I was tired, bone tired. Not only tired of traveling, tired of life in general. The thought on my mind, as I pulled into the gas station/restaurant, was it was time for a change. I had a good nest egg in the bank, a few investments, and a military retirement. What the hell was I selling tools door to door for? It was time to settle down, buy a little house on a stream, and do some trout fishing.
The smell of food was heavenly as I pushed through the door into the restaurant. I dropped my jacket on the back of a chair and looked for the restroom sign. I found it just as the waitress arrived. I had just turned 54, and if I was a gambling man, I would say she was a mite older than me. “Paula” decorated the plastic tab on her left breast. I thought of an old joke and restrained the urge to say, “great, what did you name the other one.” I smothered the smile as I looked her in the face.
“What’s your pleasure?” she asked nonchalantly.
“Sex on the beach, preferably just as the sun is going down and the sand is still warm. A good 4 wheel drive truck,” I nodded to my red truck outside, “and a steak this big with eggs and toast. White and hard up, just like me,” I said before she could ask how I wanted my toast and eggs. She smiled and slid the pencil behind her ear. I watched the sway of her ass as she walked away. I cleaned up and sat just as Paula arrived with my meal.
“Join me?” I asked as I cut the egg into pieces.”
“Yes, but not now. How would you like a picnic on the bank of the cutest little trout stream in Wyoming, just about sundown?” she asked with her eyes crinkling in amusement. I almost choked on the eggs. I looked her in the eyes and nodded. “Any sand?”
“Not for miles. Green grass and trees. I own 60 acres of it.
“That’ll do,” I nodded, managing to finish my breakfast as calmly as possible.
“I nearly held my breath as I pulled up to the stream and turned off the engine. Paula and I sat watching the flow of water over the rocks and along the bank. The stream was so shallow you could walk across it. I knew there were a hundred trout just waiting under the cutaway banks.
“My God, it’s heaven,” I said breathlessly. Read the rest of this entry »

Herbert Vancross stepped away from his wife, looked furtively around, then slid out the front door. He listened to the sounds of the party behind him. He heard music, the murmur of voices, and a woman’s laughter. What he didn’t hear was his wife’s harpy voice calling his name. He hurried to their Volvo station wagon, slammed the door and turned down the wooded drive toward home.
Ellen Vancross watched her husband from the corner of her eye. Mitch suddenly appeared at her side. His hand slid into her’s, and with a laugh he led her upstairs to his bedroom. Several people watched the intrigue and shook their heads knowingly. How could the Vancrosses not know what was going on when everyone else in Coldwater did?
Herbert arrived at his home and noticed that most of the lights were out and all was quiet. He smiled, filled his mouth with a puff of breath freshener, then put the key in the lock. He found Gloria sitting in a padded chair in the living room. She sat as regal as a queen, as undisturbed by his appearance as a ghost at a seance. She sat blinking at him while he strode across the room and sat on the couch across from her. His eyes went to her open dress and sexy legs. She wore dark stocking… and black underwear he noticed.
“Got bored with the party?” she asked in a casually voice.
“Got bored with the company. She’s still there. By the time I go back, she will be drunk as hell and won’t remember a thing.”
Gloria calmly began unbuttoning her dress. She opened it and paused, looking at his greedy expression.
“You said I would get an extra 100 dollars,” she reminded him. He nodded quickly, his eyes fixed on her near nudity. Her dress now lay completely open, draped at her sides. She wore tiny black panties and a lacey bra. As he watched she slid her fingers into the cup of her bra and pulled it down to reveal her nipples. Herbert moaned and leaned forward for a better look. Belatedly he remembered the kids. He glanced at the stairs to make sure they were asleep. Read the rest of this entry »

Cynthia entered her father’s library. She paused closing and locking the door behind her. At last, she could get some peace and quiet. She knew her father had been popular, but she hadn’t expected the sudden influx of guests at his funeral. At last count there had been over 14 thousand people. Wow. A fitting end for a world-famous scholar and explorer. God, what a crowd. Not all of them were old and stuffy, she recalled with a coy smile. But were they interested in her, or her inherited money?
Remembering a snippet of information long buried in her mind, Cynthia stood and ran a hand over the collection of moldy books. Her father had collected books from all over the world. He even had some professing to be mystical and magical, if you believed in that sort of thing.
She rested her hand on the last book her father had pointed out nearly 15 years before. It was more of a manuscript, rather than a proper book. It was neatly bound in wood and leather, and hand decorated with hieroglyphics which only her father, and a few other’s in this world could understand. But inside were many hand-penned notes transcribed into English. She took the book out and dropped it on the desk, running her hand over the leather cover. Maybe, just maybe…
She stopped at the notation called “Cernunnos”. That wasn’t an Egyptian name, it was definitely pre-Egyptian. Possibly from the Picts of prehistoric England. But what caught her eye was the notation, “eternal youth,” penned in huge letter and underlined. Yes, it was just as she remembered it. Cynthia was 53 years old and could certainly use some “eternal youth”. Her face had grown aged and wrinkled. Her breasts were nearly non-existent and what was there hung down toward her knees. Yes, eternal youth would be nice. What the hell did she have to lose? she wondered as she picked up the rest of what she would need, tucked the book under her arm and slid out the back door.
Cynthia felt silly as she stripped down and piled her clothing on a nearby stump. She felt even sillier as she tied herself between two trees using padded karate belts her father had on hand.
She positioned the book on top of her clothing and looked around the forrest guiltily. What if she was seen? Oh to hell with it, she decided. She must read from the book and believe in what she read.
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