after laying outside for twenty minutes in a tank top.
Despite the sunburn I was nursing, I was grateful for the warm weather as I did a short run through Nathan’s neighborhood.
I wasn’t an inherently active individual, but weeks of living on Nathan’s couch after class had only encouraged gravity’s mission to make my ass, well, the opposite of perky.
Nathan was working late again, a fact that made me sigh more than I should. He was always working late. My blowjob skills must have been lacking because he’d barely touched me all week. I was tempted to start wearing corsets to bed every night, if it would actually do anything.
When I rounded the corner back to Nathan’s house, the mailman pulled away from the mailbox. I usually let Nathan get the mail, since most of it was for him anyway. But in the spirit of trying to exist a little more loudly in his house—despite his dead wife’s presence lingering in all its corners—I opened the mailbox to see if there were any small bills that I could cover that month—despite Nathan’s insistence on paying for all the bills concerning his house.
I began opening the envelopes instinctively, not bothering to see the return addresses. Most of them were bills and I decided that I could afford approximately zero of them. The last letter in the pile gave me pause. I sat on one of the steps that led to Nathan’s house as I glanced over the wording.
Dear Colleague,
As the English department head, I am delighted to invite you to our annual holiday party happening on the evening of November 18, at 6 p.m.
The party will be attended by all department staff at the home of Dr. Jonathan Ezekiel. Please RSVP at the below number to receive directions to his home in Cambridge.
In the spirit of giving, if you would like to participate in a monetary donation to be dispensed proportionately to the homeless centers closest to Harvard Square, please bring a personal check or cash.
You are requested to dress formally and to limit your guests to your significant other only.
Please be sure to RSVP to me, Dr. Rodney Daniel, before November 9. You may reach me by phone or email, both of which are listed at the bottom of this letter.
We hope you will be able to join us.
Best Regards,
Dr. Rodney Daniel
Distinguished Professor
It was November third, which meant the deadline was the following week. And I knew Nathan hadn’t talked to me about the party because he hadn’t talked to me about anything. I wondered why he hadn’t said anything to me about it, and if he was planning to go without me.
I folded the paper and stuck it in my sports bra so I wouldn’t forget to mention it to Nathan when he came home. As I stood and stretched, a familiar black sports car pulled up the curb. The stereo was blasting, its bass turned up far enough to rock the concrete under my feet. I looked behind me at the front door, deciding not to walk through it so I wouldn’t have to chase him around the house again.
Elias exited the driver’s side door, checked his phone and then raised his gaze. “Oh, hi.”
I wondered if Nathan had spoken to him since he’d last visited, but I just crossed my arms over my chest as I watched him make his approach. He was dressed head to toe in black, and with all that dark hair covering his head and around his mouth, he looked like some plain clothes assassin.
Luckily for me, his eyes didn’t have the anger they’d held before.
“Let me guess, Nathan isn’t home?”
I looked pointedly at the empty driveway before meeting his gaze again. “Did he talk to you?”
“He did.” Elias tucked his hands in his pockets, but it didn’t make him look any more approachable. The guy radiated intimidation—from the dark fucking aura he had and the bulge of his muscles under his tight t-shirt.
“Well, he’s not here yet and I don’t feel comfortable letting you in, sorry.” It sounded bitchier than I meant it.
“Understandable. I’m Elias, by the
Despite the sunburn I was nursing, I was grateful for the warm weather as I did a short run through Nathan’s neighborhood.
I wasn’t an inherently active individual, but weeks of living on Nathan’s couch after class had only encouraged gravity’s mission to make my ass, well, the opposite of perky.
Nathan was working late again, a fact that made me sigh more than I should. He was always working late. My blowjob skills must have been lacking because he’d barely touched me all week. I was tempted to start wearing corsets to bed every night, if it would actually do anything.
When I rounded the corner back to Nathan’s house, the mailman pulled away from the mailbox. I usually let Nathan get the mail, since most of it was for him anyway. But in the spirit of trying to exist a little more loudly in his house—despite his dead wife’s presence lingering in all its corners—I opened the mailbox to see if there were any small bills that I could cover that month—despite Nathan’s insistence on paying for all the bills concerning his house.
I began opening the envelopes instinctively, not bothering to see the return addresses. Most of them were bills and I decided that I could afford approximately zero of them. The last letter in the pile gave me pause. I sat on one of the steps that led to Nathan’s house as I glanced over the wording.
Dear Colleague,
As the English department head, I am delighted to invite you to our annual holiday party happening on the evening of November 18, at 6 p.m.
The party will be attended by all department staff at the home of Dr. Jonathan Ezekiel. Please RSVP at the below number to receive directions to his home in Cambridge.
In the spirit of giving, if you would like to participate in a monetary donation to be dispensed proportionately to the homeless centers closest to Harvard Square, please bring a personal check or cash.
You are requested to dress formally and to limit your guests to your significant other only.
Please be sure to RSVP to me, Dr. Rodney Daniel, before November 9. You may reach me by phone or email, both of which are listed at the bottom of this letter.
We hope you will be able to join us.
Best Regards,
Dr. Rodney Daniel
Distinguished Professor
It was November third, which meant the deadline was the following week. And I knew Nathan hadn’t talked to me about the party because he hadn’t talked to me about anything. I wondered why he hadn’t said anything to me about it, and if he was planning to go without me.
I folded the paper and stuck it in my sports bra so I wouldn’t forget to mention it to Nathan when he came home. As I stood and stretched, a familiar black sports car pulled up the curb. The stereo was blasting, its bass turned up far enough to rock the concrete under my feet. I looked behind me at the front door, deciding not to walk through it so I wouldn’t have to chase him around the house again.
Elias exited the driver’s side door, checked his phone and then raised his gaze. “Oh, hi.”
I wondered if Nathan had spoken to him since he’d last visited, but I just crossed my arms over my chest as I watched him make his approach. He was dressed head to toe in black, and with all that dark hair covering his head and around his mouth, he looked like some plain clothes assassin.
Luckily for me, his eyes didn’t have the anger they’d held before.
“Let me guess, Nathan isn’t home?”
I looked pointedly at the empty driveway before meeting his gaze again. “Did he talk to you?”
“He did.” Elias tucked his hands in his pockets, but it didn’t make him look any more approachable. The guy radiated intimidation—from the dark fucking aura he had and the bulge of his muscles under his tight t-shirt.
“Well, he’s not here yet and I don’t feel comfortable letting you in, sorry.” It sounded bitchier than I meant it.
“Understandable. I’m Elias, by the
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