"The Attic" by Dick Lambkin and Deana Walters

Robert Chambers sat in his favorite chair in front of a silent television and thought.  The house was quiet except for the occasional and expected chiming of the grandfather clock in the foyer.  Like most things in his life, the sound the old clock made was a constant; it was anticipated.  He liked things that way.  To some it would seem as if he was extremely naïve; after all wasn’t life about being adventurous and taking chances?   He sat there in his favorite chair, in his favorite room sipping his favorite scotch.  The large cardboard pouch remained unopened.  He knew who it was from and he had a good idea of the contents.  He turned it over a few times and thought.  He thought about what a good and patient person he was.  He thought about how kind and selfless he was and he thought about the envelope.  He knew he should have ripped it open like a child at Christmas who can’t wait to see what is inside the fancy wrapping paper.  There was nothing fancy about the envelope.  It was the standard FedEx pouch, the kind every recipient had to sign for in order to make the exchange with the courier.  He took another sip of the scotch.  He had a headache and heartache and at this point it was difficult to tell which was the more painful of the two.   He placed the envelope on his lap, folded his hands and thought.

Excerpt from "The Dryer"

by

Deana Walters and Dick Lambkin

          GREGORY TEARDON WAS RUNNING LATE.  HE HATED Mondays with a passion and this one was off to a hellacious start.  The acquisition meeting was in less than two hours and the printer in his home office was on the fritz.  Monjay, (SHE gave the dog that stupid name) had managed to eat most of his presentation document and if things weren’t already bad enough, he couldn’t find his favorite shirt.

          Along with his shirt, Carol seemed to be MIA also.  Under normal circumstances this wouldn’t really trouble him.  Talk about elusive, that woman was like a butterfly.  Whenever he entered a room, she left the room.  If he sat on the sofa she would move to the chair.  Finally she moved out of the house and out of his life - sort of.  Every Monday morning she would show up to do the laundry.  When they were married she always considered it a chore, now she considered it doing him a favor (?).  Greg suspected it was her way of checking up on his newly acquired state of bachelorhood.  It was now 7:30 a.m., and no project, no printer, no shirt and no Carol.

          Greg Teardon was not a slob nor was he a neatnik.  When it came to work matters he was the epitome of organization, however, when it came to his closet – well let’s just say that Martha Stewart would be extremely underwhelmed.  He had ten or so dress shirts but the pale blue one was his favorite.  It was his “dress for success” shirt, and if ever there was a time when he needed luck, today was the day.  He thought back to the day he received the shirt.

          Carol Teardon was a notorious gift giver.  Never one to miss a birthday, anniversary or those greeting card inspired “special days”, she seemed to own stock in the wrapping paper-greeting card business.  There were plastic containers in the basement, all neatly labeled as to what holiday their contents represented.  There was also the largest index card box Greg had ever seen.  The dividers were tabbed to separate the social greeting categories, i.e. birthday, anniversary, Christmas, etc.  An inquisitive snooper, Gregory Teardon was the bane of his wife’s gift giving existence, which made hiding places exercises in futility. 

          The year she gave him the shirt as a birthday present he had come home early and found her in the laundry room.  She seemed a little flustered at the time and it wasn’t until later that Greg discovered the reason.  He had apparently arrived home just as she was finishing wrapping the shirt.  With no place to run, so to speak, she had placed the gift and the paper scraps into the dryer.  That occurred two days before she left.

          Swearing silently, Greg now considered throwing both the dog and the printer through a window.  It was now 8:00 a.m. and apparently for the first time in nine months, Carol was a no show.  He would have to find the missing shirt and solve the printer problem on his own.  Women!  Man could truly not live without them.  Of course living with them at times was almost a fate worse than death.  The ringing of the telephone distracted him momentarily.

          “Greg?  I just called to let you know that I won’t be stopping by on Mondays anymore.  I have decided to make a life for myself and I don’t think I can do that if I keep returning to the scene of the crime.  I hope you understand.”

          What Greg understood was that his ex-wife had the timing of a dead turtle.  For almost a year she had shown up like clockwork and on the one day he needed her (whoa- was he really thinking that?) she decided never to grace his doorway again.  The gods were clearly not in his corner today.

