Ficlets

“Oh no,” I thought as she walked in.

She was wearing her hair up in curls. The way the curls moved happily making her hair tickle her ears was hypnotic. She had her nails done with clear nail polish, which, I am sad to admit, was always a turn on. To ensure my total captivity she wore a shirt that was just a little too low cut; not nearly enough to be obscene but a tad lower than business casual. It was the kind of shirt that makes you stare but conceals enough to keep you curious. She hit all my weak points, and I feared that I might not be able to be stern.

“You can’t let her soften you. Focus soldier!”

Unfortunately, my fears were justified. I was quickly reminded of all the things that attracted me to her. Her voice, her charm, and her British sense of humor. The memory of her recent unfaithfulness was suddenly thrust aside like it had been a bad dream. She won, and, right then, I didn’t care.

We had met to say goodbye, but, instead of stopping, the roller coaster started its second loop.