Lance
Every night I see her in my dreams. Honestly, I can’t remember a single night I didn’t dream of her. Her mesmerizing emerald green eyes began haunting me in my early teens. I would wake from a wet dream, with her eyes penetrating my thoughts and desires. For years, I searched for her in malls, movie theatres, at sporting events, but to no avail. Eventually, I surrendered my hopes and dreams of finding the “green-eyed goddess” and began screwing every brick-house blond I could find.
I relentlessly tried to erase and escape the memories of the goddesses’ long blond hair, her perfect petite body with sculpted tits and perky nipples, and the way my hands fit perfectly around her tiny, tempting, curvy waist. But, damn it, I can’t forget her alluring smile as she wraps her toned legs around my waist and lowers onto my hard, pulsing dick. We fit – together – perfectly. Her green eyes turn black as our ride delves deeper and I push her toward her second scream worthy orgasm. Her creamy, sweet, ivory skin drives me wild, especially her soft, silky neck, which is completely exposed when her head drops back as she cums. My tongue traces and teases her every nook and cranny until I can no longer resist biting her gorgeous, plump bottom lip. Her eyes flash open wide in response. Hunger radiates in her eyes. We never get enough of each other. She makes me feel things I never imagined possible. I never thought I could desire one person twenty-four hours a day, but I do. Who is this green eyed goddess?
Trust me, I realize she is a fantasy, but even after twenty years, every single, testosterone filled day, I continue my search for her, in airport terminals and hotel lobbies. Hell, what would I do if I found her? Attack and grope her? Sure, I can see it now, “You don’t know me but we have hot, mind blowing sex together. We have for twenty years.” That would go over well…Not!
I need a cold shower, along with a reality check. Wonder if I have a curvy blond on tonight’s flight attendant crew? Someone to bury myself in while I close my eyes and imagine those gorgeous, green eyes glazing over as I palm her firm, full breast, while rubbing my thumb over her erect nipple. Damn! I am obsessed!
Lisa
Maybe I’ll go to graduate school. I could become a psychologist; all my friends think I am their twenty-four hour on-call shrink anyway.
Maryanne rang me at two thirty this morning. Woke me up to cry and complain about how Matt had broken her heart. “He is so unromantic. It is our one year anniversary and he takes me to an action flick. An action flick, can you believe that Lisa? Then he wants to go do it in the back of his car, really? I mean really?” I wait to make sure she is really finished. Maryanne asks numerous questions, but doesn’t actually want you to respond, to any of them. She merely wants to vent to the Universe.
“Maryanne, has Matt ever done anything you wanted to do the entire time you’ve been seeing him? No, he hasn’t.” This time I won’t allow her time to answer my question. Yes, I am annoyed. She woke me up to complain about Matt’s, unfortunately, normal behavior, which she chooses to put up with on a daily basis. There’s absolutely no need for her to answer the question or make excuses for him or herself.
“But, Lisa he loves me. I know he does.” Blah, blah, blah.
I bury my head under my large, fluffy pillow. “Okay, let’s say he does, just for grins sake, but does he respect you? Obviously not, so move on and find someone who deserves you and cares about your feelings. Men need to treat women with respect and love. Never settle for less, Maryanne.”
“Lisa, you are so strong. I’m not like you. I’m not that strong, plus I get lonely. I don’t know what I would do without Matt. I can’t go without someone, like you do.” Thanks for reminding me.
Frustration builds as I roll onto my back; turning my head I stare at the time on the alarm clock. “Maryanne, Maryanne,” I condescendingly mutter. “Go see Matt later today and tell him how he made you feel. Now, please, for the love of Pete, get some sleep. Good night - good morning - good whatever the hell time of day it is.”
“Night, Lisa. I love you, thanks for listening.”
I can’t help but moan while dropping the phone back on my bedside table. Why is it women allow themselves to be treated disrespectfully? I would rather be alone then be with someone like Matt.
“Anyway, back to present day and today’s mission. Graduate school in psychology might work. I could even find a part time job while going to classes or work during the day and classes at night. Of course I’d better get busy applying to universities today, it may be too late to apply and receive acceptance.” Why am I speaking out loud to myself? I really need to get a life and soon.
I locate the graduate school application site for The University of Texas at Dallas. “Let’s see, age? Twenty-three.” Yes, I took the five year plan through college. I changed degrees three times and dropped classes due to late night partying causing oversleeping of 8:00 AM classes. Why would anyone want to teach an 8:00 AM class? Ugh, painful memory.
“What?” I respond to an unexpected knock at my door, “Who could that be?” Speaking to the air, again, Lisa. You really need to stop talking to yourself.
My vibrant friend, Lucy, greets me at the door. Lucy is really short, petite, and a bundle full of energy. We met doing volunteer work last summer at the animal shelter. We weren’t much help though, because we wanted to play with all of the animals rather than clean their cages.
“Hey girl, what are you doing?”
Lucy pats me on the face and heads into my den while extending a backwards compliment, “Oh, Miss Lisa. You are so pretty, even without your make up.” That’s my Lucy. She knows I hate wearing make-up, especially when at home. I figure I’m not going anywhere to try and impress anyone, so why hassle with it. Lucy, on the other hand, always looks perfect and doesn’t know or understand the true meaning of dressing casual. If she runs to the grocery store she has full make-up and hair. She’s a flight attendant for International Air and seems to think she is always on a plane; crisp and perfect all the frickin’ time.
“Lisa, I’ve had a fabulous idea, so you need to dig out a picture of you smiling and with make-up; a color one that shows off those magnificent green eyes.”
I climb into my oversized yellow chair, tucking my legs under my tush. “Lucy, please have a seat and why do you need my picture?”
Lucy chooses to sit on the edge of my robin egg blue sofa, crossing her ankles, again so prim and proper. “You, my dear, are filling out an application to be a flight attendant, with me! Isn’t that great?” She exuberantly declares.
“I can’t be a flight attendant. I don’t even like flying. My ears hurt and I absolutely hate heights.”
Flashing her dynamic, “hello – good-bye,” smile she attempts to convince me, “It will be fine. When you are talking to passengers your ears stay open and you never have time to look out the window, so you will have no idea how high you are.”
I attempt an explanation, “I was filling out an application for grad school when you knocked on the door. I’ve decided to get my masters in psychology. I’m going to get paid for all of my late night counseling.” That should appease her…maybe.
“That is terrific Lisa, but you can still fly.” Why did I know she would say that? “You will fly on the weekends and go to class during the week. You can even study on your overnights, it is perfect. Now get me that picture.” So much for appeasing her.
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