crushed as she tightened again. She relaxed again and pulled away, freeing my finger, and smiled at me over her shoulder. “Imagine your cock in THAT!” she said.  I was way ahead of her.

I slid my hand beneath her again and worked a handful of our cum back up her crack. I lubed her ass again, this time sliding my middle finger into her, and heard her gasp. I was going to stop but she relaxed again and pushed back against my hand. She started rocking and gyrating her hips while I wiggled my finger inside her tight tunnel. “I want your cock NOW!” she said, again tightening on my finger.  “Spit on it, lube it, I don’t want this to hurt anymore than it has to,” she instructed. 

She relaxed again, I pulled my finger out, spit on her hole and into my hand, slicking my cock with it, then drew again from her dripping lips and caressed us both.  My cock was dripping precum again as I pressed the swollen head to her opening, and as she pushed back I felt myself slowly sinking in. We began to move with each other, slowly, gently, she grasping me tightly as she’d move away and relaxing as she’d slide back against me. I slid a hand beneath her and my fingers passed her swollen lips again, my thumb rubbing at her nub while I felt my cock moving in her ass through the back wall of her pussy. 

She began to mumble and whisper in rhythm to the movements of her body, driving back harder on me, faster, the sound of my stomach hitting her ass growing louder. I suddenly realized what she was saying as her voice grew louder and more intense.

“Fuck me, dirty boy, cum in my ass!” Over and over again. The combination of her tight grasping and dirty talk were becoming too much for me. My head was starting to swirl and she rammed harder. I didn’t know where I was finding the fluids but they were about to burst into her. Though I was holding back for her climax I finally lost control again, my cum fresh and hot squirting deep in her ass, which seemed to trigger her own orgasm. She slid forward, her body now full on the bar, my cock trapped between her flexed cheeks as I braced my weight off of her on my arms. She slowly released me and my cock slid out with a slight popping noise, and I looked down to see my cum dribbling out of her ass.

She smiled at me, with half-closed eyes, and then said: “So, how was your night at work?” 

“Lucky, awfully lucky all around,” I said, smiling. I couldn’t wait for the ride home.



The Small Bar



That explained the panties in the garbage. I was so stunned I wasn’t sure what to say. Should I tell her that I’d fantasized about her too? Seeing my hesitation, she went on:

“I must be thirty, no, make that forty years older than you. The men my age are pretty much either taken or damaged goods. I’ve dated a bit, met some men in bars and taken them home, but there are so many women my age that they seem to go from bed to bed, from woman to woman, looking for the best deal and the most excitement. Worse yet, just when you find someone, he’s likely to leave you for the next young pretty thing that comes along, just like my husband did. So I’ve been a bit lonely, and maybe in the midst of my fantasies I thought maybe I could entice you in to help fill my aching need. Had I known you were a virgin, I never would have done that. Please forgive me.” She was weeping softly now, tears running down her cheeks. 

“Mrs. Olsen.. uh, I mean Marie… don’t cry. I’m flattered and, well, since you’re being so honest with me, I guess I should be honest with you, too.” I hesitated, not sure where to begin, so I just let myself ramble. “I haven’t really ever been with a woman, not ‘all the way’. Heck, I’ve never really even seen a naked woman’s body, except in pictures. But I think about it all the time, and well…” I readied myself for the big bombshell.

“Marie, I think about you too, almost every night. I lie in bed and imagine making love to you and I just lose myself in the thought and the pleasure. I’m even more guilty than you are, because I’m sure I’ve done something to make you feel this way. My ma always told me it was men who made women have sex, and I apologize for whatever it was that I did.” Inside, I felt the struggle of my emotions, my sadness for having led her astray somehow, my relief at finally telling her, and still, that persistent arousal that I always had around her.

“Tony, I think you have a lot to learn about women and about yourself,” Marie said. “I’m glad we had this talk, and I, too, am flattered. I think we both need to sort some things out, but we can do that another time. I’m glad, for the moment, that you’re not mad at me, and I thank you for hearing me out. Sorry about locking the door, but I was afraid you’d run away and not let me talk to you.” She reached into the pocket of her robe and walked to the door. Damn if she didn’t look sexy doing it. 

I stood and followed her to the door. As she reached with the key I put my hands on her shoulders from behind, and she stopped. I came up close behind her, and on impulse, leaned down and kissed her neck. She didn’t move but I thought I heard an audible moan. I kissed again, then opened my mouth to taste her smooth sweet skin. She had a clean scent of soap but I could also sense that slightly musky smell I’d noticed before. 

She turned in my arms and her mouth met mine, the keys falling to the floor. Her mouth was hungry for me and our lips bruised and teeth clicked as our kisses spoke of all our contained passions. Our arms caressed each other’s backs, then I found myself sliding my hands lower to her full warm buns, pulling her close against my again arching madness and gasping at the feel, even through our clothes, of her body against mine.

“Tony, are you sure you want to do this?” she asked, though it was much more ‘pro forma’ versus a real question. In answer I slid my hand into her robe and under her nightgown, finding and caressing her hot center. My hand and fingers were drenched immediately when I parted her folds, and she gasped when I bent down and sucked lightly on her nipple.

Truthfully, there was no going back for either of us. She grabbed my hand and pulled me roughly to her bedroom, pushing me back on the waterbed and slipping my sweats all the way off this time. I fumbled and flustered but eventually got her robe and nightgown off, mouths locked and hands exploring the whole time. I felt her breast and she felt my nipples, and we took turns kissing and licking and nipping and biting, teasing each other into a frenzy. She pushed me back and straddled me, guiding and lowering herself onto my rigid cock and gasping as I slid into her. 

It was like nothing I’d ever felt before, so hot and wet. I could feel her grasping me somehow as she moved up and down, her hands on my chest, pinching my nipples, smiling as she felt me lifting her slightly as I began to thrust upward, meeting her, going deep, almost slipping out… I was messy and amateurish and at that point I stopped caring about anything except the release that was about to happen. I felt I needed to warn her:

“Oh Marie, I am going to CUM!” I almost shouted. 

“Yes, baby, me too!” was her only reply and she slid forward a bit, tightening her internal grasp on me as she slid her clit the length of my veined and textured shaft. I couldn’t hold back any more.

I still can’t find the words for what happened next. I was gripped by a wave of pleasure and tightening down below followed by what seemed like an explosion of my cum, boiling and frothing and shooting forth into her. “YES!” she cried as she started first muffled and then full screams of passion, thrusting down on me with each “YES!” and my cum seeming to spurt harder upwards with each thrust.  I thought I must be spent but as she slowed, her voice growing softer but more hoarse, I could still feel my diminishing spurts pumping into her. Suddenly she leaned forward and kissed me full on the mouth again, and then rolled off me, my cock falling out of her with an audible plop. She turned and smiled at me, then closed her eyes with the most intense look of contentment that I’ve seen before or since.

As she lay there, her eyes closed, her face still red but her breathing slowing, I just looked at her. The gray hair long and now disheveled, the slightly spotted skin of her face and shoulders telling of years in the sun, the slight sag of her breasts more than compensated by their beauty and fullness. Boldly, I reached over and touched one, and her eyes opened. She smiled at me and took my hand, spreading my fingers and drawing my palm to her breast, then moving my hand in circles across the hardening nipple. She guided my fingers, showing me what she liked. Then she let me experiment with the other breast on my own. 

“Does this feel good, am I doing it right?” I asked, hopeful. 

“Yes, Tony. But you are going to make me all horny again,” she said softly. “I’m going to want you to touch my womanhood if you keep that up,” she said, and it came out almost like a challenge. Encouraged, I continued to caress and tease her breasts until she started to move and moan to my touch, and she again took my hand, this time moving it down her tummy and spreading her legs for me.

“Um, uh, Marie,” I said, haltingly, “Could I look?” 

“Oh, Tony, I wish you would, and tell me if you like what you see!” she said, the slight laugh returning to her voice. I slide down the bed and spread her legs, enjoying my first full uninterrupted view of a woman’s sex. Her hair there was less gray than that on her head, and it was thick and matted with her wetness and my cum. It was more beautiful than anything I’d seen in pictures or imagined, the folds glistening and the reddish lips seeming to pout, to swell even as I looked at them. As I stared she opened her legs further, and a glop of my cum slipped out of her. She reached down, caught it with her fingertips and she began rubbing it across her own nipples.

“Marie,” I said in a whisper, “Can I kiss you there?” 

“Oh gawd Tony, yes. I wish you would!” she said, without any hint of embarrassment. I kissed the inside of her knees and made my way down her smooth full thighs, a bit cautious and fearful but drawn irresistibly to her center. I kissed all around it, and especially below, where our commingled juices seemed to flow from her continuously. I kissed her then right on those swollen lips and heard her gasp. Thinking I had hurt her somehow, I stopped.

“No, Tony, it is alright baby,” she said. “Please don’t stop.”

Encouraged but cautious, I used the tip of my tongue to trace her opening, savoring the taste and the scent and the heat that seemed to arise from her and warmed my face. That was the scent I’d noticed earlier – was the smell of a woman’s arousal, and that knowledge cause my already revived prick to jump with excitement.

“Gently, Tony, gently, find my clitoris, my clit. It will be a little harder than the other tissue, and it will get harder still as you touch it. It is my love nub, a woman’s counterpart to a man’s penis. Find it Tony, and kiss it. I want you to do that,” she said, gently and but with a sense of urgency in her voice.

I stuck my tongue in her toward the bottom of her opening and heard her gasp again, and licked and probed my way up to the top. Just beyond the top, pushing itself out from between the folds, I found her love nub, and I circled it with my tongue. I heard her cry out in pleasure and knew I’d accomplished my mission. Feeling proud and a little silly, I started to hum the theme from ‘Mission Impossible’ as my tongue danced around it.

“GAWD TONY!” she cried, “THE VIBRATIONS ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY!” Happy that I’d discovered on my own something that excited her so, I hummed harder, flicking my tongue across her as I did. She suddenly locked her legs behind me and put her hands in my hair, pulling me harder against her. I continued to lick and hum and flick as she started to thrust against my face and pull my hair, until she uttered what could only be called a primal scream and pushed me away. 

“I’m sorry, honey, but I was so sensitive I would have lost my mind if you’d continued,” she moaned, her body seeming to shudder in aftershocks. Seeing my perplexed look, she explained “A woman’s orgasm is like a crest of waves” she said. “You’ve taken me over the edge and more would have been like trying to withstand a tidal wave” she said. “I don’t even know if I’ll be able to walk!” she laughed. “Luckily, I don’t have anywhere to go or anything to do but enjoy this afterglow. But aren’t you working?” she asked.

I looked at the clock. Sigh. If I left now, I could shower and dress and get to work with a moment or two to spare. “I’m not sure I want to go in today” I said, smiling. 

“Tell you what,” she said, “If you do go to work, I’ll have some dinner waiting for you when you get off.” “Keep the key” she said, “I have a spare. I might need you to come change my light bulb again.” I kissed her, appreciatively and passionately until she broke it off, tossing me her key and my sweats, and I left for work that night with a smile on my face.



The Small, Black Death



Because I hadn't been able to sleep, I'd jumped out of my hotel bed and left for the airport at least an hour early, afraid I'd miss the plane. I talked to the cabdriver for thirty minutes straight. I couldn't stop myself from rambling. I looked everywhere and commented on everything: the color of a passing car, a pedestrian's skirt, the sign in front of a bar... My inhibitions were low. I was a sports car on nitrous, just before I'd either empty my tank or blow a gasket.

I arrived at the airport way too early. My sunglasses couldn't prevent the sunlight from hurting my eyes when I stepped out of the cab. I was worn out after six consecutive fourteen-hour days in the studio and hardly two hours sleep a night. My body and mind however were still stuck in overdrive. Too much adrenaline coursing around my system. And a bit of amphetamine.

As I trudged into the main entrance, I took off my sunglasses. All I wanted was to go home, plunge into my own bed and sleep, no: die for at least a week. I'd experienced this numerous times before after a tough job. By the time planes and taxicabs would deliver me to my front door, the adrenaline would have run out and I'd pass out in bed for at least twenty hours. After that, I'd be my normal self again.

I knew that around the corner at the end of the hallway I'd come into the large hall with the check-in counters and a sea of benches with waiting travelers. I'd pick a bench and wait there until check-in on my flight would start. Right on the corner however, I saw a little stand where a blonde was trying to sell something. It looked very much like an improvised lemonade stand. But the sign gave it away: the blonde was trying to hock memberships of one of the major credit cards. She wore a tight, blue business uniform. She had a nice, round ass bulging the back of her way too long skirt. It looked like a peach wrapped in blue paper. She was maybe just a little bit too big for my taste but she was by no means fat. Just nicely full figured. I could feel my morning wood returning. I didn't even mind that the color of those honey blonde curls that reached down to her lower back had so obviously come out of a bottle. She had 'Goldy Locks' quality. And together with that nice, round ass the package looked terribly inviting.

Facing the stand was a bench with just one guy in a business suit, reading a book. Yep, that was the plan: I would rest my weary bones there. In the meantime I could enjoy checking out the blonde with the inviting ass.

As I walked past the stand, the blonde glanced my way. Her dark chocolate colored skin took me completely by surprise. Damn, that girl was black!

I've never liked black girls. Somehow their features always seem far too crude for my taste. Broad noses, big lips and a skin color that seems like it's been painted on with a spray gun just don't do it for me. I've very rarely seen a black girl that I considered beautiful. I've never fantasized about fucking a black girl. Maybe that makes me a racist. I don't know. It's just a question of taste, I guess. You can keep your Beyoncés and Tyras. I might consider Lil' Kim. But she's the absolute exception to the rule. I'll take a nice Nordic girl any day of the week: blue eyes, blonde hair, a really light complexion and a Viking heart. Swedish Snow queens, if you like. Those are my absolute favorites.

