“They were supposed to be here a while ago”. “Hey, I’m just the messenger, Jimmy”. Jimmy lights up a cigarette, opens the driver’s side window a bit. Dylan’s “Knocking On Heavens Door” plays quietly on the car radio. “It’s freezing out there”. Jimmy reaches out to turn up the heat. “Listen, Donny, I’ve got everything riding on this. It’s my last chance. Don’t give me this “messenger” crap. You know better than anyone that you’ve gotta be firm with these guys”. Jimmy leans forward, searches for something beneath his seat. He locates his .44 Magnum, puts it in his right jacket pocket.

It had reached that point. Maybe you've been there, maybe not. It really doesn't make much of a difference. Call it a mid- life crisis, call it whatever you goddamn well please. All Cliff Robinson knew was that if things didn't change, and change fast, disaster was soon to follow.

His forty-eighth birthday was soon approaching, and he was suffocating. Not just in an allegorical sense, but literally suffocating. He woke up each morning, and in his mind, felt the need to tell himself to breathe. Things might have gone just fine without this daily reminder, but Cliff, as he thought upon awakening every day, was not about to roll the dice with his life on the line.

She had a very sexy figure, though her breasts were a little on the small side. And her blue eyes shined like diamonds during her infrequent smiles...He could not understand why she had such low self esteem, why she believed that no man could ever truly love her.... For her part, she too was madly in love with him. But deep down she knew something would go wrong.

You couldn't tell it just from looking at her, but she was well focused, willing to do most anything to fulfill her personal agenda. So when she was introduced to William Patterson Jr. at the party following the fashion show, and saw in him exactly what she had been searching for, she turned on all of her wily charms.

I never really paid much attention to that little phrase. But lying in bed this Friday morning, I can’t seem to get it out of my mind. How could I have done what I did? Where did it come from? Was this part of my character just lurking there for all my years, hidden beneath the surface? Who am I, really? And what other perversities am I capable of?.....

There’s this scented candle burning. Jasmine, this attractive black girl who I know from my Political Science course, and kind of like, is naked, straddling Bobby. When Bobby catches a glimpse of me through the corner of his eye, he lunges towards the door, throwing Jasmine to the floor. He locks the door, with me inside.

Right off the bat, I have to tell you that I had sworn off blind dates quite a few years ago..."It's all right. It's no big deal. I like to people watch anyway", she said, presenting me with the most beautiful giggles I had ever heard or seen.

For the better part of his life, if there was one character he identified with, it was Paul Newman's Luke, in the flick “Cool Hand Luke”...As he remembers it, Luke is looking for answers. “You created me like this. What did you expect?...Then the warden’s famous line, “what we have here is a failure to communicate”, moments before he takes dead aim with his shotgun and blows Luke away.

She emerged rather quickly, wearing a stunning outfit. Baby blue low-cut blouse, her ample firm breasts exposed in a teasing, provocative manner. Short black skirt, not mini enough to be considered slutty, but still above the knee length. What made it all work were the near thigh high, leather boots. She was a knockout.

"Where to now?", Greg asked, as Paula sat on her bed, looking through her address book.

"Senator McCormick", she answered. "But I'm not sure of the best way to approach him".

Paula looked up at Greg, and smiled. Even though he had known her for such a short period of tome, he was able to read her mind.

"So give her a call", he said to Paula, wanting to show off the fact that he knew what she was thinking....

Paula rose from her bed and stood before Greg, who was sitting in an over-sized chair. She positioned herself in such a way that Greg was forced to strain his neck up in order to look into her eyes. She very slowly leaned down, her mouth nearing his. He could now see down the cleavage of her blouse, and caught a glimpse of her firm breasts and erect nipples. She was not wearing a bra. He was becoming extremely aroused once again.

"I was just trying to help you out".

"By telling him I had a twin sister that was murdered?"

"Yeah. I thought it would make him feel sorry for you".

"And that would make me more attractive in his eyes?"

"You don't know much about men, do you?"