"Man-Eater"

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
About a divorcee that is in between men...

Submitted: April 11, 2017

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Submitted: April 11, 2017

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“Man-Eater”

 

 

She knew it wasn’t,

Going to last,

But she wasn’t really planning,

All that far,

Into the future,

Anyways.

She took her shot,

At looking for Mr. Right,

Once already,

It took her,

10-years of marriage,

To find out,

Just how far,

Off target,

That shot really was.

This last guy,

She was seeing,

Was different,

He had a specific,

Purpose,

He fulfilled a need,

That hadn’t been,

Addressed,

Or taken care of,

In years.

He was so raw,

And uncontrollable,

Whenever,

They got together,

The energy and passion,

Between them,

Was undeniable,

She just couldn’t say no,

Whenever he made himself,

Available to her.

She was being consumed,

By her veracious,

Sexual appetite,

With the more,

She fed it,

The hungrier,

It seemed to become.

Those 4-months,

Seemed like,

One wild,

Continuous ride.

But that came to,

An abrupt end,

When she sent him,

A late night text,

With a photo attached,

That would have made,

Any man,

Get up out of,

His own bed,

And find a way,

To get into hers.

But that wasn’t an option,

When he saw that photo,

Of her,

On his phone,

For the very first time,

Being that his wife,

Was holding the phone,

6-inches away,

From his face.

That was a couple of,

Weeks ago,

And now she is eyeing,

This babe in the woods,

That she runs into,

Every now and then,

At work,

Delivering office supplies.

She knows that he,

Probably won’t have,

Any of the skills,

She has grown accustom too,

Over the last 4-months.

But he looks,

So damn Cute,

Like a cross between,

A short Ken doll,

And a sexy,

Animated cartoon,

With a smile,

That is,

Way to big,

And eyes,

That are,

Much too bright,

To seem real.

But it’s the ass,

He has on him,

That makes her think,

She would enjoy,

Teaching that puppy,

A few new tricks.

She went out to lunch,

With the girls at work,

A week ago,

For a couple of drinks,

And just happened,

To run into him,

As they all,

Got back to the office.

As the group passed him,

In the hall,

She let loose,

With a,

“Hey Scott”,

“You sure know how”

“To fill out a uniform”

“You don’t make”

“Late night deliveries”

“Do you?”

He was caught,

By surprise,

And started to blush,

In response to,

Her thinly vailed comments.

But all the other girls,

Could obviously see,

He was,

Quite intrigued,

With the possibilities,

She seemed to be,

Throwing out there,

To him.

The girls giggled,

As they walked past him,

One girl whispers,

To her,

“Cradle robber”

Another,

Hands her a Kleenex,

“What’s this for?”

She asks,

“You have drool”

“At the corners of”

“Your mouth”.

All the girls,

Burst out laughing,

She just smiles,

And takes the Kleenex,

And dabs the corners,

Of her mouth,

Causing all the girls,

To laugh even harder.

She’s caught in traffic,

Driving home from work,

On what’s slowly turning,

From a work day,

Into a Friday night.

She finds her mind,

Toying,

With the prospect,

Of her,

And that young,

Delivery driver,

Playfully pushing around,

Images and situations,

Of them together,

In such vivid pictures,

And thoughts,

That she carelessly,

Runs a red light,

Narrowly missing,

Her becoming,

A speed bump,

For an 18-wheeler.

She rolls down her windows,

The incoming air,

Cools down,

Both her body,

And her mind,

Long enough for,

Those thoughts of her,

And that cartoonish,

Ken doll,

To get pushed out,

The window,

With the outgoing,

Rush of air.

She drops her keys,

On to a table,

When she gets home,

Picks up the T.V. remote,

And just stands there,

Still holding the remote,

In her hand,

She turns,

And walks into,

Her bedroom,

And opens up,

Her closet.

Looking over her,

Large arsenal,

Of outfits,

All of which would,

Get your attention,

With just a glance.

“Fuck It”

Was all she said,

As she threw,

The remote,

From her bedroom,

On to the living room couch.

Then she picked out,

Her weapons of choice,

Some tight jeans,

That fit her like,

A second skin,

With a blouse,

That made it,

Almost impossible,

To look her,

In the eyes,

When she talked to you,

And a pair of heels,

That made those jeans,

Look alive,

Every time she took a step.

She walked into the bathroom,

Put the stopper,

In the tub,

And began the process,

Of drawing a hot bath,

With the assorted oils,

And soaps,

She liked to use,

On her skin.

She walked back,

To her bedroom,

And pulled open,

Her underwear drawer,

She looked over,

All the matching,

And mismatching sets,

Trying to decide,

Just what was right?

Then she looked,

At her face,

In the dresser mirror,

And with both a,

Mischievous,

And sexy smile,

She slammed the drawer,

Shut,

And said,

“I’ll wait till”

“I get out”

“Of the bath”

“Before I decide”

“Just what kind of”

“Underwear”

“This night”

“Is going to”

“Require”.

And with that,

She walked back,

Into the bathroom,

And slide into,

That Hot inviting bath,

And as the suds and oils,

Began to lap over,

Her delicate skin,

Slowly caressing the days,

Sweet summer sweat,

Off her body,

She closed her eyes,

And summoned,

That young delivery driver,

Who quietly slipped,

Into her thoughts,

And shared her bath,

With her,

Till she pulled,

The stopper out,

With her toes,

And the last of,

The warm water,

Ran off her body…

 

Tom Allen…04-08-2017…

 

 


© Copyright 2017 Tom Allen714. All rights reserved.

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