develop...or don't.
R
“What the hell has gotten into him?” Pam sat down on the couch with a thud, thoughts of Ross flooding her mind. His wicked smile had been the first thing she'd noticed about him years ago.
She rose swiftly and grabbed the envelope she'd left on the kitchen table.
“No return address. What if it's not Ross?”
Fluffems mewled as she talked to herself.
“Sorry, cat. Trying to figure this out.” He jumped onto her lap.
Pam sat there for a minute, stumped.
But it has to be Ross. I think he even called me Angel once or twice, and he's a lawyer. He writes well. And he lives here in Lineton, or he did four years ago.
They hadn't talked in over seven years, and she didn't go to their old haunts. For a town of 20,000, it was easy to lose someone if you wanted to.
“Why are you doing this now, Ross?” Pam pursed her lips and paced for a moment. Then she stood abruptly, dumping the cat off her lap. Fluffems gave her a dirty look and stalked ahead of her to the kitchen.
“Sorry, buddy.” She rummaged through drawers for some stationery, having trouble finding it, as usual with her disorganized house and life.
It really has been a while since I wrote a letter.
She slid into a kitchen chair and held her pen for long moments, staring at the cheerful paper with strawberries on its border.
This is totally crazy. It didn't work out the first time. Ross isn't the man for me... but what if? What if he's changed?
She growled in frustration. “Great. Fluffems, what do I write?”
The cat swished his tail in response.
She sighed. “You're no help.”
Dear R.,
I think I know who you are. As for how I am, I'm fine. Why are you writing me after all this time, and why all the secrecy? I've missed you too—in my weaker moments.
Pam
She smirked and sealed the letter, adding no return address.
Her laptop was open on the kitchen table as usual, her companion in so many late nights of work.
Pam did a quick search for Ross Miller's address.
“Yep. He's still here in town. Maybe he's always had a P.O. Box, or maybe I'm just that special, but why all the weirdness?”
She snickered and jotted the P.O. Box number on the envelope and stamped it before she could think again. Marching to the mailbox, she shoved it in. A surge of excitement raced through her.
Now I have something exciting in my life, too. I'm not a pathetic, single cat lady, or at least I'm not as pathetic as people think I am. Joan Winchell only wishes she had a secret admirer.
Pam grinned. “Now, we'll see what happens.”
/body>
* * * *
What happened for the rest of the week was nothing. Pam found herself thinking of Ross all the time, remembering the good times such as when he'd surprised her with three dozen roses on her birthday the first year they were dating and his smile—the little gap between his front teeth she'd always found so disarming.
Restlessness made her stay up late nights, wondering what she'd missed, wanting more from her life. She'd found her old trusty vibrator that she'd thrown in a drawer months before when her work as a lawyer had gotten especially busy.
Her fantasies included Ross tying her up. As she visualized him looking down at her and doing whatever he wanted, her orgasm came before she wanted it to.
She lay on the bed, breathing hard,
R
“What the hell has gotten into him?” Pam sat down on the couch with a thud, thoughts of Ross flooding her mind. His wicked smile had been the first thing she'd noticed about him years ago.
She rose swiftly and grabbed the envelope she'd left on the kitchen table.
“No return address. What if it's not Ross?”
Fluffems mewled as she talked to herself.
“Sorry, cat. Trying to figure this out.” He jumped onto her lap.
Pam sat there for a minute, stumped.
But it has to be Ross. I think he even called me Angel once or twice, and he's a lawyer. He writes well. And he lives here in Lineton, or he did four years ago.
They hadn't talked in over seven years, and she didn't go to their old haunts. For a town of 20,000, it was easy to lose someone if you wanted to.
“Why are you doing this now, Ross?” Pam pursed her lips and paced for a moment. Then she stood abruptly, dumping the cat off her lap. Fluffems gave her a dirty look and stalked ahead of her to the kitchen.
“Sorry, buddy.” She rummaged through drawers for some stationery, having trouble finding it, as usual with her disorganized house and life.
It really has been a while since I wrote a letter.
She slid into a kitchen chair and held her pen for long moments, staring at the cheerful paper with strawberries on its border.
This is totally crazy. It didn't work out the first time. Ross isn't the man for me... but what if? What if he's changed?
She growled in frustration. “Great. Fluffems, what do I write?”
The cat swished his tail in response.
She sighed. “You're no help.”
Dear R.,
I think I know who you are. As for how I am, I'm fine. Why are you writing me after all this time, and why all the secrecy? I've missed you too—in my weaker moments.
Pam
She smirked and sealed the letter, adding no return address.
Her laptop was open on the kitchen table as usual, her companion in so many late nights of work.
Pam did a quick search for Ross Miller's address.
“Yep. He's still here in town. Maybe he's always had a P.O. Box, or maybe I'm just that special, but why all the weirdness?”
She snickered and jotted the P.O. Box number on the envelope and stamped it before she could think again. Marching to the mailbox, she shoved it in. A surge of excitement raced through her.
Now I have something exciting in my life, too. I'm not a pathetic, single cat lady, or at least I'm not as pathetic as people think I am. Joan Winchell only wishes she had a secret admirer.
Pam grinned. “Now, we'll see what happens.”
/body>
* * * *
What happened for the rest of the week was nothing. Pam found herself thinking of Ross all the time, remembering the good times such as when he'd surprised her with three dozen roses on her birthday the first year they were dating and his smile—the little gap between his front teeth she'd always found so disarming.
Restlessness made her stay up late nights, wondering what she'd missed, wanting more from her life. She'd found her old trusty vibrator that she'd thrown in a drawer months before when her work as a lawyer had gotten especially busy.
Her fantasies included Ross tying her up. As she visualized him looking down at her and doing whatever he wanted, her orgasm came before she wanted it to.
She lay on the bed, breathing hard,
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