by Eros4Play ©
It was one week before she would celebrate the end of her fortieth year, and two weeks since her divorce became final. The wind outside justified her mood on this cold, wintry night, and it seemed that nothing was as it should be. She huffed, grabbed the quilt her old aunt Mel had given her, and moved towards the frosted window, Riunite Peach in hand. And it was there, amidst all the pain, misgivings and disappointments, between running tears and under-the-breath curses to Saint Nick, that she saw him.
"Fucking shitty ass car! Aaaah! Dammit!" There he was going on and on about his car that "fucked", while kicking it's tires and pelting it with snow. Then a lull as he placed his cellie to his ear. "Out of range my black ass!" as the cell phone too found itself deep in snow. No doubt about it, he was just as pissed as she was, if not more so.
She admonished herself for being so impulsive as she pulled on her snow boots, thought some more for about 3 seconds, then trudged out towards him.
He heard the slow crunching of snow behind him, and fearing the worst, swung around with ghetto readiness, making her freeze in her tracks.
"ummm...need some help?" Damn, Monique, all these years and THAT'S the best come on line you can come up with?
Being raised in the ghetto and now occupied by a corporate giant, he knew never to trust a stranger, male OR female. "Nah, I'll handle it."
"Typical male I see, pretending to be in control at the most inopportune times..." she smiled mischievously, and turned to walk back to her misery.
The comment got his attention. After all, he did like a woman who spoke her mind. "So how do you suppose I could alleviate this problem?"
-the car or your clothes?- "Well, I do have something called a phone in my house. You seem to have 'damaged' yours."
He smiled, embarrassed at his earlier lack of control. "You saw that?"
"Yes," she laughed. "Come on inside and make your phonecall, 'Mr. Macho'."
He had to admit, he liked her already. So he followed her inside, all the way trying to find a panty line through her thick fur.
"The mechanic'll be here in a few," he said. "Thanks."
Sheee_it! What sort of fairy tale is this? The mechanic isn't supposed to be getting here through this weather! "Oh, that's good. You'll be able to get home to your family in good time then."
Smile. He thought he knew what she was hoping for. Still had to make sure though. "My house is no more full than I assume yours is."
Her turn to smile. "Touche, Mr......"
The conversation flowed from then on, and after about fifteen minutes of uninterrupted and imaginative verbal entertainment, wine, laughter and ignorance of time, they heard the horn of the mechanic outside. They reluctantly got up and ambled to the door, muttering all sorts of unnecessary nonsense to prolong the good time they were having, and after exchanging numbers, parted ways.
She watched the mechanic do his thing, saw Darrian get in, waved and slowly closed the door. As she leaned with her back against the large Victorian era door, she noticed how her mood had changed, and how warm her loins had gotten. Then, turning off the inside lights so that only the twinkle of her Christmas tree illuminated her domain, stripped off her clothes, and lay down on the large couch surrounding herself with aunt Mel's quilt. And it was there that her fingers found her sex, and it was there where she began Christmas 1999 with more hope in her heart than she'd ever had. She had found him, the man she had been told about by aunt Mel till the day she died, the man of all men, the one. She was in love, and knew that the next eleven days of Christmas would bring her more joy than she'd ever imagined, and a millenium of mad love to make the angels envious.
The end? If you like, please write an open ended conclusion to this story, and mail it back to me.
love...one woman at a time...
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