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prove it. As I read the attachment of the newspaper story, I suddenly realized that this was the first time since that night last March that Id actually seen Sherry, Michelle and Reagan; recent photos of all of them were on the newspaper page with the story. I once again found tears in my eyes as I stared at the pictures of Michelle and Reagan. They both looked so beautiful in their cap and gown graduate photos with sparkling smiles beaming at the camera. Sherrys photo too was quite captivating; sitting cross legged on one of the workout stations in the club.
It was just about one oclock in the morning when I finally shut off my computer and crawled into bed. I lay awake for a long while as my mind continued to spin. I tossed and turned for a good hour before I finally started to feel sleepy. Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, a strange feeling came over me. It was one I didnt expect: Loss. I sat up suddenly and flipped on the lamp beside my bed as if I were about to argue with whomever brought that thought into my head. After all the suffering, humiliation and turmoil being involved with those three had caused me, how could I possibly feel loss over their deaths? With anger bubbling up inside me like lava, I suddenly heard Nanjas gentle voice whispering deep in my soul. She was telling me that I should feel loss; that regardless of how things had turned out, Sherry, Michelle and Reagan had all played a vital role in creating the woman that I am today. They altered the course of my life forever; and in doing so, perhaps in a very unique and remote way, they saved my life. And whether I realized it or not, I loved them all very deeply. Because for brief moments in time, I was an intimate part of each of them and they each were an intimate part of me. And despite the obvious twisted mentalities, how could they have brought so much unbridled passion into our sex encounters if they didnt have equally passionate love, or at least lust, for me in their heart and souls? With these thoughts passing through my soul, echoed through the gentle voice of dear Nanja, I drifted off to sleep. The next morning I awoke for the first time since that fateful March night, with Sherry, Michelle and Reagan holding warm and special places in my heart and memory.
I spent the morning at the library debating on whether or not I should fly back to Detroit for the funeral. I spoke to Gerald on my lunch hour and he told me that he didnt think it was too good of an idea. He had called Whitney to give her the news and she was coming home for the funeral herself. What he told me next sent my stomach into somersaults and my heart into
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furious pounding: Whitney had, for the first time in nearly a year asked about, and even expressed concern for me. He told me that she wanted to know if I was okay and that if the police in anyway suspected me of some involvement. I now understood why he didnt think I should come back; Whitney was beginning to come around to possibly wanting me back in her life. I was floating on air for the rest of the afternoon.
Late in February, I was at work at the library one afternoon; returning books to the shelves and thinking about Whitney. Though Gerald had told me that she was possibly warming back up to me, I had still never heard from her. My forty-fifth birthday had come and gone in mid January, and I had gotten cards and calls from Junior and Monica, but still nothing from Whitney. I guess I had let my expectations get too high and now I was feeling very let down. As I turned to place an armful of books back on the shelf, I bumped into a stunning woman thumbing through a series of medical encyclopedias. The books toppled out of my arms and on to the floor. I apologized profusely for bumping her and then squatted down to pick up the books Id dropped. As I was gathering them up, the woman squatted down in front of me, picked up a book that was just out of my reach and slipped it into my hand. Our fingers brushed against one another and there was a powerful spark. When I looked up, I was captivated by a beautiful pair of sparkling green eyes and breathing in the delicious scent of Cocao Chanel perfume.
"You okay, Diane?" She said in a deep, sensual voice.
I could only smile and nod for I was so entranced by her that I momentarily forgot how to talk. I could feel my cheeks flushing and felt an erotic tingling sensation crawl up my spinal cord. She parted her luscious, ruby lips and displayed a sparkling white smile back at me. We stood and she helped me put the books back on the cart. I thanked her for all her help and then it suddenly dawned on me: Shed called me by my name.
"Excuse me, but did you just call me Diane?" I asked.
"Yes." She answered with a smile. "Thats your name, isnt it?"
"Yes. But, howd you know." I asked incredulously.
Her long, sleek arm reached out and her finger gently tapped on the right side of my chest above my breast. I felt another spark along with a sudden flash of heat in my pussy.
"Says so on your name tag." She said.
I felt my face flush again and I could almost see the reflective glow in her sunglasses that were perched up in her shiny auburn hair just above her forehead.
"But thats not how I knew." She continued. "Weve met before."
Now I was really confused. How could I possibly have met this
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