Unfortunately, because of my job I usually wind up working with black girls. This whole week I'd worked with five very irritating specimens: a black girl group that was going to bring sixties soul music back. At least that was the brilliant concept the record company had come up with. Unfortunately those five black bitches had about as much talent between them as my next-door neighbor's Doberman. I'd had it with black girls this week. So I quickly looked the other way when I saw this blonde black girl smiling at me.

I was even a little pissed off. That blonde hair and round ass had looked so promising. There should be a law against black chicks dyeing their hair. It's not fair to mislead guys like that. I felt how heavy my eyelids were. So I still walked over to the bench and plunged down onto it. The guy in the business suit was reading some self-help crap entitled 'Fifty strategies to finding a new You'. I didn't know 'You' were lost, I thought to myself while I closed my eyes and tried to relax.

***

I'm not sure how long I'd been sitting there, listening to people walking by and speakers announcing delayed flights. Suddenly, through all the noises and echoes of the airport crowds I distinctly heard stiletto footsteps clippety-clopping closer. I opened my eyes and saw the girl from the stand wiggling her hips toward me. I started to feel my morning wood again. From the front that ass looked just as appetizing as from behind. What a shame the girl was black.

She sat down between the guy in the business suit and me. I looked at her face as she opened a lunchbox and got out a cheese sandwich. She glanced at me and smiled. That's when it hit me. Her eyes were blue: the deepest indigo I'd ever seen in my life. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't help staring. Her eyes looked like ocean waves on a summer's day framed by a chocolate sky.

"My God, your eyes are beautiful." The words came out before I realized I'd opened my mouth.

She smiled from ear to ear. "Thank you very much," she said.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare... it's just..." That's when I remembered Lil' Kim wearing blue contacts. This chick was obviously wearing blue contacts as well. I looked into her eyes very deeply, trying to spot the plastic edge of the contacts. But I couldn't see any edges or plastic. Her irises were pale white on the inner ring with white rays radiating outward in a sea of blue that got darker and darker until it hit that deep indigo on the outer ring. They looked like two precious aquamarine jewels. Surely that vibrant indigo couldn't be artificial?

"Are you wearing contacts?" That was the adrenaline talking. Normally I'd never be so forward.

"No," she said and burst out laughing. "Everything about me is real. Except for my hair color that is. I like blonde hair. I think it matches my eyes. I sometimes wish I had been born a blonde."

"Me too..." I could have kicked myself for blurting that out. I just couldn't stop myself saying anything that popped into my head. "Um, I mean... I didn't know it was possible for a black girl to have blue eyes."

"I've been told it's a mutation that happens only once in a hundred thousand. It's a family trait. My mother had it. And my grandfather as well."

"And they were white?"

"No. As far as I know I'm from an all black lineage. Look how dark my skin is."

She held out her hand. Her skin was the color of century old oak. Her pointy fingernails were long and had shiny pink nail polish that matched the color of her lips.

"There's no vanilla in me at all. They've traced my family tree back to Kenya. The blue eyes are just a rare mutation that sometimes happens."

"Right. Kenya..." I said. "Would you have liked to have been born with lighter skin?"

"Of course not, silly!" she answered with a surprised smile. "I'm black and I'm proud of it."

I was puzzled. "But you said you would have liked to have been born a blonde?"

"Yeah, sure," she said. "But I wouldn't have wanted to have been born white. Not that there's anything wrong with your skin color. You're a very handsome man." She touched my shoulder with her hand. "It's just... well, I just love the way the blonde hair and blue eyes go with my dark skin. Don't you think that combination looks beautiful?"

"Fishing for compliments are you?" I asked. "I think you look absolutely stunning. And coming from me, that is saying something." 

She smiled from ear to ear again.

"Listen, I'm sorry for being so nosy," I said. "I didn't mean to start interrogating you like this. It's just that I was, well... those blue eyes and that dark skin... that's an amazing contrast... yes, it's an incredibly beautiful combination. I was blown over. I wasn't prepared for meeting such a unique beauty like you this morning." The moment I'd blurted it all out I wished the earth would open up and swallow me. It all sounded like a bunch of warmed up, phony pickup lines. Still it was word for word what I was thinking there and then. I just couldn't stop myself from rambling on and on.

"That's okay," she said and smiled. I was surprised that in spite of those way too big lips, she had a really beautiful smile. Maybe it was how her lips seemed like pink candy amidst all the chocolate. Maybe it was just the way the blue lights of her eyes shone amidst all that dark brown skin. Maybe it was her blonde hair hovering around her face like an angelic halo. "It's one of the nicest compliments anyone has ever paid me. And it means that now I get to take revenge."

"Revenge?"

"Yep. Now I get to ask you twenty questions."

I laughed. "Sure. That's only fair. Give it your best shot, blue eyes. Do your worst."

"Let's see. Somehow you don't strike me as a guy on holiday."

"Really?" I said. "How could you tell?"

"The black, silk shirt in stead of a loud 'Fuck me, I'm a virgin' T-shirt is a dead giveaway."

I laughed. "Maybe the 'Fuck me, I'm a virgin' T-shirt is already packed in my suitcase because I threw up all over it last night."

"Maybe," she said. "But I don't think so. Business trip?"

"How could it be? I'm not wearing a business suit."

"That's because you're traveling incognito," she said with an earnest face.

"You caught me," I answered with an equally earnest face.

"I thought so." She moved in closer and peered into my eyes like she was a botanist studying a new species of butterflies. She came in so close our noses almost bumped together. All of a sudden it was like the hustle and bustle of the airport disappeared. All I could see were those blue eyes. All I could hear was her voice. To my surprise she said: "I can see that you're in the entertainment business."

"That's right," I whispered. I cleared my throat. "How could you..."

"Yeah, you're really famous."

"Not quite," I said, laughing.

"You're a famous producer," she said and squinted. "A record producer... freelance."

I was flabbergasted. "How do you know all that?"

"Voodoo," she said with an earnest face. "I've already put my spell on you. Can't you feel it? You're my love slave from now until eternity."

I felt a wave of fear running through me. I was actually starting to believe her.

"You're kidding, right?" I hesitantly asked.

"Who knows?" she said. Then she burst out laughing. "Or maybe I just read about you in 'Artist's Choice' Magazine last month."

"What?" I laughed. "Why you sneaky, little... You really had me going there for a minute."

"One thing I've never understood," she asked with a smile. "What is it exactly that a record producer does?"

"That's something nobody understands, least of all the record producer himself."

"Come on!" she said. "I seem to remember reading something about you having an instinct for hit records, a magical rhythm wand that you only have to wave..."

"Reporters," I said. "They make up all that over the top garbage."

"So it's not true? You don't have a magical rhythm wand?"

"Well, I do have an instinct for what makes a hit record. That's my job: to turn shit into a hit. There's a lot of work for people like me these days, with all these concept bands being formed by marketing suits with tin ears."

"So how do you do it?"

"I listen, comment on what's missing and try to fix it."

"So you make the arrangements?"

"Sometimes. But usually I get a good arranger in to do it. That's probably fifty percent of my job: choosing the right people to work with the musicians to fix the problems. And the other fifty percent is in squeezing the best out of them."

"Like a coach?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"And that's when you swing your magical rhythm wand?"

I laughed. "So how come you read that crap about me in Artist's Choice?"

"I'm a singer."

That's when I got that terrible sinking feeling. You won't believe how many people I meet who call themselves musicians or singers. And they all want to give me their demo.

"Could you do me a favor?" she asked.

I sighed and looked away. I saw the empty credit card stand she'd abandoned. "Let me play psychic now," I said. "You would like me to listen to your demo, wouldn't you?"

"Wow," she said. "You've got a real talent. I've got some of my recordings here on my I-pod. Would you like to listen in?"

"Look," I said. "I don't want to hurt your feelings but I'm really tired. My ears are tired. I've worked on a tough job all week and the last thing I want to do now is to listen to new talent. It wouldn't do you any good to let me listen to you anyway. You need to give your demo to a few A&R guys. They're the ones who get new artists signed. I'm called in at a much later stage, when the artists have already been signed. That's when the record companies listen to my advice on how to get the best sound out of them. They don't listen to my advice on new talent that hasn't been signed yet."

"Maybe I'd just like some of your advice. A taste of your magical rhythm wand. I don't think I've ever tasted one before." Suddenly I felt her hand on my dick, which was still halfcocked. "See, it's already waving at me."

I looked into her eyes again. She had that look. I saw her tongue coming out, slowly wetting her pink lips. I felt the palm of her hand through my jeans. It was stroking my dick while her fingers were rubbing my balls. My dick was swelling fast. She opened her lips a little. She moved in closer. She tilted her head. I looked into those incredibly blue eyes and I was lost. I felt my tongue going in as I eagerly pressed my lips onto hers, like a man dying of thirst in the desert sucks the juice out of a coconut he's just found.

***

"Are you sure nobody is going to come in here?" I panted as she closed the door behind us.

"Hundred percent," she said and turned toward me. She pushed me further into the little room. Her blue eyes looked wild. She was strong for a girl. I stumbled over a broom, right into a floor-polishing machine. The light from the naked light bulb made her honey blonde curls glow like the manes of a lion that was about to jump his prey. "The cleaning crew doesn't start at this end until eleven."

She put her I-pod onto the toilet-cleaning cart to my right. She looked into my eyes as she put the earphones into my ears. I kissed her, put my arms around her and pulled her body against mine. I felt her tits pressing against my chest. My dick was starting to dry hump her crotch. My tongue was moving in deeper, sliding over her tongue in circles. Suddenly she broke the kiss. She slipped down out of my arms and stepped back. With a grin on her face she held up the index finger of her right hand while she pressed a few buttons on the I-pod.

The first few bars of 'I will always love you' rolled into my ears. Why do all those amateurs always sing the same worn-out old tunes on their demos? Sure enough, her voice sounded like a Doberman on crack, howling at the night. Except a Doberman would sing more in tune. I felt my erection starting to retreat.

But then I felt her hand on my crotch again. She reached down between my legs. I could feel her middle finger pushing my boxer's right up into my asshole. She slowly moved her hand to the front, pushing hard against my balls. She looked me in the eye as she started to undo my trouser button with her other hand. She kissed me as her hand slid past my cock. I stuck out my tongue. But she retreated again. She looked down and grabbed my zipper with her hands. She gave me a small peck on my upper lip as she opened the zipper. She looked into my eyes again. 'I would only be in your way,' I heard her voice through the earphones. That's when suddenly I saw her going down on her knees. She pulled my trousers down. Then my boxers.

'And Aaaahaaaaieaaai will always...' I heard her whining through the earphones as I felt her wet lips closing around my cock. She wasn't messing about. She firmly held onto my upper legs with her hands as she slid up and down the shaft. She started out slow. But she quickly picked up the pace, moving her head back and forth. I could feel her tongue sliding along the bottom of my penis. A drop of saliva mixed with pre-cum ran down my balls. I looked down and saw the honey blonde manes moving back and forth. 

'... love youuuuhuuuuhuuu...' God, why did she have to finish that song on a high note? She stopped sliding her lips up and down my cock the moment the song finished. My dick felt like it was about to burst. I wanted to thrust my cock into her mouth. But she opened her lips. I felt her tongue moving over the tip of my cock. I could feel it tingling right down into my asshole. She flicked the tip. She circled it. Then she moved her mouth down again, way down. And at the first notes of 'I'm every woman' I felt her lips closing around my balls. To my amazement it all fitted perfectly inside her big mouth: my dick, my balls, my entire package was inside her. She sucked on my balls like they were a strawberry milkshake. I felt the skin of my scrotum stretch. The tip of my penis bumped into her throat. My balls felt like they were about to explode. My heart was pounding against my ribs as if it was trying to jump out of my chest in order to fuck the black bitch into her big ass. She pulled back her head, firmly keeping my balls in her mouth. The skin of my scrotum stretched till it hurt. My balls pressed hard against the inside of her lips. She suddenly released my balls. They popped back. I felt a heat wave running from my balls right up to my skull. She moved her lips up my penis. She went down and grabbed my balls into her mouth once more. Her tongue started flicking them. I could hear my heart beat louder than the Doberman was howling 'I do it naturally'. I actually started to enjoy her singing. A good blowjob is like smoking grade A weed: even a howling, chronically off key Doberman will start to sound 'groovy' if that Doberman has her pink lips wrapped around your balls.

I couldn't take it anymore.

I grabbed the sides of her head. She let my balls pop out of her mouth again.

"Look at me," I said to her.

She looked up at me with those magical blue eyes. I started pushing her head away from me as I pulled my dick back. Her lips slid up the shaft of my cock. I pulled her back toward me as I pushed my dick in. I moved her head faster. To and fro. She looked up at me like an innocent little girl. I moved her chocolate head up and down my penis. I moved my penis in and out of her mouth. I didn't know if I was fucking her mouth, if I was masturbating with her head or if she was sucking me off. All I knew was that wet chocolate hole with the hot, blue eyes was sending heat waves through my entire body. Again and again and again. The pressure in my dick started to get painful. The pressure in my chest started to get painful. I knew I was going to burst. In and out of those pink lips, her eyes still looking up at me. My innocent, little chocolate colored toy with blue eyes and blonde hair. I felt a stabbing pain in my cock, a stabbing pain in my chest. Suddenly the pressure valve popped. It felt like every fiber in my body was vibrating when my dick started pumping out the cream. I felt bursts of hot cum shooting right into her throat. Again and again. She didn't gag or anything. Obviously she'd been here before.

