Truth, embellished

She tapped her pencil idly against the desk as she listened to the patient on the other end of the phone. Working in an "alternative" doctor's office generally meant dealing with a lot of really needy people. She was used to it.

Mina gradually became aware of a figure filling up the patient window in front of her. She glanced up just enough to see an attractive tie against a blue button-down shirt. "Be right with you," she said to the figure, making sure the patient on the phone didn't hear. "That's a nice tie."

It was then that her eyes traveled all the way up to the figure's face. Her green eyes widened as she took in the Adonis before her, and she completely forgot about the person droning allergy symptoms into her ear. He had a perfectly chiseled jaw and deliciously tousled hair. He had full, soft lips and brilliant blue eyes. He had caused her to shift uncomfortably in her chair without even realizing it.

"I'm just here to pick up some vitamins for someone," he said quietly, and his voice was deep, rich, and musical. Mina nearly swooned.

"Yes, I'll make certain to have the doctor call you as soon as he is able," she managed to respond to the phone, albeit a bit breathlessly. She finally hung up and couldn't help but notice those blue eyes alighting on her lips, however briefly. She was suddenly glad she'd worn her favorite autumn-orange tank top and taken the time to do her makeup that day.

She rang him up in a mild daze. All too soon, he had disappeared out the door. Of course Mina couldn't help but notice the perfect buttocks filling out those well-tailored slacks. Who was he? How did he end up in her humble doctor's office? Why couldn't she get those eyes out of her mind for the rest of the day?

***

"Did you like my present?" asked a well-known voice the following week. Mina glanced up and spotted Tom, one of her favorite patients. Tom was in his 60s, jovial, and rather enormously overweight.

"What do you mean?" she asked as she totaled up his office visit and the jars of various herbs he had been bidden to purchase. "Did you send the fruitcake? It was ... special."

"Of course not. I sent my son to pick up my supplements last week. I figured you all would enjoy his visit." Tom winked at Mina's ancient and oblivious coworker sitting at the other end of the counter. Mina carefully schooled her features.

"I'm not sure who you mean ... although there was someone I didn't recognize who came in last week. He had a nice tie, as I recall."

"Blue eyes?"

"I think so."

"That was my son Mark. He's a Calvin Klein underwear model."

Mina swallowed. Now that was just unfair. "He seemed nice."

"Well, if you're a good girl, I'll see if I can get him to drop by again sometime soon." Tom winked and swept his significant bulk out the door. How could that man produce an underwear model, she mused. Well, if Mr. McHandsome wanted to swing by again, she certainly wouldn't complain.

Damn, and when she'd almost gotten those eyes out of her head, too.

***

It wasn't long before Mark was back in front of her. He had waited until closing time, which generally made her quite angry, but somehow her ire stayed quiet. This time he was wearing a simple t-shirt, which subtly highlighted his muscular chest. Unfair, really. And this time, his gaze definitely stayed upon her lips far longer than should have been appropriate. "I need to pick something up for my dad again," he told her. A sentence like that should not have been able to sound so caressing. How did he do that? Great, butterflies. She hadn't felt butterflies since high school.

Mina rang him up briskly -- too briskly. He knew the effect he was having on her. Oh, who was she kidding, he expected the effect he was having on her, because she was certain it happened to all living women and at least half of the dead ones. Then she nearly burst out giggling at the thought of zombie bimbos crowding and cooing at Mark.

"What's your name?"

"Mina." She was breathless again.

"Are you headed somewhere after work?"

Say yes. Say you have to get home. This guy is just a player. Look at that face. He'll break your heart and leave you by the roadside. "No, don't really have any plans ..."

"Can I take you out to dinner?"

"I -- sure, okay." Mina was helpless to respond any other way. And also to keep the giant grin off of her face.

***

Dinner sailed by. The conversation was easy and wonderful, though afterward as he drove she realized she could barely remember anything they'd talked about. After a while she realized he wasn't taking her home yet. She wasn't surprised. He pulled into a park and stopped the car. Here it comes, she thought, mentally rehearsing her self-defense training in case it was necessary.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since I first laid eyes on you," Mark said. "You're one of the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen."

Mina swallowed and decided to be honest. "I've felt the same way about you," she said.

"Come with me." They climbed out of the car, and as they walked up the hill he took her hand, as naturally as if they'd known each other for years. He led her to a secluded corner of the park, where a tree had grown conveniently sideways.

"I often come here to sit and think," he said. "It's so peaceful, and hardly anyone else ever comes up here." He scooted closer to her on the tree trunk. "I've been sitting here thinking about you," he said. "About doing this." He leaned toward her.

Mina had been expecting him to kiss her. She was expecting to like it. She was also expecting him to be sweet, tentative, exploring. Not so. Mark was going to take what he wanted tonight. And she suddenly realized she wanted him to take what he wanted from her. She wanted him to be rough, dominating. And now she was going to make him work for it.

Mark's lips crushed hers in a savage kiss. He plunged his tongue into her mouth. She tried to pull back; she scratched at his arms. But he knew, he somehow knew she wanted to be dominated, that ultimately she wanted to give into him. His hand which had been firmly cupping the back of her head now gripped her thick chestnut hair, and he pulled. Hard. Mina whimpered as much from raw desire as from pain.

