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    Ava
    Ava
    Ava
    Ebook72 pages53 minutes

    Ava

    By Mark Fitzgerald

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A few additional words. The cover of this book seems to attract attention. Certainly it would. The woman in the image has an extraordinarily nice and voluptuous body.
    This is not a sex novel. It begins "sexually" but really it is about falling instantly and unexpectedly in love and then dealing with the "baggage" your beloved carried on the the bus with her; on that cross country trip where you happended to meet.

    This woman I met, who hitched that ride, was simply remarkable and I can easily imagine her and I in a relationship like this. I knew her for five minutes.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMark Fitzgerald
    Release dateSep 10, 2011
    ISBN9781465703606
    Ava

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      Book preview

      Ava - Mark Fitzgerald

      AVA

      Mark Fitzgerald

      Copyright 2010 by Mark Fitzgerald

      Smashwords Edition

      Smashwords License Statement

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Chapter One

      Just get on the bus Gus… make a new plan Stan… there must be fifty ways to leave your lover.

      Fifty one.

      The first difference is the door, I guess. You climb aboard from the right. Not the left. You pass right through the cockpit to get to the cabin. Better seats; wider; more recline. More window.

      But none of the awe of flying. Even the most jaded corporate flyer feels some measure of significance boarding an airplane. Not so the bus. Half the passengers on a plane are agog; they are going someplace with much anticipation; away from or back to home. They can't even conceive that for some on the plane, the corporate fliers, that the voyage is not meaningful; it is routine and tedious.

      Maybe I am wrong, but it seems that boarding and riding a bus, only rarely is positively anticipated. More like something you do and something you endure to accomplish something; to accomplish being somewhere else you scarcely want to be.

      I had nowhere to go that I didn't intend to immediately vacate when I got there.

      My wife dropped me at the terminal early that Saturday. Five am. She was surly. Dropped me at the curb and drove off. I had no luggage except a gym bag with a change of shirt, socks and shorts.

      I had somewhat elevated this trip in my mind to one with an opportunity within. I would be overnight in Vancouver. I planned to really get wild. I planned to buy a copy of Hustler magazine in the bus station shop and a pack of Player's cigarettes. I would slobber over that magazine on the way out, smoke like a fiend until I got home again and abuse myself in the motel before that magazine was relegated to the trash as I left the motel in the morning to drive the ten hours back home again. My big night out.

      Buying skin mags is nearly an insurmountable challenge. But buying it along with some other item dilutes the treachery ... dilutes the vulgarity. Gum would help. But cigs seemed even better. No, ma'am I'm not some nerd intending to masturbate later. No, I'm a general badass just stocking up on my badass stuff.

      It's like the lottery too. For us neophytes. We don't feel comfortable perusing. So you just have to take a shot and hope you pick a mag with what might appeal to you the most. I will not say what my leanings are. Only that, it was a swing and a miss this time.

      I managed to smoke one cig before we were called to board the bus. My head was swimming after just a couple of drags. Jesus… tobacco is great. I love it. I love it. So did my parents. Both died of cancer. From smoking. But fuck... it makes me swoon. But climbing aboard the bus, I felt like I was a putrid cloud of musk drifting down the aisle past the better folks, to my seat at the back; where I could ogle my magazine.

      I was almost agitated, waiting for the bus to pull away. I wanted so badly to denude my magazine of its plastic wrap... that twelve inch condom for protection of the general public.

      My wife won't fuck me.

      She used to. But what we do now, maybe once a week is scarcely that.

      No penetration allowed.

      I don't know if this is consequent to affecting the greatest clitoral stimulation or avoiding all chance of impregnation.

      She rides me like a pony but I never get to come into the stable.

      Maybe it's my fault. Fault may not be the right term. I am premature. Never even remotely otherwise. It embarrasses me incredibly. I know there are training

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