Paying the Rent Pt. 03

I am Jennifer Lahey, now 30 years old. I teach literature at a small private college. This is the improbable story of how my marriage with my husband reached a crisis stage and how that was resolved. My husband Edward and I came from the same small Midwestern town. We started to date at the start of our senior year in high school. Edward was very attractive physically and a very popular student but we had never seemed to click. He was deeply interested in sports at the point and I had little interest. I was a bit shy and took academics more seriously than he did. Then, all of a sudden, he asked me to go to a dance with him and I accepted. For whatever reasons it seemed like the right thing to do. I had kissed boys before Edward; none of them had generated an eager response on my part. I came to be regarded by boys as too prim and proper and perhaps not worth much effort. Now, for the first time with Edward, kisses were passionate and I desperately wanted them to continue. After only

It had been just over three months since he'd first given in to her. Initially they had avoided seeing each other in person, to let their feelings subside. But then, at his request, she had come to him once again. They had resumed their previous game; he would choke her and they would enjoy the closeness of each other when she gave in to the darkness. On one of her visits she had taken him by surprise when she kissed him, and though he got caught up in the moment and briefly returned her kiss, he wasn't ready for another encounter. It was partly guilt, and partly because her husband was still in town. He knew for certain when they next went into the room he wanted to take it further, which meant her husband needed to be out of town again to give her body time to recover. She had confessed that it had taken eight days for her to completely heal. Thankfully she took his rejection well enough, and had not pursued him since that one kiss. They had socialised on several double dat

I picked up my phone and sat on the edge of my bed as I opened the text. It was from "J.T.", short for Jill T. Jill was another of the women I'd heard from after my Craigslist posting. She'd said she'd had it in her draft mailbox for a while before finally sending it - and asked if I was still looking. Of course I'd said yes, and we'd connected shortly thereafter. We were sensational - she was married with three kids, and was looking for some excitement that she wasn't finding at home. We found it - she's a marathon runner, and has the body you'd expect - lean, fit, and very energetic. She's a pixie at 5'4" with blonde hair and a sexy figure that you might not associate with a runner. Because she worked, had three kids, and was married, finding the time to get together was tough, and we'd only been able to get together a few times, and usually not for as long as I think either of us would have liked. But when we were, it was

As I write this, I have no idea what the future holds, but I know this: my relationship with my mother will never be the same. I now realize that what happened between us last night was inevitable, but I have such conflicting and confused feelings. We have to talk about it, but Mom has been avoiding me. Readers will soon understand why. I graduated from college about six weeks ago, my whole life ahead of me at only 22. I'll be moving to the D.C. area in October, when I have an internship at a political consulting firm. In the meantime, I planned to take the summer off. Dad and the twins were visiting his family in Alaska. Mom decided to stay home with me, no doubt to keep me from wrecking the place. Mom (do I still call her that?) is 43, but easily looks ten years younger. We come from an active family, and we like to work out and play tennis whenever we can get a court. With her rich, thick, flowing black hair, those shapely tapered legs, and squeezable breasts, the men can'

Once a month, or whenever the need for a taming hand arises, powerful men visit me in my apartment. I'm not like them at all; far from being a banker, lawyer, doctor or army officer, I'm a totally average guy who works a drone job and earns enough to rent a nice apartment by myself. If that's the case, how do I draw in such influential men? Why do they leave my home with shaky knees, broken bodies and weights off their shoulders? Here's the secret: I'm a healer, and milking is my medicine. It isn't even really about the sex. Sex is just a metaphor. I enjoy their bodies, and they certainly enjoy the paces I put their bodies through, but what we're really in it for is release. It's tiring to be strong. You have decisions to make, people to manage, corporations resting on your broad shoulders. Even worse - and you'd be surprised how often I see them - the dads. Crushed by their responsibilities, these men have no choice but to be okay. They have nowhe

"Jesus Christ, the art collecting life-style lives up to the movies..." Becca said to herself as she parked her car and looked up at the white mansion. She walked up one side of the marble stairs that looped around a large water fountain. She knocked on the large oak doors and waited for a response. Becca was home for the summer from college, fresh off her junior year and a week removed from her 21st birthday. She tried doing her best to avoid getting a summer job so she could enjoy her last summer of true freedom before going back for her senior year, but when you are finally old enough to go out to the bars the tabs pile up. Her sparkling green eyes, mischievous smile, and large, perky breasts could only get her so far when it came to getting free drinks and ducking entry charges. It was her mom who had suggested reaching out to the Tellers for work. They were a youngish couple that Becca's mom had been doing some redecorating for over the last few months and only liv