I saw a drop of cum running out of the corner of her mouth when the ejaculation bursts started to slow down. My knees had gone week. I had trouble keeping my balance. And heat waves were running up and down my body.

"Swallow it," I whispered. "Swallow it all." 

She sucked the droplet back in. Her tongue licked the base of my penis. It all made my penis pump its hot cum harder again.




The Small, Black Death



I saw her swallow it down. I felt her throat roll past the tip of my penis. 'It's all in meeeee,' I heard through the earphones.

It seemed like there would come no end to the lava flow I was pumping into my chocolate toy. Suddenly the heat wave shot into my chest. I couldn't feel my body anymore. I felt like I was somewhere far away, in another country, in an airplane hanging mid-air above the ocean. My knees gave way. I heard her scream in the distance. I wasn't sure if I heard it through the earphones or live. I was falling. I wondered if I had a parachute...

***

The French call an orgasm 'le petit mort'. That's 'the small death' in English. I guess now I know why. When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed. It had just been a minor heart attack according to the doctors. Still, it was worrying for a man of thirty-five. If I didn't change my lifestyle, they said, at the rate I was going it would be doubtful if I would make it to forty.

So I haven't made it home to my own bed yet. But at least I've had a good night's sleep. More than a good night, actually. They tell me I've been sleeping for three days. And my balls still hurt like all the juice was sucked out of them with a vacuum cleaner.

Except for the food, hospital isn't that bad. My nurse is this tiny, Japanese chick. She has a hairdo like a black jet helmet. And she moves around the hospital like a cartoon character: Roadrunner or Tom and Jerry, always gone in a flash. Or maybe she's Chinese. I haven't figured that out yet. Anyway, she treats even my slightest request as if it was an order given by the emperor to his favorite eunuch.

Here she comes darting in again. She's holding something in her hand. Something shiny. Probably a drink or something. She manages to fulfill wishes I didn't even know I had.

"The girl who rode in with you on the ambulance said that you're a famous record producer and that we should take good care of you," she says as she sits down onto the bed. "Is that true? You are a famous record producer?"

"Well, I don't know about famous..."

"I have a band together with my two sisters," she says as she holds up her left hand. It's a CD she's holding in it. I feel the palm of her tiny, right hand gently touching my wrist. She looks into my eyes like a dachshund begging for a Scooby snack. "We would be prepared to do anything for you if you would do us the honor of listening to our demo."



The Small Black Velvet Dress



I finally hear your car parking on the alley. I had this planned for few days...You ring at the door and I open for you smiling. I see you are a bit surprised to see my outfit, but you smile as you take me in your arms to kiss me. 

"Sexy boots baby!" you immediately say. I smile and take another look at my new black high heeled boots. I'm wearing a small velvet black dress. You run your hands over it caressing my body and I lean once again to kiss your lips. 

When we sit down to eat I remember I forgot to bring some things. I come back from the kitchen with everything I needed and on the way to my seat I drop a fork. So clumsy...I lean to pick it up aware that you are watching me attentively enough to notice I'm not wearing any lingerie. By the look on your face you already lost your appetite...the one for food anyway...but I take my seat and ask how your day went. I see you find it hard to focus but I go on with my little role play. Few minutes later you abandon your food and ask me to stand up. You wrap your arms tight around me and start kissing my neck. 

"I want you baby...right here on this table..." you moan into my ear.

I kiss you gently and make you sit back on your chair sitting in your lap. I'm teasing your earlobes with my teeth while I reach for your tie. I kiss your lower lip then I tie up your hands behind your back, with your own tie. I rip off the buttons of your shirt and run my red long nails over your chest, rubbing your nipples occasionally. Then I go for your belt and your pants. I step back and look at your naked body. You are quiet. All you do is smile. I'm playing with your belt and try to find something useful to do with it. I come closer and slap your thighs with it then I sit again in your lap and grab your cock. I start stroking and squeezing it. You do seem to enjoy it a lot. But I stop, stand up and turn around. I lean as much as I can rest my hands on your knees and order you to lick me. I immediately feel your tongue flicking my clit...licking it up and down. I push myself back more forcing my clit deeper in your mouth. I feel your mouth around it sucking hard and I moan. I'm getting very wet soon as you are tasting and lapping my juices. Your full tongue is invading and exploring my pussy and I love it. 

I stand up and lift my dress and uncover my breasts. I rub my boot against your cock and balls. You are getting harder and harder. I take it in my hand and rub your shaft over my boot for a while then sit in your lap stroking you. 

I slide your cock between my legs and start using it for my own pleasure, rubbing my clit with it. Harder...and faster...squeezing it in my hand...but always stopping in time. I see drops of sweat on your neck and I lick them off slowly, then I kiss you deep. I then sit on my knees and take your cock in my mouth and suck it hard till it's all in my mouth. My fingers wrap around your balls and squeeze hard. I hear you gasping and moaning loud and I stop once again. 

I look devilishly in your eyes and make your shaft slide in me...slow...inch by inch, then take it all in me as I start riding you...My arms are wrapped around your neck and I pull you closer so you can suck my nipples. It feels so good to have you so hard deep inside me. But...again I stop just in time. I reach for your belt and slap your hard cock...just as hard to drive you crazy. I'm back on my knees licking your wet cock clean and sucking your balls.

I finally hear what I wanted:

"Please make me cum, baby! Please make me cum in you!"

But I ignore it for a while and go on with my licking. I want it as bad as you do but not yet. I come back to your lips to kiss you and make you taste our mixed juices from your cock. 

I rub my clit once again with your shaft and make it slide inside my wet pussy. I wrap myself around you and ride you as hard as I can.

"Cum inside me, baby..." I moan in your ear.

I squeeze you hard inside me till I feel your hot seed filling me up. I bite your shoulder hard when I feel myself reaching a long orgasm, but I keep squeezing your cock in me till there's no more...

When we're done I caress your face and place a quick kiss on your lips, whispering in your ear:

"Good boy!"



The Small Brass Key



It was almost 6 p.m. when Patrick Dunn finally got home on Wednesday night. He had worked an extra hour and a half to finish the wiring job he had been assigned that morning by Wayne Faulk, his supervisor. By staying the extra time, he'd been able to complete the job almost half a day earlier than the estimate had allowed. Mind you, he'd worked like hell all day, and he could feel it in his sore muscles. It was almost good that his wife Glenda had left that morning for three days of seminars in Columbus.

Originally, he had offered to take some time off and accompany her on the trip, but she had made quite an issue of it, reminding him that the two of them would be leaving on a cruise during the spring break. They had their tickets, and he had already booked some vacation time for the trip. The tickets were prominently displayed on the middle shelf of their china cabinet, situated so that they could see them any time they looked into their dining room.

Patrick was a little surprised that there was no message on his answering machine to let him know that she had arrived OK. She had decided to make the approximately three-hour drive rather than take one of the commuter jets that would have also been an option. If he recalled correctly, registration commenced at 7 p.m., so he decided to give her a quick call, and pressed the speed dial button on their wall phone, the one that would connect him to her cell phone.

It rang just twice before she answered, "I was just about to call you, Patrick. You must have read my mind." She sounded happy, and he could hear the buzz of a crowd around her as she spoke.

He wasn't surprised that she knew he was on the phone, as her call display would have shown that the incoming call was made from her home phone. "You know I've always been able to read your mind, honey. So, you obviously made it there in one piece. How was the traffic? You still have all of the fenders on your car, I hope." 

He chuckled loudly, knowing that her first words of reply would be a defense of her driving skills. He could imagine the look of exasperation upon her pretty face, and knew that if they were face-to-face she would have stuck her tongue out at him to let him know what she thought of his question. 

The fact that it was early January, and a light snowfall had been possible, had made him a bit concerned about her making the trip by car; he would have been happier if she had taken the flight instead. He was relieved that she had answered so quickly.

She laughed before replying, "Of course it's all in one piece; the trip here was clear sailing all the way. Traffic was light and I had no problems finding the Sheraton Hotel. That map you printed off the Internet helped a lot, honey."

"You know I'd do anything to help you, dear. Nothing is too good for my Glenda, I always say. In fact, I spoke to the boss this morning, and he gladly agreed to give me the time off so I can join you there."

"No! You're not coming here," she quickly replied, her voice an octave higher. She hesitated a few seconds and continued more calmly, "We already had this conversation, Patrick. You know I want to wait until spring break for us to take a trip away together."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just pulling your chain, Glenda. I didn't speak to them about any time off." This had been his intended response, even before her emphatic rejection of the idea, but it bothered him that she was so forceful with her reply. "I'll stay home like a good little boy, and do as I'm told." He laughed after saying that, as it wasn't in his nature to let her get her way so easily.

He could tell there was a measure of relief in her voice when she said, "I'm glad to hear that, Patrick. This is just going to be a boring few days, and I've already selected a full schedule of seminars to attend. There wouldn't have been much time for us to do anything together while we were here."

"You said that I must have read your mind, Glenda. Did you want to talk to me about something?"

"Oh, I'm glad you reminded me. I can't find my travel emergency bag. You know the one with my sewing kit, the lint remover, and those other things. I was sure I packed it. Could you check the bedroom to see if I left it there? Maybe it's in the trunk of the car, if you don't see it there."

"Sure thing, babe. Just hang on a minute, and I'll pick up the cordless phone in the bedroom." He laid the handset on the counter and quickly headed upstairs to their bedroom. He had only taken two steps into the room when he could see the case she was looking for sitting on the corner of the chest of drawers. 

He picked up the cordless phone and said, "Problem solved. The bag you're looking for is right here on the tall chest. You're just going to have to be careful and not lose any buttons; and stay away from lint!" He laughed.

"Oh, thank goodness it's there. I didn't want to have do make a trip all the way down to the parking garage to look for it. They have a small convenience store just off the lobby, and I can just buy whatever I need." She hesitated for a few seconds before continuing, "I should go soon, honey. They opened the registration desk early, and I'm third in line."

She quickly continued, "I probably won't call much this week, as I'm signed into an evening presentation from 7:30 to 10 p.m. tomorrow night, and Friday night they have a fancy supper planned. I have my last seminar on Saturday morning, so I'll start for home right after lunch, and I'll be home in time to have supper with you, dear."

"That's OK, honey. I worked extra tonight, and I could probably do that Thursday and Friday as well. Give me a call if you can, and I'll call if anything important comes up. I'll see you for supper on Saturday in any event."

The two of them exchanged a few more pleasantries before ending their call. As Patrick headed back downstairs to hang up the wall phone, he started thinking about Glenda, and her reaction to his joke about joining her. She had been behaving a bit strangely for several months now, sometimes too quiet, other times too anxious to please. Even when they had first seriously discussed the possibility of him accompanying her on this trip, her reaction had been an emphatic rejection of the idea.

The realization that he was hungry diverted his thoughts from the consideration of Glenda's recent actions, so he decided to order a pizza. He had almost 40 minutes before the estimated delivery time, so he immediately headed upstairs to strip off his dirty work uniform and have a shower. When that was done he dressed himself casually in a pair of jeans and one of his many work T-shirts, all emblazoned with the corporate logo of Anderson Electric, his employer.

He was relaxing at the kitchen table enjoying a beer when his pizza arrived. He knew he should have prepared himself a better supper, but being overweight was never a problem for him; his work kept him very fit. Glenda was not a big fan of pizza, so he felt comfortable indulging himself while she was away. He would have the leftovers the next day, packed for his lunch. Most workplaces had a microwave oven available where he could reheat his meal.

He spent the next hour watching one of the news programs on TV, but he soon realized that his concentration on the talking head had lapsed, and he was once more thinking about Glenda and her change in demeanor over the last 60 some days. It bothered him that something was different with her, and that she had been so adamantly opposed to his joining her on her big trip.

At 35, Glenda was a real beauty, tall and slim, with long dark hair and dark eyes. She was employed as a professor of sociology at the local college. She had just been accepted for tenure at the end of the previous school year, and was very proud of the fact that she had managed that. As one of the junior members of the faculty, she had more classes than most, but she did mention that she been given the services of a teaching assistant, or TA as she called it.

When the fall semester began, she told him how nice it was that her TA, a senior who would be graduating in the spring, was available to do some of the marking and student advisement for which she had always been solely responsible. She had mentioned that his name was Anthony, but Patrick could not remember whether he had ever heard his last name. His name had come up a few times in the first couple of months, but she hadn't said anything about him in quite some time.

In mid November she had brought up the subject of the upcoming seminars that she wanted to attend. They were scheduled for the off week between New Year's Day and the start of the second semester. It was considered professional development, and her college would pay most of the costs. Initially, when he had dropped the suggestion that maybe he could accompany her, she hadn't voiced any objection: two weeks later though, she had made up her mind that she did not want him to go with her, suggesting instead that they take a trip during the spring break. Reluctantly he had finally agreed with her emphatic decision.

Little was said about the seminars over Christmas, and they had enjoyed the holiday, spending it with family and friends. He did notice a few big envelopes of registration and course material arrive, and that her registration was quickly mailed back. It seemed she was anxious to make the trip, and had even started packing her suitcase a couple of days before New Year's Day. Mind you, she was always organized, and this was not totally out of character for her.

Just after eight o'clock, he went back up to their bedroom, intending to continue reading the book he had left unfinished on the bedside table. When he got there and noticed the bag that Glenda had called about, he decided to put it back on the closet shelf where it was usually kept. When he picked it up, he noticed that it had been sitting on top of Glenda's diary, a book he thought she normally kept in her book bag. They had been married eight years, but he had rarely seen her diary, as she kept it securely hidden away almost all of the time.

