And again the next night. And every night that week. Then came the night she knew she was going to sleep with him. She canceled dinner, afraid of ruining a lifetime friendship over one night of passion. And as happened so often, they lost touch with each other. Until today.The morning crawled by and Bridget got nothing done. At 12:30, Wilson stepped into the door. She found herself grinning at him for a minute before she remembered to grab her purse and to clock out. In the lobby of her office building, he kissed her. She felt a thrill course through her body. He pulled back and looked at her feet."Just checking." He smiled."You remember that?" I'll never forget it."She found herself blushing.They walked down the block together. She could not resist taking his hand."How have you been?" Good. You?" Just fine."They walked a little further."What do you want for lunch?" he asked."You."He paused. Then he smiled. Then he lead the way to the nearest hotel.At the desk, she got cold feet. She. So what.I snuck into the party and several people asked who I was and I said I was there with Mark Adams. They didn't bother me anymore. I snitched a beer and poured it into a cup and then tried to make myself invisible. Right away I noticed this woman, well she was older than me, that was for sure. She was talking with several, men. Who were busy trying to check out her cleavage.She was red. I mean she had red hair, red eyeliner, glistening red lipstick, alabaster skin and freckles over her cute little upturned nose. She was wearing a tight little red dress, made of some kind of knit material, that molded to her generous breasts, her nipples were hard and stood out against the stretchy material, I assumed she was not wearing a bra. She had thin hips and a tiny waist, long legs in red hose and red (excuse me but I have always wanted to say this) fuck me pumps. She was in constant motion. Raising a glass, shifting her weight, reaching to touch an arm, cocking her head to toss her.
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