Hook up zone free sex text chat

We crisscrossed Denver and the surrounding suburbs chasing every "For Rent" sign we could find.

We were always an hour or a day late or the price way beyond reach.

Darlene and I believed that two could live as cheaply as one. We met at a local tavern where we developed an unlikely May-December relationship.

She played the part of May at the youthful age of thirty-five.

Our bartender presented her with another complimentary White Russian as his sacrifice to the Gods of Wishful Thinking. "One is for you and the other two are honor guards for the dead soldiers." He pointed to the two empty glasses. After a few months together, the real estate development company in which Darlene had invested fifteen years of her life went belly-up, and then her last two paychecks bounced.

"I love this drink." She inhaled the beverage, chugging it down in one long gulp. How can anyone love a drink without taking the time to appreciate the subtle by-play of flavors? " she smiled before dispatching the last White Russian. The rubber checks set up a cascading overdraft chain reaction.

Thank you," Darlene frowned as she hung up the phone. " If you learn where someone lives, you can start to make good guesses as to their culture. The closer to the road, the more connected they were to conventional reality.

The voyeur and hermit in me loved the location, and I had it all to myself for several months until the day Darlene arrived. At first I was annoyed at the invasion of my secret space. Like commuters sharing an across town bus, we got used to each other's presence on the installment plan. While I enjoyed the sometimes risqué banter, I never considered Darlene as potential girlfriend material. I amused myself trying to sneak a peek down her blouse or up her skirt when I thought she wouldn't notice. Darlene's field of viable targets was limited unless she lowered her standards or went in for a threesome.

Familiarity grew comfortable and gave way to conversation as we observed the ebb and flow of tavern life. One Friday night, the stars governing our relationship aligned like the bars on a slot machine. One of these stud-muffins is going home with me," she chuckled with a little shiver and scanned the bar for targets of opportunity. What a curious blend of emotions for a virtual stranger. Most of the men in the tavern looked like drop-outs from Blubber Buddies or some such weight watching group. I pitied the lucky guy who won Darlene's attention.

If anything, she was too beautiful and too self-assured. " Darlene touched his hand, and if her smile had been any warmer, the barkeep would have erupted into flame. " Darlene laughed as she raised her index finger and traced a point on the invisible blackboard in the air. She would always laugh and respond, "I guess that would make me a grave robber." A few things attracted me to Darlene. She was so easy going that I once tried to give her the nickname “Lake Placid.” Still waters run deep, and it didn't end well. " "A twofer is the first and last time something happens. Why the fuck would I want to be named after a stagnant pond? Everyone needs a hobby and sex was her diversion from work.

The males she flirted with as she worked her way around the tavern were flattered, flustered, and fearful of her attention. After ten or fifteen minutes of flagrantly flirting, Darlene returned to her seat to regroup and refuel. A few moments later, our generous drink master returned with three tall White Russians. "Okay, Dennis, that was a twofer." The book she was reading sailed across the room, missing my head by less than an inch. " Her smile was a weird combo of mischief and annoyance. She collected orgasms like some folks collected postage stamps.

Leave a Reply