He had made a joke of asking her to let him read it years earlier, just after they had been married, but she had absolutely refused, making him well aware of the fact that this was for her own private and personal use. She described it as being the same as her thoughts or her memory, and it was for her eyes only. They had never discussed it again, and in fact, he had only seen it open in her hands a couple of times during their eight years of marriage. 

Both times he had caught her unawares, and the moment she had seen him she had closed the book and snapped the little lock shut, effectively locking him out.

Patrick suspected that she was making the entries into her diary while she was in her office at the college, although she could be doing it at home while he was away at work. Their schedules did not overlap exactly, and she was usually still at home when he left, and had returned by the time he would get off his shift. After returning the bag to the closet, he returned to the dresser and picked up the diary, the first time he had ever actually touched it.

The book was about six inches by eight inches, and an inch thick. It was bound in red leather, and was kept securely closed by a hasp that was held in place by a small, brass plated lock. As he held the book, it occurred to Patrick that it probably held the secret to Glenda's change in behavior over the last few months. Instead of putting the book back onto the dresser where it had been, he carried it downstairs with him as he returned to the kitchen. The light there was much brighter, and he carefully examined the book and its lock.

One of the first things that he noticed was that when he examined the top and bottom of the book he could see that only about a third of the pages appeared to have signs of use, while the rest seemed pristine. His first thought was that there was no way this one book could be the only diary that Glenda had. It was unlikely that eight years of entries could only take a third of the book. He knew there must be other, older volumes.

After thinking about it for a couple of minutes, Patrick realized that the only likely place that earlier diaries could be kept was in Glenda's closet. The two of them each had a closet, and he never went into hers. Even as he thought about it, he headed up the stairs to their bedroom. After five minutes of careful searching, he located a shoebox at the back of the top shelf, and when he opened it, he was rewarded with a stack of red leather diaries. He immediately returned to the kitchen with his trove.

The first thing he noticed was that all of the diaries were identical. The ones in the box each had a little round white sticker on the spine, and the six books he found were numbered one to six. The one that was presently in use was unnumbered.

As he looked them over, he realized that each one was embossed on the bottom of the back cover with the name 'Coombs', and he recognized that as the name of a local specialty store. The next thing that he noticed was that the seven locks appeared to be identical, with no identifying numbers or marks on any of them. He wondered if they were all keyed alike. Another thought quickly came to mind, and he immediately turned to the shelf below the phone and grabbed the phone book. In just a few seconds, he located the phone number for Coombs Specialties.

It was already twenty-five minutes to nine, and he wondered if they would be open, as many of the stores in the downtown area stayed open late on Wednesday nights. The phone was answered after just two rings.

"Coombs Specialties: how may I help you?" The voice was that of a young woman, and she sounded sincere with her question.

"Hello. I understand you sell a line of red leather diaries, about six inches by eight inches in size. Do you know if you have any in stock right now? I'd like to get one as a gift."

"I think I know which book you're talking about. Just hold and I'll go check to see if there are any on the shelf." She was gone from the phone for about three minutes before returning to say, "Yes, we have two in stock."

After determining that the store was going to be open until 10 p.m., Patrick quickly left to get a look at one of the new diaries, one that he could perhaps use as a source to obtain the little key that opened them up. It was a long shot, but he knew that if he tried to pick one of the locks open, he would likely ruin it, and Glenda would probably never let him live down the fact that he had tried to snoop in her diaries.

In just over half an hour Patrick was on his way home again, with one of the red leather diaries with its key, in the bag beside him. It was expensive, almost $60, but he wasn't concerned about the price. It was a small price to pay if he was able to find out what was bothering his wife. He could always use the new diary as a birthday gift for her.

He already had visions of her keeping an illness from him. She had done that once before when a Pap test had come up with abnormal results, and she had bottled up the worry she was going through instead of sharing it with him. It had ended up being nothing to be concerned about, but knowing that she had been in for a mammogram in the fall was in the back of his mind.

The other thing that he thought might be causing her concern was the infighting that went on amongst the faculty members of the college. He knew that if she were having trouble with a colleague she would never mention it to him. Glenda believed in looking after her own problems and decisions when it came to her job.

There was another possibility, of course. It was there in the back of his mind, and he was consciously trying to ignore it, but it kept peeking into his thought processes; what if she was having an affair? Like any trusting husband, he could not bring himself to acknowledge that idea, and instead he concentrated on the other potential explanations.

In some ways, they were an unlikely couple. He was an inch shorter than she was, with blond, closely cropped hair and blue eyes. His was a muscular frame, while she was tall and slender. They had known each other in high school, and had even dated a couple of times. After high school, they had gone their separate ways, with Patrick entering the electrical trade as an apprentice, and Glenda going on to college and graduate school. 

They had reconnected by chance early during her last year, when both were invited to the birthday party of a mutual friend. They had clicked immediately, and were married a month after she had finished her education. He was a master electrician by that time, and had a small house on which he had recently made the down payment.

That house was home to them for the first five years of their marriage, but with Glenda now making a good salary, and Patrick holding a full-time job, they had eventually decided to move into a larger home. They had already discussed having a child, or maybe two, and had decided on the end of the school year as the target date for Glenda to stop using the birth-control pills she had taken throughout their marriage.

++++++++++

When he arrived back at home, Patrick wasn't 100% certain that the key for the new diary he had purchased would work with the locks on the diaries he had found. The key, stored in a small brown envelope within the box that held the diary, looked very small to him. He was beginning to think that perhaps he should have just asked the clerk whether the locks were all keyed alike. He had already made up his mind that if the key didn't work, he would forget about the whole thing. If each lock was keyed differently, he wasn't going to spend time searching the house for Glenda's hidden cache of diary keys.

In any event, five minutes after he walked in the door, he was seated at the kitchen table with a stack of diaries and an open can of Coke in front of him. The little key was in his right hand and he was staring at the seventh diary, the one that contained Glenda's most recent entries. He knew that if he tried that key, and it worked, there would be no going back; he would open her diary and read the things that she had made clear were meant to be private and personal to her alone.

He sat there for what seemed like several minutes trying to decide whether he wanted to cross that line. He was worried that he would somehow accidentally let her know that he had snooped, and that she would never trust him again. In the end, his concerns about her health, and the constant prodding of that unspoken question in the back of his mind combined to give him the push he needed to open the lock. The key fit precisely, turned smoothly, and the lock snapped open.

Within seconds, the book was his to explore, and he had opened it to the last page Glenda had used. At the top of the page was the previous day's date, and about three quarters of the page had been used. He quickly began reading the neat script written on the page.

It took him about a minute to read the lines, and by the time he had finished he had paled, his face had lost all expression, and his eyes had taken on that shiny appearance that tears create. He got up slowly, picked up his can of Coke, and walked to the kitchen sink. As he stood there looking blankly out of the kitchen window he slowly crushed the can of Coke, apparently not noticing that the beverage soon began to overflow the open can before running over his hand and into the sink.

Eventually he did notice his wet and sticky hand, dropped the crushed can into the sink, and rinsed the mess from his fingers. After drying his hands on a paper towel, he picked up the stack of diaries, along with the key, and walked slowly into the living room. He placed the stack of books on the end table beside his reclining chair, turned on the lamp that hung over it, and then sat back in his favorite chair.




The Small Brass Key



Once he was comfortable, he picked up the unnumbered seventh diary and opened it at the first page. He had a very clear idea of how the story was going to end; now he needed to find out how it had begun. The page he had read had forever altered his picture of his perfect wife, and their perfect life together. He needed to know the details of how that had happened, and he hoped the diary would provide them. Instead of reading the events in reverse order, he chose their chronological order.

For a while, he had considered driving straight to the Sheraton Hotel, going up to room 412, and having it out with his wife. He quickly decided that doing so would likely be a recipe for disaster, as either he would be a prime candidate for a traffic accident in his haste to get there, or he would be unable to control himself if he did make the trip in one piece. His only other option would have been to phone her, but he was afraid he would have broken down when he heard her voice, and he was too much of a man to want to wimp out that way.

+++++++++

The top of the first page was dated from early June, just over six months earlier. He began to read it, carefully looking for anything that might relate to the devastating information that Glenda had written on the last page.

None of the entries covering the summer months contained anything that could help him understand his wife, and the plans that she had made. There were several mentions of her happiness with her life, her husband, and the way her career had taken off in the time since she had been accepted for tenure. Everything he read should have made him happy and proud, confident in his marriage, but he knew how the story would end when he got to the final page. That knowledge soured every good thing he read.

In early September, Glenda finally made an entry to her diary that included something that was related to what Patrick was looking for. He sat up in the chair and reread the pertinent portion of the entry twice.

September 8th. Dear Diary;

... My new teaching assistant stopped by my office today. He is a little taller than I am, maybe an inch or so, and has black hair, dark eyes, and a short scruffy beard, more of an unshaven look. He introduced himself as Anthony Romano, and he reminds me of someone, a movie star maybe. He left me a printout of his marks and he seems well qualified....

Patrick began reading the diary more carefully now, looking for any other mentions of Anthony Romano, the teaching assistant. There was nothing in the next two entries, which contained only thoughts about her classes and how they seemed to be going. It seemed that she was quite content, although perhaps a bit nervous about how she would handle one of the large classes that she had. There were over 100 students in it, and she wondered how she would be able to accommodate that many.

September 15th. Dear Diary;

... Anthony is now helping me with my large class. He takes questions from the students when I get busy setting up materials for my lecture. I noticed that my female students seem quite taken by him. I heard two of them discussing him as they left the class, mentioning that he looked a lot like Leonardo DiCaprio. That must be why he seemed familiar to me....

As he continued reading, the mentions of Anthony Romano became more frequent. He was reading even more carefully now, pausing at times to reread certain passages.

September 20th. Dear Diary;

The classes are settling down now. A couple of students dropped out; I think they may have felt the course would be too difficult for them. I noticed that as I give my lectures Anthony finds himself a seat in one of the front rows where he seems to spend all of his time watching me. I'll have to give him more work to do....

September 24th. Dear Diary;

... I had about three hours clear this afternoon and was working on setting some reading assignments when Anthony came by my office. He stayed to help, and the job went quickly with both of us making copies and selecting articles to include. 

The entry continued with a long paragraph in which she mentioned her intention to talk to Patrick about where children might fit into their future. It was the first entry he had found that mentioned that subject.

September 30th. Dear Diary;

I caught Anthony staring at me again during a lecture. I looked at him and frowned, and I'm sure he knew what I meant by that, but he just grinned and continued watching me. At the end of every class, he is approached by at least a couple of the female students, who ask him questions about the lecture. None of them seems to want to come to me for information. I'm guessing they're more interested in him than getting help. Overall, my students seem to be doing well, which pleases me greatly. It's not like I haven't lectured before, but now that I'm a full professor I feel more pressure to have my students succeed.

There were several entries in a row with no mention of Anthony, although they did show that her classes seemed to be proceeding very well. She was happy and upbeat in all of the entries, and mentioned her firm decision to talk to Patrick about their plans. He remembered that it was sometime in the fall when they had their first long talk about their shared desire to have at least one child. Glenda wanted to finish her first year as a full professor without the concerns and responsibilities of a pregnancy, so they decided to wait until the end of the school year to begin trying to conceive.

October 8th. Dear Diary;

I'm so excited! Patrick and I have made a commitment to have children and I'm planning to go off the pill as soon as the spring semester ends. I mentioned all of this to Anthony, and he seems so happy for us. We were in my office, and he came over to where I was sitting behind my desk, took my hand and pulled me up to my feet and then gave me a very big hug. He caught me by surprise, and when he didn't seem anxious to let me go, I had to push him back gently and remind him that my office door was open, and anyone could walk by.

October 10th. Dear Diary;

... Anthony came by my office this afternoon and I have to admit that I'm a bit concerned. I didn't see him come in, and didn't realize he was there until I heard the door close and lock. When I looked up at him, he was smiling at me and said, "Now no one can walk by and see us." I told him clearly to open the door, and he did. He hung around for about 15 minutes before he finally left. Now I'm wondering what he intended when he locked the door.

October 11th. Dear Diary;

I was preparing questions for a quiz for my first year class when Anthony dropped in today. He stayed to help, and it really made the job easier. He apologized for closing the door yesterday, and I told him it was okay. When I asked him why he seems so interested in me, he said that he enjoyed the company of mature women much more than girls his age. I told him I was happily married, but I have to admit that I found what he said very flattering. To think he would potentially be more interested in me than in some of the sexy young women in our college stirs me in ways that I find surprising....

October 13th. Dear Diary;

... I expected Anthony to stop by my office today, but he didn't. I was a little disappointed, as I wanted to talk with him some more about what he said about being interested in mature women....

October 15th. Dear Diary;

... There were a number of students in my office today when Anthony came in. I was hoping he would hang around until the last one left, but he was gone when I finished discussing essay topics with the last group....

October 16th. Dear Diary;

... Today I finally got a chance to speak with Anthony. He asked if he could close the door, 'so we wouldn't be disturbed', and I went along with it. I was able ask him about why he found mature women more interesting, and he said his first sexual experiences had been with a 40-year-old widow who lived next door to him. He claims he finds girls his age don't know what they want, not like a mature woman. 

I was standing, leaning against my desk, and while he was talking he walked over to me. Before I had any time to think about it, he put his arms around me and pulled me to him. He was very gentle and it felt quite good. If I had ever had doubts about him finding me attractive, the fact that I could feel his hard erection pressing against my thigh dispelled them. 

