I gave him my number, and we said 2pm, Saturday. He texted me on Saturday morning and said “White shirt, no bra, white panties, black skirt, stilett...s. Don’t fuck around”. It was the outfit I was wearing the first time we’d slept together.I complied. I don’t know why, but I did. He turned up and knocked on my front door. I’d spent an hour putting on the right clothes, putting on the right shoes, putting my make up on. I was nervous. The anxiety was turning me on. I opened the door. I lived on. It seemed to be a pretty good life for a retired man in good health.I pulled the plug as a sergeant of homicide just one month after the divorce degree was final. I had never looked back. Thirty years as a cop was more than enough for anyone. My pension was fair, and my expenses were low. I did just fine without any of their crap. I did, on occasion, miss the job. Usually when one of our backwater Sheriff's cars passed on the main road with his siren blaring.My thoughts were interrupted by the. More

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