The decor at Castle Wicke is under way. I have a special room that I’m still working on. An art room, it’s actually my own private wicked man-cabin. My room for secrets, for dark sexy secrets. For things, that not only go bump-in-the-night; but, for the stray hot breath on a window pane, for bare thighs on a plush rug, a forbidden massage from a clandestine meeting, a place for lascivious parlor games. A place to make your wildest dreams come true.
The writer inside me was coming out. But seriously, the house is slowly coming together. Moving sucks, but redecorating rocks. Kind of like a spat with your significant, that later turns into a signifi-CAN. If you know what I mean. I’d like a few private moments alone with my house now.
Today, a woman invited me to run away with her to the ocean. She is tall, older than I, long dark hair, brown eyes… and married. I had worked with her briefly a few years back, then my job changed and I went one way, she went the other. From time to time she would call my office. (Where I attempt to tame wild monkeysall day long) Conversations were nothing special, nothing wild— “how are you?” “I’m good.” “How you been?” etc. But today “Let’s run away together, I’m going to the ocean.” Twice. I was surprised. I was flattered. She knew I liked her, she could probably sense it. (Women are smart like that) I joked and turned her down in a very nice way. I don’t think she really expected me to accept her invitation.
“Let’s run away together, I’m going to the ocean.”