I wanted to show him that I wasn't angry with him, so I let him hold me for almost a minute before I gently pushed back against him. He immediately released me, but caught me completely by surprise when he leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. It was a very short kiss, and he stepped back before I could break the kiss myself. He turned and left my office without either of us saying anything. I realize now that I should have called him on his actions, and told him again that I'm a happily married woman. I didn't though, and now I find myself reliving the moment whenever I let my mind wander....

Patrick was disturbed by this entry, as it showed him that while Anthony was continually pushing the envelope, Glenda was not responding in a way that he felt was appropriate. He left the book open on his chair while he went to get himself a fresh can of Coke. He was soon back in his chair with the book in his hands, prepared to continue reading about the apparent seduction of his wife.

October 20th. Dear Diary;

... Late this afternoon, just before I was going to leave my office and go home, Anthony appeared in the doorway and asked me if I was busy. As soon as I said that I wasn't, he came in and locked the door behind him. He ignored me completely when I asked him to open the door, and instead he came straight to me. He took my hands in his and said that he'd been thinking of me constantly over the last four days. 

He said he wanted another kiss, a longer one. I told him that I wasn't a widow looking for a lover, and that it was improper for him to be pursuing me this way. He said he understood, but asked again for a kiss, saying it would be in celebration of his birthday. I thought it would be the easiest way to get rid of him, so I agreed, and I'm wishing now that I hadn't. The kiss lasted about a minute, and I have to admit it got pretty steamy. He finally broke the kiss; I know it should have been me to do that.

I didn't know what to say, so I apologized for not having a birthday card I could give him. He smiled, and said that it was okay; his birthday had been in July. I should have been mad at him for conning me, but all I could do was laugh at his trick to get me to kiss him. He thanked me for the wonderful kiss and then left my office. I don't know what it is about him, but I'm afraid he may be getting to me. I'll have to be more careful around him in the future.

The next three entries made no mention of Anthony. Glenda was kept busy correcting a small test she had given her largest class, and marking the essays her students had submitted. Patrick found it odd that Anthony wasn't involved in these two tasks, but there was no clue in the diary entries as to why he wasn't.

October 30th. Dear Diary;

For the first time I'm at a loss on how to tell you about my life. I guess the only thing I can do is describe what happened today. I don't know how I will be able to handle facing Patrick when he gets home, as I'm afraid that he'll be able to take one look at me and know what happened.

It all started when Anthony walked into my office this afternoon. I was busy reading and didn't hear him walk in, and he surprised me with his cheerful 'Hello'. When I looked up, he was closing and locking my office door. For some reason, I didn't say a word to him about that.

When he got to my desk, he reached down and gently took my hands and pulled me up beside him. He didn't give me a chance to say a word before he took me in his arms and began to kiss me. I'm so ashamed. There is no excuse for me not putting an end to it the moment it started, but it was as though he had turned on a switch inside of me. Within seconds I was returning his kiss, and I got into it so much that at first I almost didn't realize he had brought his hands from around my back and had begun to gently massage my breasts.

As soon as I realized what he was doing, I pushed him away and broke the kiss. He just smiled and said, "Don't even try to suggest that you didn't enjoy that." I didn't say anything right away and he said, "I knew it."

When I finally found my voice, I told him to leave. He gave me a sly smile and said he'd see me tomorrow. I realize that I'm not handling this situation with Anthony properly. He's making it so hard on me, and I'm sure he knows it. Maybe I should talk to Patrick about it, but I just know that he wouldn't be too happy with the way I've let things develop. The worst part is that I find myself thinking about Anthony from time to time, and how I could feel his erection pressing against me again today.

The entire entry for the day was this description of how Anthony had felt up his wife, and when he finished reading it for the third time Patrick realized that he was once again angry enough to have lost control if Anthony had been in front of him. He had never thought he was capable of extreme violence until that moment.

November 2nd. Dear Diary;

... I think I have finally got past worrying about how I would react in front of Patrick. That first night was the hardest. Every time I spoke to Patrick, or he looked at me, I was sure that he was going to figure out what had happened in my office. At one point, he asked if something was bothering me, as I guess I was behaving a little abnormally under the pressure. He accepted my denial without question, and I found myself thinking of how easily I had been able to hide things from my husband. I hope I never have to do it again...

November 6th. Dear Diary;

It has been a few days since I last saw Anthony in private. He has been at the classes where he is contracted to assist me, and I notice that he is still staring at me. When he catches my eye he grins at me, and I know I blushed the first couple of times that happened. I find myself wondering how I'll handle it the next time he shows up in my office alone...

November 8th. Dear Diary;

Anthony dropped into my office this afternoon, but there were a couple of other students already there. I happened to look up as he turned to leave, and he threw me a kiss and then grinned at me. I'm sure the other students didn't see it as they were both standing with their backs to him, but I wish he would be more considerate of my position....

I received an invitation to attend a series of seminars in Columbus just after the New Year. It looks interesting, and I think I will attend if I can. I ordered the information package....

November 9th. Dear Diary;

Yesterday was another day that is going to be very difficult to write about. Once again I am very unhappy with both Anthony's and my own behavior, and I'm wondering where all of this will end up, if I don't do something about it soon.

In the morning, I had a couple of hours free, and I was hard at work when I heard the office door close and lock. I don't know how Anthony can sneak in like that, without me knowing. I asked him to open it, but he just ignored me. When he tried to pull me up from my seat, I resisted. Unfortunately, my resistance faded away as he kept it up. I thought, ' What harm can another little kiss do?' If only that was all of it.

There is no doubt that Anthony has mastered the art of kissing. It seemed like he was totally in command of my senses, not to mention my common sense, within just a few seconds. At the same time as he was switching his lips from mine to the sensitive spots on my neck, I felt his hands slide up under my blouse. As soon as his hands reached my bra, he pushed it up and began caressing my bare breasts.

There is no denying that I really got into the moment, and was really enjoying what he was doing to me. It was unbelievable how quickly he had me aroused. I've always enjoyed kissing, and the way he was teasing my breasts and nipples felt marvelous. If I had had the good sense to limit it to that, it wouldn't be so difficult to write this all down.

I can't say that I didn't notice what he was doing, but it's also true that I just couldn't stop him or myself. I felt his right hand leave my breast and then I knew he was fumbling with the button and zipper on my slacks. I didn't do anything to stop him, and within a few more seconds, he was sliding his hand under my panties. When his finger entered my vagina, it was too late for me to stop him, as I was already into the early stages of an orgasm.

His kisses, the wonderful way he was caressing my breasts with one hand, and the gentle movement of his other hand against my clit brought on one of the longest orgasms I've had in quite a while. As soon as I was back in control of myself, I pushed him away and ran into the bathroom. There were tears in my eyes as I was straightening up my clothes to their normal state. All I could think of was how angry Patrick would be if he had seen us or if he ever found out about this.

Just as I finished getting my slacks done up, Anthony walked into the doorway of the bathroom. He was sucking on the middle finger of his right hand, and as soon as I looked at him, he removed it and said that I tasted wonderful. I guess he could see that I was very upset, and he left as soon as he said that he wasn't going to apologize, and that he hoped we could do that again. I should have told him to not even think such a thing, but I was upset and didn't regain my voice until after he was gone.

The thing that really surprised me was how well I was able to handle myself in front of Patrick when he got home from work. I'm certain that he didn't suspect a thing, and I could hardly believe that I didn't feel under any strain as we talked over the course of the evening. Last night we made love, and it was as good as it has ever been. I think that maybe I was still feeling the effects of my high state of arousal from the morning. Either that or maybe I wanted to prove to myself that Anthony doesn't hold a candle to Patrick in the lovemaking department.

Once again, the whole day's entry centered on an episode with Anthony, and Patrick found himself reading it repeatedly as his anger once again grew. Finally, he turned the page and continued reading Glenda's diary.

For a full week there was no mention at all of Anthony or anything related to the developing relationship between Glenda and her TA. In fact, Patrick noticed a definite sense of contentment in her entries.

November 17th. Dear Diary;

God, I just don't know what is wrong with me. Anthony has developed a hold on me that I would never have imagined possible. I don't know whether it's his rugged good looks, or some defect in me, but I just can't seem to maintain control around him.

This afternoon he came into my office and sat on the corner of my desk. I told him we were going to have to talk about what happened the last time he was there, and he quickly agreed. He just watched me and smiled as I told them how wrong it was for us to be involved in any way. I reminded him that I was happily married, and that my position as a professor could be jeopardized if anyone were to find out what we had done.

As I spoke, he just nodded and smiled at me. When I was finished speaking I leaned back in my chair, confident that he understood my position. In spite of my reasoned approach, and my confidence that the situation had been resolved, I found myself getting aroused just watching him sitting there smiling at me. I know I was thinking about the sensation of his fingers as they caressed my nipples.




The Small Brass Key



After what seemed like several minutes, but was really only perhaps 40 seconds, he asked me whether I wanted to lock the door, or should he. I couldn't find my voice, and after waiting just a few seconds he got up, closed, and locked the door to my office. When he walked back to my desk, he asked me to join him on the small leather sofa in front of my bookcase. I can't think of words to explain why I went along with his request.

We began kissing, really getting our tongues involved in it. After a minute or so when he hadn't brought his hand to my breasts, I was so anxious for the wonderful sensations he could evoke in me that I took one of his hands and brought it to my chest. That signal seemed to turn him on, and he soon had my blouse undone and my bra pushed up. After several minutes of kissing my lips and caressing my breasts, he moved his head down so that he could kiss and nip at my breasts. It felt glorious.

When he moved one of his hands to bring it up under my skirt, I moved my knees apart to let him do it. My panties were soaked, and when he tried to pull them down, I helped by raising my hips from the sofa. I was shameless in my actions, but I just couldn't help myself. He soon had his hand and fingers bringing me the most amazing sensations as he caressed me and then one of his fingers found my G spot. I had a wonderful orgasm as I humped up against his hand and fingers.

When I calmed down, he pulled his hand from under my skirt and licked his fingers clean. After that, we kissed, and I could taste myself on his lips. As we kissed, he took my hand and placed it on his erection. As I squeezed along its length, I could tell that he was fairly large, and he began to moan into my mouth as we kissed. He soon unzipped his pants and pushed them and his shorts down. He put my hand back on his erection, and held it as he slid it back and forth. It was obvious he wanted me to bring him off.

He broke our kiss, and just said, 'Please'. I was able to get my first look at his naked cock, and it was quite apparent that it was slightly larger than Patrick's. It was so hot and hard. As I stroked him, he reached over for a box of tissues and pulled off three or four of them. When he handed them to me I knew what he wanted, so I began stroking him faster. It wasn't long before he started humping up and groaning. When he came, I caught his cum in the tissues. It was a good thing he gave me so many, as he came a lot more than I expected.

After he pulled up his pants, he took the tissues from my hand and went to the bathroom with them. I got my clothes back into place and met him at the door to the bathroom as he was leaving it. We shared a quick kiss before he said thank you, and left.

We've entered dangerous territory, and I just don't know what I'm going to do about it. A large part of me wants to terminate his position as my TA, but another part of me says that we haven't done anything that bad. I could never tell Patrick about this, and fortunately, there's no way that he will ever find out about it. My office is on the fourth floor, with no facing buildings, so no one can see us.

All of this happened only an hour ago, and I can still feel the afterglow from my orgasm. I hope my emotions are back to normal before I go home to Patrick.

This was another difficult entry for Patrick to read, as it was plain that the situation had escalated quickly. He was already feeling that he certainly didn't know his wife as well as he thought he did, and had already decided to read all of her diaries no matter how long it would take. He went back and reread the two pages over again. When he was finished, he looked up, and happened to notice that it was already two o'clock in the morning. 

He knew there were still quite a few pages to go, but there was no way that he could put the book aside. Before he began reading again he phoned the office number at Andersen Electric and left a message on the voicemail that he would be off the next day for personal reasons. He hadn't made any final decisions yet on what he would do, but he knew that his life was already forever changed. Where he had once held love and dreams for the future, there was only a cold emptiness and a building anger now.

Before he continued with the diary, he visited the bathroom to eliminate the last can of Coke, and then picked up a fresh can on his way back to the living room. He wasn't tired, and he didn't think it was the caffeine in his soft drink that was keeping him awake. His mind was in overdrive, trying to digest everything he had read. He looked at the clock again, and marveled that it was only eight hours ago that he had talked to Glenda and had his suspicions aroused.

November 22nd. Dear Diary;

Anthony was in the office this afternoon and I made sure that I kept the desk between us. He didn't push the issue, and made no attempt to lock the door. I felt so guilty for the last few days, that there's no way I would have ever agreed for him to even touch me. I think he could feel my firm intent to keep things between us at their proper level. I hope I can maintain this resolve....

The next few days of entries continued with no mention of Anthony. He could tell that Glenda was upbeat as the first semester was ending. There were only a couple of weeks left, and she sounded anxious for them to be over.

November 23rd. Dear Diary;

I told Patrick about the seminars, and he's okay with me attending; he even suggested that he might take some time off to go with me. I will have to think about that. There might be a few things we could do when I'm not attending sessions....

It was obvious to Patrick that Glenda's decision about him accompanying her to the seminars had made a complete about-face between the 23rd of November and the middle of December. He continued reading.

November 25th. Dear Diary;

Anthony was in the office this afternoon, asking me if he could drop by my home. I told him clearly that that was never going to happen. He particularly wanted to know if Patrick ever worked out of town overnight. His next idea was that I should visit him at the house on Second Avenue that he shared with three other students. When I told him that there was no way I was going to do that, he told me that I could always call him if I changed my mind; his name and number were in the telephone book.

