The first bottle of wine went down right nicely. Things were looking up. His taut balls were full and Laurel, she was an essential blond: there for him, with him and wanting it any which way. By candlelight, in the tub, on the kitchen table. She was lithe and in need.

The doorbell rang. Who could it be? They checked the key hole. It was Mac and the boys dressed up like clowns, loudly singing some silly fight song through the door. He laughed at the sight of them and described to Laurel his fondness for his old high school friends.

Was this the night? Ah yes, some kind of reunion or get-together. How did they know where he lived? Keeping a low profile was crucial, case in point, Laurel standing there with him and smelling so good. Perhaps he should just blow the reunion off and let Laurel blow him to smithereens, which she was wont to do at any time, it seemed. Speaking of blow, it was in the locked armoire. Maybe he should get it out so they could go at each other all night long. He was hard at the thought.

But he opened the door to Big Mac instead and it set off a set of events that went from good to worse. Who would have known?

Laurel was sweet, hot and patient. And she wanted him. She was amenable to going out to meet his friends. If anything, she winked, get another bottle of wine for later.

Out to the green and muddy Autumn field on a damp and chilly eve. A party convened. Fires burned in big metal trash barrels. Folks were out in droves. All old friends and all high and out of their heads.

The prevailing connection for him, however, was with Laurel. The one he had newly met. This fawn-eyed lovely smiled at him anytime he looked to where she was. He proudly introduced her. He wittily played with old friends, flirted with old flames. He was nostalgic. And then it was time to go home.

What about the wine? She reminded him. A ride back home would be nice, too. He said he would seek out a shop across the street from the park.

He checked a convenience store but all it had was MD 20/20. Not appropriate for the substantially lusty evening the two were excited to embark upon. He exited through the shattered glass door avoiding a puddle of urine and the bum it belonged to. And empty-handed.

Meanwhile, Laurel waited for him with another couple. She had found them a ride home. The fella who drove them was inebriated. With careful navigation of the route through zones of stalled construction, they were finally dropped in front of his place.

It was late and he was getting concerned Laurel was tiring; the moment was slipping away. A warm and wet kiss on the threshold. Finally, just the two of them inside and the promise of a sultry rendez-vous.

The phone blinked with a message. He picked up the receiver and then thinking better of it put it back. Fuck not now, he thought, angrily recalling the image of his soon to be ex-wife. He fumed and quickly tried to disguise his emotion. Laurel’s brown eyes cast downward knowing the romantic evening was ruined.

Her love-making instinct now drained of all patience and fluid.

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