Happy time with my pretty little colleague

She’d slipped them into her purse before fixing her hair and makeup in the bathroom at work. “No bra, no panties. Could you tell?”Grant shook hi... head. “That’s pretty risqué for the office.”“Well, if you can’t tell, I’m sure none of the rest of them can.” She pulled his hand further up her thigh. “Go ahead, see for yourself.”“Karen––” Grant checked nervously around them. But he didn’t move his hand away.“Don’t worry, nobody’s paying any attention.”He removed his hand and lifted his glass to his. That's how I ended up as a troll.Yes, a troll. You know the kind. Lives under a bridge. Grumpy. Doesn't want company. A long time ago, I read a series of essays called Magic Harbor1, by a fellow named Don Berry. In one of the essays, he described himself as a troll. I find myself in a very similar physical and emotional situation. I live on my boat, not under a bridge - that doesn't work well with a real mast - and without the light in my life. I really don't want to interact with anybody and I. More

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