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Familiarity grew comfortable and gave way to conversation as we observed the ebb and flow of tavern life. One Friday night the stars governing our relationship aligned like the bars on a slot machine. One of these stud-muffins is going home with me," she chuckled with a little shiver and scanned the bar for targets of opportunity. What a curious blend of emotions for a virtual stranger. Most of the men in the tavern looked like drop-outs from Blubber Buddies or some such weight-watching group. "Compliments of the house," Our curious barkeep did a visual inventory of his own as he set a beautifully mixed and handcrafted White Russian in front of Darlene.
Heads turned as Darlene strutted into the tavern in a blur of legs, cleavage, and the predatory smile of a fox. Her mini-dress must have been a belt in a previous life, and her tissue-thin blouse was unbuttoned down to her navel. "That's a nice outfit you are almost wearing," I did a double take when she hopped up on the barstool next to mine. " I nodded as I filed that image into my long-term memory vault. She took a small sip and savored it like a gourmet, "Perfect! Darlene hopped down from her seat, and like Alexander the Great, set out to conquer the known world. She was the Alpha-Fox loose in the hen house, radiating sexual availability like a neon sign in the night.
Our bartender presented her with another complimentary White Russian as his sacrifice to the Gods of Wishful Thinking. A few moments later, our generous drink master returned with three tall White Russians. Still waters run deep, and it didn't end well. " "A twofer is the first and last time something happens. Why the fuck would I want to be named after a stagnant pond? Everyone needs a hobby and sex was her diversion from work.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is too weird for words and 100% purely coincidental.
----------------------------------------- Chapter 1 I stuffed my last cardboard box of personal belongings into the cargo hold of my girlfriend's Toyota Rav4, jumped into the passenger seat, and waited while she fussed over a map with directions to our new home. She flipped her shoulder-length hair out of her eyes for the umpteenth time and squinted to read the tiny letters. " She put the Rav into drive, and we started on our way. Darlene was a smart, feisty, petite brown-haired woman, just under five feet five inches tall, with small breasts, shoulder length hair, and a freckled baby face. I met Darlene at a local tavern where we developed an unlikely May-December relationship.
According to local legend, the original owner ordered the hook's construction to allow him to observe activities of untrustworthy bartenders behind the bar while also keeping an eye on equally untrustworthy patrons. Hell, she flirted with everyone: Men, women, and even the bartender's mangy tomcat. I pitied the lucky guy who won Darlene's attention.
The voyeur and hermit in me loved the spot, and I had it all to myself for several months until the day Darlene arrived. At first, I was annoyed at the invasion of my secret space. Like commuters sharing an across town bus, we got used to each other's presence on the installment plan. While I enjoyed the sometimes risqué banter, I never considered Darlene as potential girlfriend material. I amused myself trying to sneak a peek down her blouse or up her skirt when I thought she wouldn't notice. She had the uncanny ability to read people like a book and play them like a deck of cards.
If anything, she was too beautiful and too self-assured. After we moved in together, I would joke that I was 'robbing the cradle' when I took her to bed.
The men she flirted with as she worked her way around the tavern were flattered, flustered, and fearful of her attention. After ten or fifteen minutes of flagrantly flirting Darlene returned to her seat to regroup and refuel. Can I have another one to keep this one company," Darlene touched his hand, and if her smile had been any warmer, the barkeep would have erupted into flame. " Darlene laughed as she raised her index finger and traced a point on the invisible blackboard in the air. She would always laugh and respond, "I guess that would make me a grave robber." A few things attracted me to Darlene. She was so easy going that I once tried to give her the nickname, Lake Placid.
They have killed in the past, and are willing to kill again to keep their home a secret.
An extraordinary apocalyptic adventure unlike any you've read before. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
" If you learn where someone lives, you can start to make good guesses as to their culture. The closer to the road, the more connected they were to conventional reality.
"Honey, they don't have an address, and they're not on a road," Darlene moved to the living room sofa, and I followed. I had visited many communes in my younger days, and everyone had a personality ranging from boring to batshit crazy. "Fifty miles give or take," she leaned into me as she sat next to me. We were friends back in college." "What kind of friends?
Living off the grid far from civilization was an attractive alternative to living in a cardboard box behind a Safeway Supermarket.Tags: Adult Dating, affair dating, sex dating