Cold Blue by Gary Neece

father’s advice, such as, “Don’t shit in your own sandbox,” then Thorpe might not have found himself in his current predicament with this woman.
    The day they’d met, he’d dispensed with his usual precautions and discarded his shirt. Shimmering with sweat, he worked near the road in a pair of work boots and khaki shorts. Al and Trixie had yet to be trained, so the only warning Thorpe received was the sound of gravel crunching underfoot. Thorpe looked up to see Deborah running on the road. A tanned, toned, and pierced midriff was framed by black Lycra shorts and a black sports bra struggling to contain her ample bosom. The sight caused Thorpe to mumble, “Oh, my God.”
    As the woman approached, she caught sight of Thorpe, and her pace abated. Thorpe’s body was void of fat with muscle striations popping in his chest, arms, abdomen and back. The woman slowed to a walk, altered her course, and sashayed over to the fence to introduce herself.
    “Hi, neighbor…Deborah Jennings.”
    Thorpe approached, shed his work gloves, and accepted her extended hand. “John Thorpe.”
    Still holding his hand, Deborah broke eye contact and allowed her eyes to drift downward. “John, I hate to be so forward, but you have the most amazing body I’ve ever seen on a man.”
    “I bet you say that to all your neighbors.”
    “Hardly. How’d you get the scars?”
    “I’m a cop…Tulsa PD. Stuff happens.” Not exactly an answer to her question, but not a lie either.
    “Well, I feel safe knowing I have one of Tulsa’s finest living close by.”
    “Which house is yours?”
    “The big obnoxious one on the hill.”
    “Nice to meet you, Deborah.”
    “Yes, it is,” Deborah replied in full-flirt mode. She played with her hair and repeatedly touched Thorpe’s arm. “Sorry for being such a bad neighbor. I haven’t even brought you and your wife a housewarming gift.”
    “Not married.”
    “Divorced?”
    “Not exactly.”
    Deborah didn’t pursue the vague answer.
    The barn’s double doors were open, and Thorpe’s makeshift gym was visible from where Deborah stood.
    “You have a gym? Mind if take a look?” Deborah didn’t wait for his reply; in fact, she’d already been moving toward his gate while asking the question. Once on his property, she led the way to the barn. Visible from behind, her large breasts overtook her small frame. Deborah strutted through the garage door, paused at the punching bag, and threw a few punches. The scene was one of the most erotic Thorpe had ever witnessed. She’d successfully maneuvered onto his side of the board and used his own bishop to put him in checkmate.
    “John, I think you’d be an excellent personal trainer. Though to be sure, I’d first have to try out your equipment.”
    “I’m expensive.” Thorpe smiled.
    Deborah looked over her shoulder “I’m rich.”
    She walked over to a rack, lowered herself under a straight bar with no weights, and began performing squats. Facing away, she arched her back and thrust out her ass with every repetition. “If you’re that expensive you should at least give me a spot.”
    Thorpe moved in behind Deborah, laying his hands on the exposed and wanton curves between hips and waist. Deborah stepped backward, arched her back, and drove her firm buttocks into Thorpe as she dipped down. When she came back up, she again pressed herself into him. Thorpe lifted the bar off her shoulders and tossed it over his head. Deborah turned and ran her fingers down his chest and abdomen. She grabbed him from the outside of his shorts. They both collapsed to the padded mat, and with the doors still open, went at each other with little restraint.
    Thorpe had no idea whether any passersby had witnessed the exhibition. Deborah had proven to be an insatiable and somewhat violent lover. She’d continuously traced his scars with her fingers and tongue while engaged in relations, and courtesy of artificial nails, might even have carved a few new ones. Lying on