Other than trying to convince me to meet him away from the College, he was on his best behavior. I told him about the seminars I was planning on attending, and he seemed quite interested in them. I told him they were for teaching staff only, but he just sort of smiled....

November 30th. Dear Diary;

Yesterday was another day that I'm going to have great difficulty telling you about. I feel like I have completely lost my way. I hardly slept last night, and even Patrick seemed to know that something was wrong. How I wish I could have explained to him what was on my mind, but that is just impossible.

The last couple of days I had several daydreams about Anthony, and our mutual gratification session. I don't have any affection for him, but I just can't seem to close my mind to him, and what we've done together. This is where my thoughts were when he came into my office early in the afternoon. I was preparing exam material, and he helped me get it finished in about half an hour. After I had thanked him, he simply stated that he was going to lock the door.

What is wrong with me that I couldn't stop him from doing that? I just stood there and watched while he closed and locked the door. When he came back, he led me to the sofa and then we stood there and kissed. Soon he was removing my blouse and bra. It seemed like we were both naked in no time, and he was lying me back on the sofa. The next thing I knew he was putting on a condom, and I had spread my legs so that he could enter me.

I was so turned on, from the moment that we started kissing, that I couldn't even imagine saying no to him. The whole time that we fucked on the sofa my mind was telling me to stop, but it simply couldn't defeat the lust that was controlling me. When we both came, and it was over, I grabbed my clothes and ran into the bathroom. I locked the door and got dressed while I cried. How could I have let this happen?

Anthony had dressed and was gone when I finally came out of the bathroom. Everything in my office was as it had been before this happened, and I remember I wondered what he had done with the condom. I spent the rest of the afternoon at my desk with the door locked, alternately crying and thinking, trying to figure out how this had happened. Maybe I should consider seeing a therapist.

While Patrick could see that there was honest regret and distress in Glenda's words, he couldn't find justification for why it had happened; the act that she had obviously been a willing participant in. His heart was growing darker, the more that he read, and the words he was reading were having a very negative effect on his normally generous and happy personality. The Patrick that was emerging was not someone that any of his friends, relatives, or even Glenda would recognize.

December 3rd. Dear Diary;

Anthony stopped me in the hall this morning and asked me if I would reconsider meeting him at the house he shared. He said that he wanted to spend several hours with me in a real bed. I told him to forget it, that I would never consider meeting him, especially at some location where I could be seen. I reminded him again about my husband and my career.

Once he seemed to accept what I had said, he quietly made another suggestion to me. He asked if it was possible that he could accompany me to my seminars in January. He had seen my brochure from the Sheraton Hotel that was hosting the group, and said that a group of Sociology professors wouldn't have the whole place booked up. He said he was willing to pay for his own room there, if I would agree to spend the nights with him. I told him to forget it.

Just before he left, he smiled at me and said that I should think about it. I didn't say anything to him, but the thought was already in the back of my mind. What is wrong with me?

Patrick had to take a break at this point, as the anger he felt at the two of them was beginning to boil over. He paced back and forth in the living room several times before heading to the kitchen for another can of Coke. He was tempted to have a few beers instead, but decided to keep a clear head. He was in a state where he already knew what he would like to do, but he had no plan, and he knew he would have to have a proper plan. He went back to the living room and the open diary.

December 7th. Dear Diary;

Anthony stopped by my office for a minute this morning to say goodbye. He is going to be flying home for Christmas after his exam tomorrow. He wanted to know if he should come back early, so that he could go to the seminar with me. He said he knew that I was considering it. To put him off, I told him to call me in a few days; that I hadn't made up my mind about it. He smiled and said that he would call me in a couple of days at my office....

December 8th. Dear Diary;

Today I told Patrick that I wanted him to stay at home while I went to my seminar; that we could take a cruise during the spring break. We've talked about a cruise in the past, so this wasn't a new idea. He wasn't too happy about it, but he finally agreed to stay home. I feel so guilty for lying to him about this trip. I haven't decided to take Anthony with me, but I guess I do want to leave the option open. I've thought about our little 'affair' on the sofa in my office many times since then, and it gets me aroused every time.

I can't understand why I'm considering this. I'm so happy with Patrick and our life together. I never think of Anthony in any terms except as a sexual partner; there's definitely no love there. I find myself fantasizing about his large erection, and how it felt during our frantic time on the sofa. It would be somewhat nice to be able to spend some unhurried time with him, as he is definitely an experienced lover. I wonder if he will call me, or give up on the idea....

December 12th. Dear Diary;

Anthony called me at my office this morning. He still wants me to take him with me to Columbus. He suggested that I phone them and make a reservation for two connecting rooms, so that no one will ever see us entering the same room. His idea that I describe him as my brother, and reserve the room in his name sounds foolproof. He said he would call me again tomorrow to see if I had made the arrangements, and if so he would call them to put his room on his own credit card. Now I have to make up my mind whether I'm going to consciously plan to cheat on Patrick.

December 14th. Dear Diary;

Anthony called again today. Apparently, he tried to reach me yesterday, but I wasn't in my office. I did call and make the arrangements that he suggested. I felt so bad as I did it. They gave us rooms 412 and 414. He is going to call and put room 414 on his Visa today. He sounds excited. I can't say that I'm actually excited, but I think I am looking forward to this. Anthony will be gone at the end of the spring semester and he isn't participating in the TA program any longer. I'm hoping that I won't be tempted to meet with him again after our three nights at the Sheraton.

I don't know what it is about Anthony that turns me on this way. There have been many handsome men who have looked me over in the past, but I've never been tempted before. I think he may be one of those guys who just naturally know how to press all the right buttons. It certainly seems that way with me, anyway. God, I hope Patrick never finds out about this; it would kill him. He doesn't deserve this at all.

There were a number of entries for the remainder of the month of December, but only one of them mentioned Anthony or the plan that he and Glenda had made to spend three nights at the Sheraton. Apparently, he had phoned her at their home two days after Christmas.

December 28th. Dear Diary;

Anthony called me at home yesterday. I was shocked to hear his voice, but I was also thankful that Patrick had to work. Anthony said that he was prepared for a man to answer the phone, and would have asked for a girl named Veronica if that had happened. He said he just wanted to be sure I was still going to go through with it, as he would have to fly back New Years Day if he was going to be driving with me. I told him that I was going to take him with me, and he really got excited.

I tried to sound calm about it, but inside I have to admit that I was getting excited too. I really expect this to get him out of my system. Before Patrick and I were married, I never spent even two nights in a row with the same man. I've been thinking about that, and maybe this is the reason that I've decided to go along with Anthony's suggestion that we spend this time together. I just pray that this gets whatever it is out of my system.

Patrick looked up at the clock, and saw that I was almost 5 a.m. He knew that the next entry was the one that he had read first, just moments after he had unlocked the diary. He was almost finished the most recent book of Glenda's diaries, but he had already decided that he had to read all of them. Even though what he had read suggested that she had never cheated on him before, he had to know that for certain; he wanted to know if there was someone else on whom he could spread his anger.

He already knew that there were things he was going to have to do today, so before he finished the last page he went back to the kitchen to prepare a pot of coffee; there would be time to sleep later in the day. When he had a cup of fresh coffee in his hand, he returned to the living room to reread the last page of the book.

January 3rd. Dear Diary;

Well, tomorrow is the big day. I'm off to three days of seminars, and three nights of sex with Anthony. I'll be picking him up before I leave town, and I guess I'll drop him off at his home on the way back into town. Thank goodness that Patrick hasn't seriously tried to convince me to let him come along on this trip. I really don't know what I would say to him if he did that.

Patrick got me a map from the Internet so that I won't get lost driving there. This afternoon, while he was at work, I checked on the Internet and found that there is a Victoria's Secret store in the mall next to the Sheraton. I think I'll get a couple of really sexy outfits to wear with Anthony, and I can always rinse them out before I come back, so that I can wear them for Patrick. I don't really like the thought of doing that, but he will never know.

I forgot to mention to Anthony that he had better have a good supply of condoms, as I don't intend to take any chances on bringing home a surprise for Patrick. If he doesn't have any with him, we can always stop at a pharmacy. There is bound to be one at the mall with the lingerie shop. I think we'll stop there before we check in.

I can't believe that I'm getting so excited about this trip. I'm also wondering if Anthony will expect me to do things that Patrick and I have never tried. I'm not sure that I would like to have that happen, as it would be difficult to suggest something new to Patrick right out of the blue. He might wonder where I got the idea. Maybe if that comes up, I'll save anything I learn for our cruise, as I can always say that I'm just being adventurous.

I've already started packing, and I hope that Patrick doesn't think that's suspicious. The last thing that I want to do is make him suspect anything.

I just read all of my thoughts for today and I wonder if I can really go through with this. What happened in my office was very spur of the moment; if Anthony and I spend even one night together on this trip, it will have been planned well in advance. There is no way I could ever excuse it, even to myself, as a moment of weakness. I guess I could still tell Anthony that I'm backing out, and I could pay for his room and expenses for the trip. Right now though, that probably won't be a problem; I've been getting wet just thinking about it.

Patrick finished the seventh diary and sat there drinking his coffee as he went over all of details he had been reading over the previous nine hours. As he sat there he began to put together a plan, something that he could work on the over the next three days. He had already made up his mind that his marriage was over. Even if she backed out of her agreement with Anthony, he could never trust her again. Even the thought of forgiving her seemed hopelessly out of the question.

As the hours had passed, he had been able to feel his love for Glenda seeping away, while at the same time, his hatred for Anthony was building exponentially.

++++++++++

Just before noon, Patrick got up from his computer and went to get his cordless phone. Once he had retrieved it, he sat down again at the computer and dialed a number from the screen.

"Piersall Investigations; how may I help you?" The woman who answered the call sounded very businesslike, and Patrick noticed that right away.

"Do you do divorce work?" Patrick wasn't sure what he should call the work he wanted done, but assumed that it would normally be related to divorces.

"If you mean do we get photos of cheating spouses, and that sort of thing, the answer is yes. Would you like to speak to an investigator?" The woman's professional demeanor showed through, and Patrick now felt comfortable.

"Yes, I would like to speak to someone. That's the type of work I would like to get done."





The Small Brass Key



The phone switched over to a soft rock station while Patrick waited for almost 30 seconds before the investigator answered the phone.

"John Piersall speaking. I understand you're looking for some evidence for a divorce. How can I help you?" The man sounded very businesslike as well, and Patrick immediately proceeded to tell him his story.

"Well, I think my wife is having an affair with a man at the Sheraton Hotel near the airport. I'd like to know if you'd be able to get me some photographic proof, and I'd like to know how much it would cost." Patrick wasn't too sure what he needed to know, or exactly how he would get his request across.

"The Sheraton, you say. We could definitely handle that. Is this going on now? What timeframe are we talking about here?"

Patrick was comfortable now and said, "My wife is there now; she staying until Saturday morning. She's in room 412, and the man she's meeting is in 414; they're connecting rooms. They were there last night as well, but I hadn't decided what I should do until this morning. My wife is attending a series of seminars, and the guy she's seeing came along for the ride." He wondered if the investigator would catch the unintended double entendre.

John Piersall must have caught the joke, as he chuckled before saying, "I'll need a few more details, and I'd like to know what kind of surveillance you would like. First, could you give me their names, and descriptions?"

Patrick described his wife, and offered to send a photo by email if it was required. He had found the firm by locating their web site, but didn't want to waste time corresponding by email. He also told him Anthony's full name and gave him the vague description from his wife's diary.

"This is fairly straightforward, Mr. Dunn. We can get cameras into their rooms this afternoon, and leave them there until the weekend, after they check out. Getting the equipment installed only takes a few minutes, and I just checked my files on the Sheraton. We have a contact there that will let us into the rooms at a flat rate for each entry. If you aren't going to require us to follow them, there won't be an hourly charge for our services. I think a flat fee of $800 will cover it, if all you're after is photographic proof."

"You said cameras. Would it be much cheaper with only one? I just want confirmation that they have been together; in fact, I'd only want to check on them tonight. If there are photos to prove they are spending the night together, I'd like to get them by late tomorrow afternoon." Patrick had not thought about the details and what would be required, and wasn't sure what to ask.

"We don't know which room they will use, so we have to put cameras in both of them. The cost is reasonable, considering the high quality of the equipment we use, and the out-of-pocket expenses we have. Paying a member of the maintenance staff to let us into the two rooms twice, once to install the equipment, and once to remove it, will cost us one hundred dollars."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking; I've never had to do this before. I assume you'll want payment in advance. I'll make payment by credit card on your web site, if that's OK." Patrick was determined now to just get things arranged. The man he was dealing with sounded like a professional, and he didn't want to have to travel all the way up there to meet him personally.

"Using the web site will be fine. When you fill in the form, use case number 1372A. It will help our accountants keep things straight. As soon as I see your payment, I'll head over to install the cameras. We'll be creating a DVD of whatever we capture on the cameras. I'll need your name and address to forward them to."

It seemed simple to Patrick, but having the DVD mailed to him wouldn't be of much help. "Could you just hang onto the DVD until I contact you? What I need right now are some photos to prove to me that they really are meeting there. I don't want anything explicit, just some photos that make it clear that they are having an affair. You could email them to me tomorrow, and I'll print them out here."

"You're the boss, Mr. Dunn. I can easily take still photos from the video streams. The DVD can stay in your file until you request it."

Patrick supplied his telephone number and made his credit card payment while they were still on the line to each other. With the confirmation of payment made, the investigator promised to get right at the installation of the cameras.

