When I was twenty years old, I got a job as a salesclerk in Beverly Hills to help defray some my college expenses. It was a high-tech appliance store, and I used to get-off laughing at some of those pretentious, well-dressed assholes who would walk in and wouldn’t know a hard drive from a stick shift. But there was also the occasional super-cool patrons who’d wander in and really make my day. For instance, there was this one late afternoon when the manager had left early and this rather
confused, really cute married guy came in. You know the type. He probably fooled around in college once, just for the thrill. And now, fourteen or fifteen years, a wife and three kids later, he’s probably dreamt of trying it again; but is scared shitless to ever follow through on it. Yup, it was that guy!
When he wandered in, I got an instant "woody" just looking at the quiet, smoldering lust of his smooth, masculine, animal-gait.
I soon found out that this attractive, physically-fit, thirty-nine year old bank executive was bored. His name was Kyle Mickelson, and even though, in general, he appreciated his work, his family, and his life, but he was bored. He’d been “very” married for the past fifteen years, and robotically performed all the chores and responsibilities
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