It's been a full week since I last saw you and you look completely dishy, even more delicious than I remember, a stud standing out in the crowd of stiff businessmen and prudish career people. You're wearing a casual white cotton t-shirt, loose black pants and a smile that knocked me off my feet and makes all the shit of the work worth living through. Even in that simple do, you sizzle. You look just like the kind of man I would have a lunch-hour rendezvous with.You have been planning this for a few days now. Both of us had wanted to fulfil this fantasy badly and now that we could finally afford to splurge on the room, there would just be no stopping either of us. The whole morning at work, you called twice and left a few messages telling me exactly what you would do to me during lunch. It made me completely lose track of work but I couldn't care even if I turned the whole damn firm upside-down. All I thought about was satisfying my hunger for you during lunch.Hearing your voice. When she said she loved it, I told her I had tickets to see the Broadway Theatre Guild’s performance of ‘The Man of La Mancha’. I asked if she would like to see it with me. When she said yes, I told her the show time and asked if she wanted to meet there or I would pick her up for dinner and after the play, I would take her back home. She thought the dinner sounded great. We exchanged phone numbers, and I left floating out the door.That dinner laid the ground work for our life for the next four-plus years. We dated for eight months when I asked her to marry me. She said yes, and we picked out the appropriate jewelry and started making plans for a summer wedding.Things were going great and it was time to meet her parents. She had already met mine. They were very nice people, and very supportive of Cathy. They seemed to like me a lot, and I was invited for Sunday dinner almost every week.I had heard horror stories of wedding problems, but we somehow managed to avoid them. The ladies in.
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