++++++++++

Satisfied with the arrangements he'd made with the private investigator, Patrick finally succumbed to the lack of sleep that he had been enduring. He stretched out on the sofa and was soon asleep. By late afternoon he awoke, somewhat refreshed, but definitely hungry. After eating the warmed over pizza he went back to his chair, unlocked the first of the six completed diaries and began reading. It went much quicker now, because he wasn't rereading anything, nor was he spending a lot of time thinking about the contents.

He had just completed the first volume, and was up to stretch his legs when Glenda phoned just before 10 p.m. He felt surprisingly comfortable as he spoke with her, neither of them giving hints to the other that they were keeping secrets. After he hung up from her call, he wondered if she was finding it as easy to hide her intentions as it was for him. Now that he had made his plans, it was simple for him to do what was necessary. As he thought about it, he wondered if he would ever feel normal again.

Before he started volume two, he went over his plans once more. On Friday, he would have to take care of more of the details, especially by visiting his bank and making financial arrangements. He had already called Anderson Electric and quit his job, and would have to pick up his final check sometime the next afternoon.

++++++++++

It was after one o'clock in the morning when he finally finished the second volume. It took him quite a bit longer to read the second book than the first, because he realized that it was entirely possible, even likely, that while he was seated there reading, Glenda was in bed with Anthony in the Sheraton Hotel. His mind kept drifting from the written pages to the disturbing erotic scenes generated by his imagination.

By this time, Patrick was very tired, and he finally decided to sleep for a few more hours if he could. He knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep in the bed that he and Glenda had always shared, so once again he stretched out on the sofa. Surprisingly, he was able to drift off to sleep, and eventually woke up at seven a.m., feeling refreshed. After a quick breakfast, he resumed reading, starting at the beginning of volume three.

By noon, he had finished the third and fourth volumes, and was able to set the diaries aside while he pursued completion of the items on his to do list.

The first thing he did was visit Anderson Electric to pick up his final check and clear out his locker. The owner, Gus Anderson, tried to convince him to change his mind, as he hated to lose his best worker. Once Patrick had explained a bit of his situation, Gus realized his pleadings would go nowhere, and reluctantly shook Patrick's hand as he wished him the best. He was able to get Patrick's promise to return to Anderson Electric at a future date, if it was possible.

His trip to the bank took a little longer, as he had a lot more paperwork to handle. When he was finally able to leave, it was with a cloth bag containing over $20,000, the full extent of what he could remove from the joint and personal accounts held there. He had hoped for a bit more, but additional funds would have required Glenda's signature. The money he was able to withdraw would simply have to meet his immediate needs.

It was almost four o'clock when he returned home, and the first thing he did was to check his answering machine. There was a message there from Piersall Investigations, and after steeling himself, he dialed the number for the direct line to John Piersall.

"This is John Piersall. How can I help you?"

"This is Patrick Dunn, returning your call. Were you able to place the cameras, and did you get any results from them?"

"Ah, yes, Mr. Dunn. We were able to place the cameras in both rooms yesterday afternoon, and I retrieved the results just after noon today. Both rooms were vacant when we were there, so it was just a very quick in and out operation."

Patrick hesitated before saying, "Was there... was there anything much on the tapes?" He almost held his breath as he waited for John Piersall to reply.

"Well, Patrick, it's never easy for me to say this, but your suspicions have been confirmed. I'm sure we'll have all the evidence you're going to need for a divorce action. The two of them spent the night in your wife's room, and there was repeated sexual activity. I transferred the video files to DVD, and its here for you whenever you want it. You had mentioned wanting three stills from the video, and I have them ready to be emailed to you, if you still want that done."

John's information had brought tears to Patrick's eyes, something that actually surprised him. Despite everything he had read, knowing that there was visual confirmation available to him somehow moved the whole situation from possible fiction to actual fact. "Yes, please, email me the pictures. Thank you very much, Mr. Piersall. If everything is fully paid for, I guess our business is complete."

"Yes, your payment covered the account in full. Are you sure you're all right? Your voice sounds somewhat different from yesterday. I know this kind of situation often leads to extreme emotional pain, and truthfully, I'm a little concerned."

Patrick had regained control of his emotions, but there was definitely an edge to his voice as he said, "I'm fine, thank you. I'll be sure to let you know if there is anything else I require."

"Well, I'm sure your lawyer will want a copy of this DVD, unless you decide to seek a divorce on grounds other than adultery. In any event, we'll keep it on file for one year, or until we get your instructions. You know, there are many of my customers who have told me that therapy can help in situations like this. It's not my area of expertise, but I understand that confirmation like the DVD I have here often takes a toll on the injured party, and that a good therapist can help get you past it all."

"Please don't concern yourself, Mr. Piersall. I know what I need to do to get past this. Thank you for your very professional assistance." Patrick hung up the phone before John Piersall could say anything further. His face was now a mask that hid his emotions, whatever they might be.

He was still sitting at the kitchen table when he heard the signal from his computer that mail had arrived. He quietly walked into the room where the computer was kept, and opened the email from Piersall Investigations. After viewing each of the three attached photos, he sent each to the printer, which he had loaded with eight by ten photo paper. Within a few minutes, he was holding the hardcopy evidence of his wife's infidelity.

As requested, none of the photos showed explicit activity. The first one showed his wife, naked, facing the camera with her eyes closed while Anthony Romano, also naked, stood partially behind her, his erection clearly visible against Glenda's thigh, apparently kissing her neck while he fondled her breasts. Their clothes were scattered across one of the two beds in the room, and since neither bed had the covers pulled back, this photo must have been from before any physical sexual acts had taken place.

The second photo showed both of them very clearly, and Patrick studied it closely to burn the image of Anthony Romano into his mind. The two lovers were each carrying a bath towel, and each was wearing a white cotton robe stenciled with the name of the Sheraton Hotel. Both of their robes were hanging open, and again Anthony was sporting an erection. In this photo, Patrick could easily see that Anthony's erection was slightly larger than his own was.

Their hair was still wet, and it was obvious that they had had a shower, probably together, Patrick imagined. One of the beds had very obviously been used, with the blankets and top sheet in a bundle on the floor. He may have been imagining it, but Patrick thought he could see a sizable wet spot in the middle of the bed.

The third photo showed the two of them lying under the top sheet, which was pulled up as far as their waists. Anthony had one hand stretched beneath the sheet in the direction of Glenda's crotch, while he appeared to be whispering in her ear. One of Glenda's hands seemed to be reaching for his cock, and she appeared to be staring right at the camera, a small smile on her face. This photo bothered Patrick the most, and he wished that John Piersall had substituted an even less graphic photo in its place. The intimacy that it portrayed was sufficient to push Patrick past the point of no return, as far as his emotions were concerned.

After giving each of the photos a last, lingering examination, Patrick placed all three in a brown envelope he had waiting there. He left the envelope on the kitchen table before he returned to the chair in which he had spent most of the last two days and picked up the fifth diary.

+++++++++++

Shortly before midnight, Patrick finished the last two volumes of Glenda's diaries. As he sat there thinking back over the entirety of the six volumes, he realized how closely Glenda had always conformed to the understanding he had of her. There were very few surprises in the pages of those six books. Nowhere did he read anything that suggested she had ever even considered betraying him.

He did learn many little secrets about her, all things that helped him understand situations that had arisen in their past. He knew that she was more insecure than he had realized, as many entries in her diaries showed how much she lacked in self-confidence. One thing that stood out though, was her apparent deep love for him. It made her actions with Anthony even more difficult for Patrick to understand.

The one true surprise that he discovered was that their meeting at that birthday party so many years ago was not by chance. He learned that when someone had casually mentioned that the guest of honor knew Patrick, Glenda had become excited at the prospect of perhaps being given the opportunity to meet him again. It was at her request that he had been invited to the party, and the rest became history.

Reading the two volumes had kept him sufficiently occupied that it wasn't until he had finished reading them that he realized that Glenda hadn't called, and that he was now very hungry. As he fixed himself a sandwich and soft drink, his mind was fully occupied thinking of Glenda and Anthony replaying their roles from the night before. His thoughts managed to keep his mood extremely dark, and reinforced his commitment to the solution he'd already chosen.

Whether it was because of the meal he had eaten just before stretching out on the sofa, or the 8 x 10 pictures of Glenda and Anthony that appeared in his mind every time he closed his eyes, he had a very fitful sleep that night. It was just after seven o'clock in the morning when he gave up trying to get any more rest, and got up to start the day he had been preparing for over the previous two days. He had a lot to do, and he decided to get an early start.

At 8:30 a.m., he made a call to his sole surviving close relative, his brother Samuel. They weren't exactly estranged, but they rarely saw each other beyond the obligatory Christmas visit. It had been only two weeks since his brother, sister Mary, and their two children, Sam, who was 12, and Brenda, age 10, had visited. It was obvious to Patrick that his brother was surprised to hear that Patrick intended to drop in that morning for a short visit. Fortunately, Samuel and his family had no other plans.

Patrick managed to keep busy until he arrived at his brother's home just after 10 a.m. Knowing that the two children would be anxious to get back to their activities, Patrick called them into the kitchen, where he was seated at the table with his brother while Mary made a fresh pot of coffee. He knew from their Christmas visit that the family was planning to visit Disney World during the spring break, so he gave each of the children a crisp new $100 bill for spending money. They were excited by the gift, and were generous with their thanks and hugs.

"You didn't need to do that, Patrick," said Samuel, "But it was very nice of you to make their day like that. What's up? Did you win the Powerball lottery?"

Patrick managed a small smile and said, "No, it's nothing like that. My luck has certainly been nothing to brag about. I just felt generous."

The three of them sat around the kitchen table with their coffees, engaged in small talk. Finally, Mary said, "I guess there's no need for me to avoid talking about the big plans that you and Glenda have. She told me about how the two of you are going to try to start a family. I know you're going to love having kids around just as much as we do."

Patrick was quiet for a few moments before he replied, "She told you about that, did she? I guess there aren't too many things that women don't talk to each other about." Just before Mary was going to say more, Patrick continued, "It's hard to say how our plans will work out. Lots of things can get in the way of decisions like that." He effectively changed the subject when he turned to his brother and asked him a couple of questions about his job as a restaurant manager.

A few minutes after the cups of coffee were finished, Patrick stood to leave. "In case I don't see you... before next Christmas, I hope everything goes well for you." He gave his brother's hand a quick shake before turning and giving Mary a brief embrace. "I'll be thinking about you." With that brief remark, he turned and left, the three of them exchanging goodbyes as he walked to his car.

As Patrick drove away, Samuel turned to Mary and said, "I wonder what that was all about? Something seems to be on his mind, but it didn't look like he was anxious to talk about it."

Mary didn't seem to think that there was anything unusual going on as she replied, "Patrick's probably just trying to kill time until Glenda gets back from those courses she signed up for. I seem to remember her saying she'd be gone until tonight." The two of them returned to their home hand in hand, as they discussed their plans for the rest of the day.

++++++++++++

Just before 6 p.m., Glenda Dunn pulled into the driveway of her home. She was a bit surprised to see that Patrick's car was not there, and quickly entered the house by the side door into the kitchen. She had rehearsed her first meeting with her husband after returning home, and was a bit rattled by the fact that he wasn't there, and only silence returned her call as she entered the kitchen.

The fact that she had come home to an empty house wasn't something that she had anticipated. In some ways, she realized that it would be a good thing, as it would allow her to get unpacked and get the clothing in her suitcase into the washing machine. She was already planning to have another shower, unsure that the shower she had had that morning had completely washed away the last traces of Anthony.

As she walked past the kitchen table, she noticed a piece of paper in the center of the table, held down with a saltshaker. Realizing that it must be from Patrick, she picked it up.

Glenda,

Gus called me from the office this morning. He's stuck for a lead hand for a rush job in Centreville, and I agreed to look after it for him. The overtime will be nice. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Patrick.

Glenda was mildly displeased with the note, even though it would allow her to accomplish everything that she wanted to do before seeing her husband for the first time after her trip. She set the note on the kitchen counter, and took her bag upstairs so that she could get everything into the wash. She had already decided as she walked up the stairs that instead of the shower, she would have a nice, long, hot bath.




The Small Brass Key



She transferred the items that she needed to wash into the laundry basket, and was carrying it toward the bedroom door when she noticed her diary on top of the tall chest of drawers. She immediately remembered she had left it with her emergency bag on Wednesday, and picked it up to take downstairs with her. She was relieved to see that it was where she had left it, and that it was undisturbed. 

She had intended to keep it up to date while on her trip, but had been unable to do so when she discovered that she had forgotten it. She realized where it was when Patrick had told her where the emergency bag was, and she could distinctly remember placing the two items there. Patrick had obviously put the bag back on the shelf, but had left her diary where it was. She decided to bring it up to date while she did the laundry, as it was still a bit early to relax in the tub. 

While the washing machine removed the last traces of Anthony from her clothing, Glenda prepared herself a sandwich and bowl of soup. When her meal was finished, she put the dirty dishes into the sink and went over to the telephone where she pressed the preset button to call Patrick's cell phone. It rang twice before she realized that the sound of a cell phone ringing was coming from the wicker basket on her kitchen counter. 

The basket was used by both of them to keep their keys, cell phones, and sometimes even a wallet or spare change. After she hung up the phone, she walked over to the counter and picked up Patrick's cell phone from the basket. "Damn! How am I going to get hold of you now?" It was a strictly rhetorical question, and after asking it, she went back to the kitchen table and pulled her diary in front of her. 

The small brass key that would open the diary was in her wallet, attached to a piece of red yarn, and she quickly used it to undo the lock. Once the lock was removed, she opened the book to the first blank page, picked up her pen, and began to write.

