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Sure, sure, nothing like a Saturday night to be hot hot hot, fun fun fun, wild wild wild. Saturday night is the week's orgasm, but isn't the ecstasy of sex all in the build-up, the anticipatory thrill? What's best about Christmas, sitting around in the glut of torn wrappings next to a dying tree, or the visions of the night before, the glamorous pine growing from the mound of brightly clad packages? Everyone thanks god for the arrival of Friday. It's an expression, the expression has turned to cliché, the cliché's become an acronym; hell, the acronym has been appropriated and trademarked by a national franchise of good-time restaurants.I slogged home from work in a sour mood. I had a huge headache. It felt cold enough to snow, but the frigid drizzle just laughed at the notion of wind chill factor. I'd spent another ugly day prostituting my graphic talents to sell local second-rate products to my fellow denizens of a third-rate city. And I was going home to my apartment. And vica versa" Jane said."That will work. Barbara seems to think that she is close, but I figure that's just when I don't want her killing herself." Susan said."I agree. Good plan. You booked later?" Jane asked."No, I thought I'd turn in after I catch a bite to eat." Susan said."I'll take a break and drop in. It's not quite as good as in person, but it's not bad." Jane said."Thanks, love. I'd like that. Feel you then." Susan replied."Bon appetite, my love." Jane replied, kissing her.To break up the different aspects of research, Susan traveled with Barbara and had Cindy travel with Ron. No single accident could produce a serious long term setback to either the physics or the medical research, although, either would have been severely felt.Susan looked on as Barbara sort of looked out the window on the train as they traveled. That was alright. The Austrian landscape couldn't help but be soothing. Barbara hardly noticed it. Her focus internal on her thoughts.The resort town was.
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I got out of my car and dashed through the rain up to the porch and knocked on the door, thinking how lucky I was to find a house with a light on. It took a minute or two before the door opened and I was stunned to see a young woman that took my breath away. At first I could not speak when I saw her thick dark hair tied in two long braided pigtails, her large green eyes, her tits straining the low cut white peasant blouse. She wore the tightest, shortest faded jean cut-offs I had ever seen and was barefooted. Even in the dark I could see she wasn’t wearing a bra, her nipples poking at the thin material of her blouse. “I just ran out of gas and I’m lost. Can I use your phone?” I asked, trying to hide my astonishment that a young beautiful woman stood in the doorway. “Yes. Come in out of the rain,” she said with a foreign accent I did not recognize. She opened the door wider and smiled, looking into my eyes as if she was glad to see me. “Yes, you can use the phone.” I tried not to be.

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