Free Wishes in Her Eyes by D.L. Uhlrich Page A

Topol and this was not
Fiddler on the Roof
. That just went in one ear and out the other. Darry did what Darry wanted to do and nothing short of Fleet Week in New York City would stop him. Unfortunately for me, he knows my weakness for the aforementioned “he.”
    The “he” in question is Stonewall Jackson Masterson. His name is courtesy of a father who’s a history buff and a body courtesy of good genes, the Marines and a merciful God. That body has been the subject of more than a couple of my fevered dreams and restless nights. At six foot, he’s seven inches taller than me and at forty-three, three years older. He’s white. I share the same cocoa complexion as Darry. Stone has slightly graying light brown hair, olive green eyes and lightly golden sun kissed skin over rippling muscles that make the women (and some men) in the office giggle and fawn like puerile teenage girls. He has the same effect on me, but I try to keep my leering under control. He has a wonderful personality and a comedic sense of humor that rivals any Saturday Night Live cast member. He’s the embodiment of a Vitruvian man with a Mensa Society mind all in one salacious and beautifully wrapped package. All he needs to do now is find a cure for cancer and he’ll be perfect.
    Stone is a retired Marine who’d served his country and came back home to a wife who didn’t feel like waiting for him. I’d heard this by way of Darry’s keen detective skills. He knows I lust for Stone so he keeps his ears open for any news on the object of my desire. Five years after the divorce, Stone has licked his wounds and is primed for a hot affair. So say all the twitterpated females who swarm around him; but me, I choose to stay out of shark infested waters and worship him from afar.
    During my once a day allowed daydreams, I imagine him to have strong arms that would lift me without regard to my size. A chest sprinkled with hair that I could run my fingers through. Tight, muscled thighs that he gets from hours of exercise and a dick that would make me scream like a banshee. Not that I’d ever get the chance to see or sample any of those things. Even though I’ve caught him glancing at me from time to time, I know he’ll only be mine in my fantasies.
    Stone isn’t overtly handsome. Not a pretty man like Brad Pitt, but a man who exudes confidence. Every once in a while, shadows cross his face and show a man who’s seen terrible things, but lines around his eyes and mouth tell of someone who laughs a lot. To me, he’s simply beautiful. I dream of using a Sam’s Club-sized box of Trojans on him. Just seeing him makes me salivate, but since I don’t know if he has the same Pavlovian response to me as I have to him, I keep my mouth shut. He works in a different department and we unfortunately (or fortunately) aren’t direct co-workers, but his office is across from mine. Right in my line of vision. Yea for me! I have no idea what his job is, but he does something with something that has something to do with numbers. Hey, when you look that good, it really doesn’t matter if you crunch numbers or gravel.
    Darry and I spent an entire Saturday night discussing Stone’s anatomy. “I wonder if he has that group of muscles I like?” I said wistfully while nursing a glass of Moscato.
    “Which group is that honey? There are so many to like.”
    “You know. The ones that starts at the waist and Vs down to....”
    “Whew girl, stop!” Darry said, fanning himself. “You’re talking about the Adonis belt. The muscles that lead to the Promised Land. I’d bet my Oris watch that he does.”
    Sighing I said, “I bet he does too.”
    “But unfortunately for him he’s straight. He’ll never know the joy of having freaky, thank you Lawd for twelve inches, sex with me.”
    I laughed and with exaggerated shock, I said, “My goodness Darry. Why would any man in his right mind not glue himself to your side? You should have men stacked like cord wood around