Just My Thing

I have a thing for married men; married men who cheat in particular.

I wonder what they are in bed with their mistresses. Is there a passion that is rekindled when they take that wedding band off and sneak into bleached bedspreads with a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the doorknob? Is there a renewed sense of freedom as they do not have to worry about keeping the woman that they have sex with happy all the time by taking the trash out and buying her flowers from time to time? Is there a sense of adventure with the mere thought of being caught red-handed while in the midst of a mind-throbbing ejaculation?

I met James 2 years ago. He was dropping his children off at the club for swimming lessons that I taught on Saturday mornings. One look at him and I knew that he was unhappy. His hazel eyes had a distant gaze and his robotic smile gave it all away. 2 weeks after our first meeting, I asked him out on a date. He said yes. In less than a week, we had a cheap room at Comfort Inn where I realized first-hand that James had not had sex for a long time...of course, up until that day. We continued to have sex for months after that...sometimes in the evening, sometimes during the day, and sometimes on the phone, when I wanted time off from him.

James no longer interests me these days. You see I have a thing for married men who cheat. James is now married to me and I suspect that he is not cheating.

I am going out on a date next week with Ken.

Thank You!

Dear Bloggers,

We have come together a long way. Many of you have stopped by this blog by accident, while others have been regular readers. I think each one of you for your support, encouragement, and kind words. You gave me the motivation and inspiration to share my work with the greater world.

Today, I want to proudly let you know that one of my stories has been published in a book called THE ELEVEN released by Sai-Kiran Publications. This being my very first published story, my excitement is sky-high.

I would appreciate it if you bought the book and/or spread the word around in order to support me and ten other bloggers from around the world. Please email me on solitaire2009@gmail.com for a discount code before purchasing the book.

I look forward with much anticipation to hear what you have to say. Also, don't forget to check out my latest story for this blog right below this post.

With much love,
Solitaire

The Murder

She opened her eyes wide and stared at the dull, dusty ceiling fan. She could hear it again; the incessant knocking on her door. She had opened the door the first time and had found no on there. Frightened, she ran into her bedroom and curled herself up into a ball under the covers. An hour later, nothing had changed except that the birds had begun chirping and that the skies were turning into a pitch black at a rapid rate.

"Open the door!", a voice commanded. It was deep and husky and belonged to a man. She wondered what he looked like but was too afraid to look. She darted across the room into her kitchen and gulped down a glass of water that had been lying there for three days. The knocking ceased.

Sweating profusely, she tiptoed back into her bare living room and sat on the floor wondering what she should do. If he was a robber, she had nothing to offer him. She had only recently moved into this apartment and had nothing but expired milk and yogurt in the fridge, bare essentials to survive, and four walls around her. She also knew no man in any capacity in this town.

She sat there in pitch darkness and waited. All she could hear was the faint sound of a guitar playing somewhere outside. And then without warning, she saw the lock on her main door click and turn. A cold chill ran down her spine as she began to tremble not knowing what to do. There was nothing to hide behind or under and she had no idea where her cellphone was.

A moment later she screamed as a tall, dark, muscular man stood before her with angry glaring eyes. There was something familiar about him. She motioned him to stay away from her and began to walk backwards. He did nothing. He simply stood there looking at her in amusement. She screamed again. No one heard. No one but him and that made no difference. Very soon, she found herself in her kitchen groping for a knife. He merely smiled. She panicked.

5 minutes later, she was sobbing uncontrollably. She had flung a butcher knife at him which had managed to slit his throat. He had fallen on the floor with a loud thud, bleeding profusely, as his eyes rolled and stared into vacant space. She knew he was dead. She knew she was safe; that he could no longer trouble her every time she moved into a different city or apartment. She was finally free from the clutches of his evil being, she thought.

She quietly left her apartment to go buy sleeping pills. When she returned, she called 911 and informed them of a murder and a suicide. Then she took 10 of these pills and went back to her covers.

Three days later, she awoke in a loud and ugly hospital. At a distance, she saw her son talking to a man in a white coat who uttered one particular word several times.
"Schizophrenia".

This was not the first time she had heard it.