January 7th. Dear Diary;

The most eventful four days of my life have just ended, and I hope I can remember everything that I wanted to tell you. Some things may be upsetting to put on paper, but I must do it.

When I picked up Anthony at his home, it was plain that he was looking forward to this. He kept trying to touch me as we drove, and I was a little put out with him over that. He finally left me alone until we were on the Interstate, after I warned him that someone I know might see us. The further we got from town, the more relaxed I became, and I was quite enjoying myself, and his attention, when we finally got there.

We stopped at the mall before we went to the Sheraton, and while he went to the pharmacy for condoms, I went to the Victoria's Secret store to find some sexy lingerie. He must have run all away there and back, as he joined me at the store before I had the chance to purchase anything. He made several suggestions and I finally purchased one set that he liked, and two that I preferred. 

The one that he wanted me to buy was a little trashy looking, I thought. I wore it for him Wednesday night, and he doesn't know this, but I wrapped it up in an empty bag and left it in the garbage can when we checked out this morning. There's no way that I could ever wear it for Patrick, especially considering that Anthony chose it. I've also come to the decision to throw out the two bra and panty sets that I purchased, as I don't want anything around to remind me of my nights at the Sheraton. I know I can never erase all of the memories, but I'm going to try.

Wednesday night, Anthony joined me in my room, and it didn't take him very long to remove my new panties and bra. He was really turned on, and we were quickly naked and having sex. I've already told you how experienced and handsome he is, and he quickly had me fully involved. He has a young man's ability to recover quickly, and we managed to have sex three separate times that night before we both agreed it was time to go to sleep.

I really enjoyed the sex we shared, and came many times. The first time I could definitely notice his larger size, but I realize now that sensation was gone after the first time. I guess the size difference wasn't as great as I'd thought.

Thursday morning he woke me up with his tongue, as he teased my nipples. We did it again that morning, just as we did Friday morning. It's something that Patrick and I used to do most mornings when we were first married, and I miss that. If I have anything to say about it, we're going to get back to that.

Thursday night was much like the previous night, except that I was now finding myself thinking of Patrick while Anthony was having sex with me. I finally realized after that first night that there is an awful lot of difference between having sex and making love. After we had done it the third time Thursday night, I told Anthony that that was the end of it. The novelty I enjoyed the first night we spent together had rapidly worn off it seems, and I began to realize how much I preferred making love with my husband. 

I didn't want to start an argument with Anthony, so I didn't say anything to him until we were preparing to go to sleep. He became quite angry, and for a while there I was actually a little scared of him. Because it was late we agreed to stop arguing, and both of us went to sleep fairly quickly, although I was already starting to make plans about how I would try to make it up to Patrick for all of this.

Friday morning I woke up and found that Anthony was preparing to have sex with me. I tried to stop him, and I told him that I meant what I said the night before. He didn't listen to me at all and just told me to lie back and enjoy it. When he was finished, he went back into his room, and I locked the connecting door between our rooms. I talked to him through the locked door, and told him not to plan on joining me in my room again. He told me that was OK, and that he would find another partner for Friday night. He told me I wasn't the only sexy female sociology professor staying in the hotel.

Sure enough, after our closing supper, I saw Anthony with one of the women who had attended a couple of the sessions with me. I know she was married, but she was just as taken in by Anthony as I had been. You can't imagine the relief I felt when I knew that I wouldn't have to argue with him about sex last night. I heard them come into his room, and a few minutes later he knocked at the connecting door to ask for the box of condoms in my nightstand. He didn't give me any problem as I handed them to him.

As I lay in my bed last night, I began to realize that Anthony is a predator, selecting older women that he feels he can manipulate. It is to my everlasting shame that I am one of the ones he was able to control.

I was afraid that the drive home with him would be a terrible experience, but it actually went quite well. Now that I could see Anthony for what he is, I was able to remain in control of the conversation and our physical interaction. I think he had had enough sex to keep him sated, as he actually behaved quite well. He didn't argue very much at all when I told him that I never wanted to see him again. I think he realized he would have no further control over me.

I had a lot of time to think about things as we drove home, and I have already decided that I will make an appointment with a psychiatrist or psychologist on Monday morning. I have to know that I would never again cheat on Patrick, and to do that I think I will need to know how I let Anthony take control of me. I have to do something about that obvious flaw in my character. Whatever allowed this disgraceful episode to occur has to be controlled or eliminated: I'd rather die than give in to temptation like that again.

I've also decided to spend the rest of my life making it up to Patrick, even if he will never know the reason why. It is enough that I know this terrible secret; I can only pray that he never finds out.

There is one other decision that I've made. If Patrick agrees, I intend to stop taking the pill when my present prescription runs out in 12 days. The prospect of having children has really begun to excite me, and it really makes no sense to wait any longer.

When Glenda finished writing her lengthy entry, she used her pen as a bookmark, left the book on the table, and went upstairs to prepare her bath. She brought her cordless phone into the bathroom with her, in case Patrick should call. When the bathtub had filled to the proper level, she added some bath oil, lit some candles, and slipped into the water.

As she lay back in the tub, she finally closed her eyes and let the warm water relax her. She was so comfortable that she was on the verge of sleep when she got the feeling that she was being watched. She slowly opened her eyes and turned her head to look back into the bedroom, but there was no one there. She returned to her comfortable relaxation, and continued thinking about the ways that she could make it up to Patrick for her foolish relationship with Anthony.

An hour later, she returned to the kitchen fully refreshed. After putting her laundry into the dryer, she returned to the kitchen table to reread her latest entry in her diary. She was momentarily confused by the fact that her pen was missing from the book. She was sure that she had left it between the pages, but soon realized she was mistaken when she saw it on the kitchen counter beside the wicker basket. After retrieving her pen, she opened her diary and began to read.

++++++++++

Sunday morning Glenda got up refreshed and eager to begin the next phase of her life. After spending the morning catching up on housecleaning, she had a shower and changed into an outfit that she knew Patrick liked. By mid afternoon, she was relaxing at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee while a large roast was just beginning to cook in the oven, when she was interrupted by a knock at the side door.

She was both surprised and alarmed when she saw that there were two large men at the door, one of them a young, uniformed police officer who was standing off to the side with his hand on the butt of the gun holstered at his side.

The second man was a bit older, dressed in a suit and topcoat, and was holding up his police identification. "I'm Detective Rankin, and this is Officer Reynolds. We're with the Springfield Police, and we're looking for Patrick Dunn. Can you tell us if he's at home?"

The relief on Glenda's face was evident to them, and she quickly said, "Patrick is working right now. The moment I saw you I was afraid that something had happened to him. I'm his wife, by the way. Maybe I can help you."

The two men exchanged a quick glance before the detective said, "Perhaps we should come inside. It's a bit chilly out here."

Glenda stepped away from the door and said, "Certainly, come right in." She led the two men into her kitchen before continuing, "Why are you looking for Patrick?" The look of concern came back to her face before she said, "He isn't hurt, is he?"

Detective Rankin quickly replied, "No, no, nothing like that. As far as we know, your husband is in good health. We just need to speak with him concerning a case we are working on. You're certain your husband is away at work?"

"Well, of course I'm certain." She walked over to the counter and picked up the note that Patrick had left for her. She handed it to the detective before she continued, "You can read his message yourself. It was waiting for me when I came home from a trip last night."

Officer Reynolds had stationed himself by the counter where he could watch the rear entrance, as well as the entire kitchen. He continued to rest his hand on the butt of his weapon. Detective Rankin passed him the note, and when the officer had read the contents, he took it back. "Do you mind if I keep this, Mrs. Dunn?" When she shook her head, the detective opened the zippered case he was carrying and put the note inside.

Glenda's curiosity got the best of her, and she nervously asked, "Why do you need to speak to Patrick? What possible interest could the police have in him? He's never been in any trouble."

The detective replied, "We received a phone call in the homicide department this morning, reporting a murder. The call was recorded and the number from which it was placed was traced back to your husband's cell phone. We're now working with your husband's cell phone provider to determine where he was when the call was made."

Relief washed over Glenda's face as she said, "Well, you have obviously made a mistake somewhere. I tried to reach my husband last night just after I got home, and when I called his cell phone I discovered he had left it at home; it's in that basket right over there." She was pointing to the wicker basket on the kitchen counter.

Skepticism was clearly showing on the detective's face as he said, "Do you mind if I check over his phone?" As he finished speaking he walked over to the basket, looked at it for a couple of moments before picking it up, and returning to the kitchen table with it. "I don't see any cell phone in here, Mrs. Dunn. Are you sure you aren't thinking of some other day, and not yesterday?"

Shock registered on Glenda's face as she confirmed that the basket was actually empty. She quickly walked over to where the basket had been located and glanced around, although it was obvious that there was nothing else on the counter. "I don't understand! His phone was there when I tried to call him early last evening." She was looking back and forth from the officer to the detective in obvious frustration and concern.

"Well, I can't explain why the phone wasn't in the basket where you claim it should have been, Mrs. Dunn. Obviously I have to believe that the call that was traced to your husband's cell phone really did come from that phone." The Detective opened his folder and made several notes before he continued, "Does your husband know a Mr. Anthony Romano?"

At the mention of the name, Glenda displayed even more surprise, and her face momentarily lost its color before she said, "I know Anthony Romano, but my husband doesn't. Anthony was my teaching assistant this past semester."

The two men exchanged glances again before the detective said, "So there's no reason for your husband to have had it in for Mr. Romano? You're quite certain that he didn't know him?"

Glenda was beginning to look panic stricken as she said, "No, Patrick never met Anthony."

The detective made more notes before he looked up at her and said, "Well, your husband seems to have known Mr. Romano well enough to have made the call that reported his murder."

Glenda was so shocked by the statement that she sat down at the table before saying, "Anthony's dead! He... he was with me on my trip, and I just dropped him off at his home about 5:30 yesterday afternoon. How can he be dead?"

Detective Rankin sat at the opposite end of the table before asking Glenda, "What was your relationship with Mr. Romano? Could it have given your husband cause to murder him?"

Glenda's face had gone white as the detective spoke. In a moment, she recovered enough to say, "Anthony was just a senior student who was my teaching assistant, and there was no reason for my husband to do anything to him." Although she had said the words, the tone of her voice was not convincing.

The detective let her sit there and fidget for almost half a minute before he said, "When we arrived at the address your husband gave us, we found evidence that Mr. Romano had been attacked as he entered his front door. There was a travel bag lying in the middle of the hallway, and marks that suggest a fight had taken place there. It's apparent that Mr. Romano lost the fight, and was dragged into the kitchen where he was tied to a chair with nylon straps, the type that would normally be used for bundling electrical wires together."

Glenda had begun to cry softly as he described the scene at Anthony's house. She reached for a tissue as he continued, "Before he was dragged into the kitchen, it appears that Mr. Romano was shot in the left knee, and the medical examiner believes a major artery was damaged as there was a lot of blood lost. We haven't received the autopsy results yet. It appears that Mr. Romano was struck several times before he was killed with a single shot to the head."

He continued, "The preliminary examination also shows that he was shot once in the groin, a nonfatal injury that appears to most likely have been inflicted postmortem. The estimated time of death is between 6 and 8 last night."

Glenda interrupted him at this point, saying, "Patrick could never do something like that to anyone! He is not like that!" Her crying had almost ceased, and it was obvious that she was more angry than upset.

The detective consulted his notes again before he continued, "State records show that your husband has a permit for a 25 caliber semiautomatic handgun. One of the slugs that hit Mr. Romano was recovered from the chair to which he was tied, and our technicians have made a preliminary determination that it was 25 caliber. There is also the question of motive."

Detective Rankin searched through his folder and finally withdrew three photocopies which he placed on the table in front of Glenda. "These are photocopies of three photographs that were recovered at the scene. Their placement on the table beside Mr. Romano seems to indicate that he was shown these three photographs before his death. Blood spatter indicates they were there when the fatal shot was fired. I don't think you've been completely honest with me in regard to your relationship with Anthony Romano, or your husband's interest in him."

Glenda had picked up the three photocopies, and was looking at them in shock while the detective spoke. As the full realization of what the photos showed sank in, she began to cry in earnest, as she said, "No! Patrick couldn't have known!"

Just as he was about to continue with his description of the crime scene, the detective received a cell phone call. During the three-minute call he said very little, and spent most of his time writing in his notebook. While he wrote, Glenda had become quieter, and now sat with her hands in front of her face as she sobbed.

When he finished his notes, the detective looked up at Glenda and said, "You're husband's call was made from Windsor, Ontario. The local police in Windsor have worked with the cell phone company and they found his cell phone. It was in a cloth bag along with his credit cards and the 25 caliber handgun that was registered to him. The bag was in a garbage can in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart Superstore." 

"There was no sign of him or his car, although the license plates from his car were also found in the garbage. They believe that he may have stolen a license plate from another vehicle in the parking lot in order to blend into the Ontario traffic."

This news was of no consolation to Glenda, and she continued to cry inconsolably as she sat at the table. After watching her for several moments, the detective pulled another photocopy from his folder and placed it in front of her. It was a copy of a photograph of a small brass key, with a ruler placed beside it.

"There was a small key on top of the photos. We have no idea of its significance. Do you recognize it?"

Glenda took one look at the photograph and immediately grabbed her purse. In seconds, she had removed the diary key from her wallet, and was holding it beside the photograph of its twin. It was at that point that she completely lost control and slumped back into her chair. About the only decipherable words that she spoke after that were, "Diary," and "Patrick."

+++++++++

The two men stayed with Glenda for almost 15 minutes, waiting for her to calm down. They were finally able to convince her to call someone that could come over to be with her. Once it was confirmed that her sister would be arriving within minutes, the two of them finally left.