For future use

This just fell from my fingers a while ago. I felt I had to capture it for future use and this is the only place I can reliably find stuff. So…

He lured her in with food. It started with smoked brisket he took to the office for a picnic. Next, he made Korean-inspired deviled eggs for the office Christmas party. Beef jerky was next. Not the leathery stuff that looked and felt like petrified cow hide, but tender pieces of prime meat smoked and dried until they were just south of moist and full of flavor. When he showed up with hand-made sausage and home-brewed IPA, the affair was almost a given. She would go anywhere, do anything he wanted. Katrina was addicted to food and men who take food seriously and Desmond was such a man. The fact they both were married to other people hardly entered into the equation. They simply had to engage with one another intellectually, spiritually, and physically. It was a given, one of the universal laws that simply cannot be broken, lest the space-time continuum be irreparably damaged, leading to the instantaneous collapse of the big bang. No one wanted that, so people at the office ignored their increasingly obvious affair.

Until they broke the one corporate rule whose infraction could not be overlooked.

They were in the midst of becoming carnally knowledgeable while astride the CEO’s desk when he returned to his office with representatives of six of the company’s largest clients. Absent the presence of clients, the CEO might simply have turned and walked out the door when he saw them on his desk. But this infraction of the overriding corporate rule—engaging in sex in the presence of major clients—could not be tolerated. They were unemployed before they achieved orgasm.

Katrina’s features were as Korean as her ancestry. She was born in a village outside Seoul and was adopted by a couple from Kansas City when she was three weeks old. She spent all of her twenty-two years, save the three weeks in Korea, in Kansas City. Desmond, only an inch taller than Katrina at five feet three inches, was wide and featureless. He was not fat, but neither was he average. He was thick. His skin was like a lemon peel, but without the yellow. He had no distinguishable eyebrows and his nose seemed to protrude from his face in a barely noticeable bump. His lips were visible only when he opened his mouth. Otherwise, they blended in with the rest of his face. Except when he was visibly emotional in some way could his face be distinguished from an albino lemon. But, my God, could he cook!

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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