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Indiscretions

Copyright 2019 by Richard Raven & Richard Alan Long

Published by Richard Raven at Smashwords


This publication is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places businesses and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance or reference made to actual places, businesses, events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


ISBN: 9780463613948


Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

Dedication

To our friends, families, and loved ones who keep us sane and encourage us to write.

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, thanks to James H. Longmore, Xtina Marie, and everyone at HellBound Books who made it possible that we each had a story placed in the anthology, Demons, Devils and Denizens of Hell, Volume 2. That piece of good fortune is the reason for and what lead to this collaborative effort. Thanks and gratitude to Theresa Scott-Matthews for her unfailing belief in us as writers, and for her usual fantastic job of editing. Thanks, also, to Becky Narron for her constant encouragement and for all the other reasons that make her such a special lady.

Indiscretions

Flight 619 from Miami kissed the runway at Memphis International around one-twenty on a Thursday afternoon. It was a little before two when April Kincaid emerged from the terminal. A stylish leather attaché case in one hand, a pair of carry-on overnight bags gripped in the other, her purse slung from one shoulder; sporting a south Florida tan. She had dressed casually for the flight in dark clinging slacks (no sign of panty lines), a pale sleeveless blouse, and flat-heeled strappy sandals. Her long and thick mane of glossy black hair, a look she thought much better for her than her natural and drab chestnut, flipped about her face in the warm breeze.

She paused on the sidewalk and lifted her face to the sun, loving the way it felt on her skin. Comfortably warm, humidity low; couldn’t have asked for a better day. She sighed and looked around, spotting the shuttle that would take her to her rental car. Securing a better grip on her bags, she began picking her way through the milling crowd.

After only a few steps she looked up, hesitated, then drew to a stop, her pale blue eyes peering at the Memphis skyline in the distance. A sight still as she remembered it. Not that much had ever seemed to change about the city. Toward the end of the time she had spent there as April Scott, she had begun to find the city painfully dreary and stifling. No place for a woman with a college degree and aspirations, who had found herself in the role of a suburban housewife. There were times…so many times, when she felt like she was losing her mind. Happy enough to leave that life and the city and her ex-husband behind. Her only regrets were leaving the few close friends she made and the way she had failed to stay in touch with them.

But April wasn’t big on regrets. Why bother? A waste of time, for the most part, and usually of things better off left in the past and forgotten.

But memories…now that was a different story. She had some good memories of her time in Memphis. As she continued staring at the skyline, one of the better ones—a rather juicy and stirring recollection it was, too—buzzed pleasantly in her head. She had met the man at a party. A party her husband didn’t attend, tied up with work, as always. A long time ago, and though she’d had a few stiff drinks—more than a few, to speak the truth, to relax her and kill her inhibitions—she still remembered most of the night clearly.

Most of it, but not all of it. The last hour or so, once she and the man had left the party in his car sometime before midnight, was a little blurry in places. April did remember getting home and finding her husband sound asleep, none the wiser. Everything else she remembered of that night and the man she spent it with…

…she would never forget it. The man wanted her from the moment he laid eyes on her. Emboldened by the alcohol and the way he kept pressing up against her and the way his hands so unobtrusively kept creeping under her skirt, she finally could resist him no longer, and took him to an empty bedroom. He had fucked her from behind, his pants around his ankles, as she bent over the foot of the bed, her skirt hiked up past her waist. As best she could remember, they had done it twice more at his place before she took a taxi home. She might have left her panties at his place, as she didn’t make it home with them and she could never find that pair again.

The experience had served as her wake-up call. The first of many such encounters that ultimately led to her divorce and her leaving Memphis.

Out with the old and stale; in with the new and exciting.

The more she thought about it, the more intense the memory became. There was a feeling of heat, raw and powerful, rushing through her, touching her and caressing her in all the right places. A more arousing venture back to the past than she had anticipated; she finally had to shake her head, dispelling the memory.

No time for this; she had things to do. In town on business, she had phone calls to make, an appointment to confirm; a hotel room and some time under a hot shower waiting for her. As she would be in town overnight, she was also faced with finding an interesting way of spending it. No TV or boring movie for her, either. A couple of ideas were bouncing around in her head, provided she could locate one or possibly all three of her old girlfriends and re-connect with them, if only for one night. She only hoped the numbers she had for them were still good.

There was only a couple of other people on the shuttle. She took a seat in back and fished her cell out of her purse to make the first of her calls. The hardest one first, the one she had been dreading since getting on the plane in Miami. Well, maybe dreading was too strong a word, but still a rotten piece of luck and she wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.


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