"I know you want me as much as I want you," he murmured hoarsely against her neck. His hands possessed her full breasts. Caring nothing for any passersby, he tore her shirt upwards and yanked down her bra, catching her hard nipple in his teeth. She gasped and writhed, not knowing if it was to get away from him or to give herself over more fully.

Mark quickly stood and pulled Mina up with him. He ducked in to kiss her again, but she twisted away. He grabbed her face, somehow vicious and tender at the same time, and once again crushed his lips against hers. He then spun her rapidly around and pushed her down onto the tree trunk. He held both of her hands behind her back so that she was nearly immobile. The bark bit into her bare flesh and she cried out, which earned her a hearty whack on her suddenly-skirtless ass.

"You don't want to draw attention, do you?"

But then she couldn't help crying out again as he plunged into her. He thrust deeply, powerfully into her -- and the feeling of being dominated so completely by this demigod brought crashing waves of pleasure washing over her almost immediately. Feeling her tighten around him as she crested the first wave, he grabbed her hips and pulled her against him so that he could fill her even more completely. He clamped a hand over her mouth, never breaking his rhythm, as Mina incoherently screamed her pleasure. He brought her to orgasm again and again, until she was completely hoarse, and he finally howled his own release into the night sky.

It was some time before Mina was able to make her legs work. She rose from the tree trunk and wiped away the drops of blood trickling down her stomach. Mark watched her as she pulled her skirt down and adjusted her shirt. Once she was presentable again, he gently cupped her chin in his hand. This time he kissed her gently, sweetly, even lovingly. "Let's get you home," he said.

Once alone in her apartment, she stared at herself in the mirror for a long time. At the cuts covering her midsection. At her bruised lips. At her wild hair. She now knew what all those women in romance novels had meant when they talked about being "taken." And she decided she liked it.

When I Travel to Dime Store Novels

I had only ever cheated on my husband once before.

Richard and I separated for six months in our third year of marriage. It had been my idea, the separation, but he had agreed to it too quickly. As our empty house would settle at night and my friends would congratulate me for demanding the sort of treatment I deserved, I would sit and stew. It was all well and good to throw out your husband, if he came back. But what if he didn't? Was I really prepared to lose this house? This lifestyle? This marriage? Was I ready to date again? Diet again? Primp and preen and wait by the phone? I wasn't a girl anymore. Did I still have it?

I got my keys and got into our car, a Ford something-or-other with leather seats.

Richard still had it, that was for sure. At least, I certainly thought so when I met him. And everyone had said so when we married, especially my girlfriends. The years had made him look more paternal. Damn him. Aging makes a woman look maternal, and maternal is the opposite of sexy. But aging makes men look paternal, and paternal is so damn sexy.

I had been driving and fretting for hours before I realized where I was going. Richard's parents had a cabin upstate, and here I was driving the red eye straight to it. I didn't really think he'd be there, but I had to be sure. Helen hadn't returned my calls, and she was single. She was the sort of friend who would steal your husband. She dated a married man almost six months back in college.

Of course, if Helen was the problem, then I didn't have much to worry about. Helen had stringy, curly hair; Richard preferred silky, long black hair like mine. And even though Helen was slimmer than I was, she was more of a petite woman. She had small breasts and small hands. Richard needed someone more his size, or at least more his equal. I had played volleyball in college. That was how we met, actually. I was tall and strong and athletic, and Richard loved my body. No, Helen would not be a problem.

By the time I realized I was almost out of gas, my only option was a dingy truck stop off a two-lane highway. Harley & Quinn's, or so the sign proclaimed. It was one of those long, boxy cafes with yellow-lit windows all across the front exposing a long counter and a row of booths. There was only one gas pump out front. An attendant came out and began to pump my gas. I told him I was going in for a bite and could he please just leave my car when he was done? He snorted.

I slapped him. I slapped him right across his handsome, grinning face. Right across those oddly straight and white teeth under that dirty, motor oil streaked face. Right across that strong jawline. Right across those piercing blues eyes that seemed to twinkle as soon as I struck him.

I couldn't believe I had hit him, and he could tell. His thin lips curled into a mischievous smile, his eyes never leaving mine. My mouth dropped open and closed, open and closed, like a fish slowing dying on the line. He unscrewed my gas tank lid and pushed the nozzle in hard. The car shook with the force and I shuddered.

He grabbed my wrists and pulled me towards him. I was terrified and intoxicated by the strong smell of gasoline and musk.

"Open the door," he commanded. I wrenched one of my hands free of him and obeyed.

We slid into the back seat, me on my back and he on top of me. I stared directly into his eyes, and I felt him grow stiff against my thigh.

"I want you to tell me that you don't want me, that you could never want me. I want you to tell me I'm unattractive, that I'm unfuckable. Can you do that for me?" As I told him what I wanted, what I needed, I ran my hands up underneath his sweaty work shirt. I could feel the slope up the center of his back, hot and slick with sweat. The muscles across his back tensed and bulged beneath my fingertips. His hands found their way to my breasts, squeezing them hard.

"I can do that for you," he breathed.

I stiffened and looked at him sternly. "Then show me you understand."

He stopped his hands dead in their tracks, eyeing me suspiciously. Then, without warning, he fiercely shoved his hand down the front of my pants, deeply probing me.

I have never been so utterly degraded, so thoroughly satisfied, and so
perfectly understood as I was that night with a gas attendant whose name I never bothered to get. At the time, it didn't seem to matter. And, in retrospect, it doesn't.

But that was the last time I cheated on my husband.