          “I’m happy for you Carol and as always I wish you the best.  Before you go, would you by chance have any idea where I could find my favorite shirt, you know the blue one you gave me?”

          Carol Teardon thought back to the last time she did laundry for Greg.  The shirt had been among the others and she remembered how she held it against her face, closed her eyes and sighed as she took in the essence of him.  She could smell everything about him in the shirt. 

          “Yes, actually I do.  You wore the shirt a week ago so it should be the second shirt from the bottom in the hamper underneath the laundry chute.  I have to run.  Have a good life Greg.  Bye.”

          So that was it!  The done deal was now officially done.  No more laundry day visits from Carol.  Why did God create Mondays?  Wasn’t life tough enough? 

          Gregory Teardon found his favorite shirt right where Carol said it would be.  If he hurried he could wash and dry it, somehow fix the printer, not kill Monjay and still make the presentation by 11 a.m. 

So now you are scratching something wondering what is so hot about a story about a guy whose dog at his presentation and who can't find his way around the clothes hamper now that his ex is not coming around anymore.  Trust me the heat is on -will Carol come back to repair the dryer and do a little work on Greg at the same time?  Does Greg just chalk it up and go to a laundromat where he meets a really hot attendant?  All of these questions are answered in "The Dryer", a hot short story from Deana Walters.  Buy it for only $4.95 plus $2.00 shipping and handling.  You won't be disappointed!

Excerpt from "At The End Of The Day"

by

Deana Walters and Dick Lambkin

“Greg?  We haven’t been here in ages; not since…”

Everything was just as they left it and that was the problem. The room had her signature decorating stamp all over it, from the bed linens and custom curtains to the designer CD player on the small nightstand beside the bed.  It was time to build new memories here starting now.  Together they turned down the bed, undressed and slid beneath the cool sheets.

They were comfortable lovers.  Although thanks to Sam there was always an undercurrent of passionate urgency, they were patient enough to postpone their physical lovemaking to bask in the pleasure of each other’s company; sometimes chatting easily, sometimes just lying quiet.  Such was the case now as they lay facing each other under the covers, their bodies stretched languidly along their lengths. 

Sam’s utter and complete devotion to crafting a perfect world of romanticism and sensuality went a long way towards turning every simple and mundane act into a prelude to sex.  Even filling out a grocery list was an erotic event.  Greg found it difficult to keep his hands off her.  He felt as if he should be in physical contact with her every moment of every day…touching her, stroking her hair, holding her small, feminine hands.  She was one of the few women he’d ever met that he felt he could couple with and never want to pull away from.  He jokingly complained of suffering chronic priapism, a condition he willingly learned to live with. 

Sam knew an infinite number of ways to make Greg hard; sometimes calling him in the middle of day and, in a sultry voice, described to him how she’d been thinking of him inside her, often accompanying her details with delicious moans of pleasure.  She knew this would cause him to walk around the rest of the afternoon with an embarrassing bulge in his pants.  Sam knew that Greg was at a distinct disadvantage at work because he could not reciprocate with descriptions of his own, due to a lack of privacy and this was an incredible turn on for her.

Lying naked in his arms, Greg pulled Sam close and gently pushed into her, trying to pry her thighs apart with his hardness.  Even so, Sam knew him well enough to realize that he was signaling only for a warm place to nestle his cock.  It was part of his “theory of connectedness”, and like always, she obliged by opening her thighs just a little.

 She was warm and aroused, and with contented grunts Greg took advantage of her wetness to slowly move in and out between her thighs.  He knew that teasing her between her legs like this, feeling each soft thrust of his hardness as it parted her lips, teased her to no end.  Soon she would begin to wriggle, placing her hips in a strategic position so that the next time he pushed into her he would enter her, but once again this type of foreplay was only a prelude to what was to come.   He felt the little shivers course through her as she came softly.  He knew if there was one, there would be ten – that was the way with her.  He heard her purr softly as he rolled her onto her back. 

Dick and Deana teased you as they introduced Sam Chandler and Greg Teardon in "The Dryer".    Everyone looks forward to the end of the day and Sam and Greg are no exception.  Their story continues as they enjoy the hottest and steamiest sex ever At The End Of The Day.

The complete story is available on CD for $4.95 plus $2.00 shipping and handling.