They were miles away from each other, but a heat linked them as they spoke. She was reclining in her bed, ready to drift to sleep. Alone in his room, he was kneeling beside his own bed. She enjoyed the sweetness of it, knowing he was that way for her, and the similarity to the pose to that for nighttime prayers did not escape her.
It was just an hour from when I got her message to when I arrived. Just an hour. Now, looking back, it seems almost impossible that there was just an hour of intermission between my old life to my new reality.
If my husband knew the way I thought about Carl, he would have freaked. If he only knew that I tended garden in my high-cut jean shorts and tight white tank top in the hopes that Carl would be outside mowing the lawn, washing his car, or even just getting the mail. If he only knew that I bent over, intentionally pushing my ass into the air, and spreading my legs, hoping that the tiniest hint of my thick lips could be seen pushing against the rough fabric. My body begged for Carl to look over and think about sucking on me.
By Go Deeper Press: In Dirty Little Numbers, readers can expect the most erotic Brazilian waxing they’ve ever seen, a seduction by a lesbian Lolita, and a sex worker with a surprise up her skirt, who expects to be paid with "150 red roses."
By Mel MacFarlane: It was the last time I saw him alive. A chilly but bright October morning with no clouds and a biting wind that tore through my dress and straight into my bones. I shivered painfully as I pulled my thin shawl further over my shabby dress, smiling brightly through the chattering of my teeth.