Beneath the rim of my face cap, through the rims of my vintage granpa glasses and above the crook of my elbow which bore my weight, I peered distractedly at the torrents of rain falling from the corrugated roofing sheets three storey above to the ground a flow below, as I rested languidly on the railings of the balcony of my little room which was one of the many little rooms in the big lodge down the road, not very far from school.

The wind had thinned out to sporadic gusts and it made the electric lines overhead whistle violently, making it sound like an evil spirit was on the prowl. It also made little showers of w€tness spray across my face, caressing my nostrils with the astringent scent of rain. With an unseeing intent I stared at the fast falling drops of rain as they followed each other in their descent to earth.

Seeing beyond them to a night not too far from the reach of memory that the electric lines sang in such deadly whistles as they did then. I still saw with my mind, the frenzied dance of the trees as the wind assailed them in the darkness of the night, making me remember..


I remembered the cold smell of the rain wind as it wafted unbridled into my room through the open window. I remember hurrying from my bed to the window and sliding it shut as the w€t gusts of wind threatened to make the solitary candle that stood atop a my reading table by the window, give up the ghost.


The sudden brightness that cut through the dark of the night, setting everywhere momentarily aglow and casting eerie shadows of the ceiling fan and the lone shirt that hung from the nail on the wall, still shone bright in my memory.

As I shook hands with her friend across the table, Anita squeezed onto the banquette, curling one shapely leg under herself and sitting on it. When we’d worked together she’d driven me to sexual distraction by doing this when in my office, and this day was no different. Though the table covered her legs from the looks of passersby, her skirt had ridden up to mid-thigh.

One surreptitious glance downward rekindled old lusty memories as the lacy top of a thigh-high stocking peeked up at me. I restrained the impulse to wipe my brow as Anita began telling Marsha about our innocent past.


“When I first met Smith – six or seven years ago – I disliked him,” she confided to her friend as her eyes pored over my frame. “He was hired from outside, over everybody else, to manage installing the new branch computer network. Then they made him head of marketing and training…again over everybody else! You can imagine how pissed off we all were.”


What Anita meant was that many of the women at headquarters were seething because they’d been passed over for the position. At the time I’d understood their objections, but of course had kept quiet.
“You didn’t stay angry for long,” I chimed in.
“You know why, don’t you,” said Anita, giving me a sultry look and laying her hand softly on my forearm. I shrugged, and she squeezed my arm slightly as she related to Marsha, “First, you were very sharp.

Second, I discovered that you and I had a lot in common…with our theatrical backgrounds and stuff. And third, my friend Sherri went gaga over you.”
“That’s an exaggeration” I said, anxious to stop this line of conversation. When I’d been at the bank, I’d tried to keep my sexual addiction under wraps, which – I was told by my shrink – was a result of my alcoholic mother’s verbal abuse that eroded my self confidence in my formative years. I had taken the diagnosis with a shrug of the shoulders. Everyone has a cross to bear; I had a life to prepare for.


“Listen to him, Marsha. Here’s a WASP god with a Ph.D., an experienced executive, divorced, six foot two and built like a pro athlete, just dripping with sex appeal…and he’s modest!” Anita then turned to me and raised her knee, banging it hard on the table’s underside and wincing before she pushed it against my thigh. “Sweetie, if I hadn’t been married, I would’ve jumped your bones myself!” She punctuated her statement by signaling a passing waitress for another round of drinks.


Marsha declined, saying she had to get back to her office. I stood and shook her hand before she and Anita hugged goodbye, then she left.
“Hope I didn’t chase off your friend,” I said.
“Marsha? Oh, no. She’s a two-drink person,” Anita assured, untangling her legs and raising her knee to see if it’d been bruised on the table. Sitting ninety degrees to my right, her short skirt pulled open as she rubbed her knee, which must have been sore.

My lusty eyes looked straight between her legs as her pose revealed – yes! – thigh-high stockings, delectable creamy flesh at their tops, and an inviting triangle of light-colored bikini panties covering her vulva that made me want to drool.

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