Secrets i suppose such a pity


As with the system 8 above, there are great cut-price alternatives to a Lotto System 9 .  A full Lotto System 9 requires 84 games, which is stretching the budget for most people.

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Because it’s difficult to identify something that’s not in evidence, we therapists often don’t know what we’re missing. We may have no idea about the importance of a certain subject because the client never goes anywhere near it. Sometimes they unwittingly let us in on their secrets when they tell us a dream. Sometimes, the therapist might have an empathic hunch, as I did with my client with the low sperm count. Sometimes, we just have to come outright and ask, especially when it comes to sexual matters.

Turns out, that standard 6-percent commission isn't so standard after all. Haggling over commission is a regular practice.

The Obama administration was even more aggressive in its hunt for a smoking-gun, going so far as to spy on Trump and his campaign.  Recent reports reveal that the FBI “wiretapped” former Trump campaign manager, Paul Manafort, both before and after the election, as well as Carter Page, a Trump foreign policy adviser.   

What started out as a simple game of billiards slowly became a display of mixed emotions. Thirty-two-year-old Oliver couldn't be too sure if Bryce, his best friend, kept his eyes on the cue balls or if he kept repeating his brief glances at him. To make it an even more mystifying situation, the little smile on Bryce's face appeared at times with a hint of seductive intentions. At least that's what Oliver made of it. Oliver was indeed a handsome man with his short blond hair and slender physique. But it would seem implausible for his best friend, who was three years older and just as attractive, to demonstrate his silent flirtation since both of them were married to women and had one child each. And even if Bryce had a silly prank in mind, he wouldn't have taken it this far since he never knew how to pull a good trick in the first place. Playing pool in Bryce's garage never felt so perplexed like this.

Oliver shook his head momentarily as he cleaned the tip of his cue stick with chalk. "So have you finished your first draft yet?"

Bryce replied, "I put it aside so I could work on something different."

The two California natives had become novelists after graduating from Cal State Fullerton. Their mental capabilities had benefited from their healthy imaginations. Becoming authentic storytellers had been their deepest fantasies, and they were brought to existence with the growing onslaught of bestsellers. Uploading their manuscripts as eBooks gave them hope.

As he concentrated on which cue balls to hit first, Oliver asked his best friend, "So you got tired of writing political thrillers and crime dramas?"

"It's a little more complicated than that. I'm dwelling in a whole new genre that's guaranteed to set me free from a repetitive strategy."

Oliver gave him a brief look once again. This time, it appeared as if Bryce looked down at Oliver's legs. Or maybe somewhere a little higher than that. Oliver cleared his throat before pushing the white cue ball towards its three motionless targets. Only one of them made it into a pocket.

"So what are you writing?"

Bryce used his cue stick to bring a total of four balls down in the trenches. "It's a bit extreme."

"You took a stab at present-day politics for the past twelve years. How extreme can you get?"

Bryce chuckled. "It's a pretty notorious genre. Let's just say that your son would be disgusted at the sight of the front cover."

"Please don't tell me it's a horror story."

Even as he stood at the opposite side of the table, he couldn't help but give Oliver's legs a fleeting look once again. A little sly smile formed on his face. "It's an erotic story."

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "You're going to dabble in erotica? What did Fifty Shades of Grey do to you?"

Bryce shook his head. "I never read it. I made this decision on my own."

"You look like a man, but deep inside, you are an ATM machine."

"Hey, I'm not just doing this for money. I've been intrigued by sexual escapades for quite some time now."

"You don't have to write about it. You can just act it out with your wife."

"It's not that simple."

"What do you mean?"

"The story that I'm working on is a little different than what you'd expect."

"Does it have anything to do with bondage? Because if it is, I'll keep it a secret as much as you want."

Bryce's smile held the high honor of presenting a soundless suspicion for Oliver. He lay his cue stick down on the table and murmured, "Ever since the beginning of this game, you've been staring at me like I'm some sort of escort giving excellent service. Why is that?"

Bryce looked away, sniggering. He slid his fingers across his short brown hair. "I suppose I have no other option but to tell you the truth."

"That's the easiest way to get out of this sticky situation."

"It looks like the game is over. Come on. I'll show you my work in progress."

"Aren't you gonna answer my last question?"

"Instead of using words, I'll just show you why I'm acting this way."

Oliver followed him upstairs and into his study room. "So what's the plot?"

Bryce turned on his laptop computer and waited for the main screen to pop up. "Basically, it's about an . detective falling in love with a mercenary who is forced to work for the Brazilian Mafia."

Oliver leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. "Sounds exciting, though I'm still a little skeptical about adding a bit of romance."

"It's not technically a romance. It's erotica."

"Well, whatever you call it, you're still not the type of guy who would do this sort of thing."

"I don't think you know me well."

"You gonna use a pseudonym for this type of work, right?"

"Of course, I will."

Bryce opened one of the documents in his main file and spun his laptop around to the direction of his companion. Oliver drew closer and bent over to see what had been written. The first few paragraphs consisted of the . detective meeting the mercenary in secret. An abandoned warehouse had been the primary setting for their demonstration of mutual attraction. But Oliver noticed something quite different from what he had expected. The mercenary that Bryce had mentioned turned out to be a man. He was described as a blond-haired man with blue eyes, just like Oliver himself. And on the second to last paragraph, the detective and mercenary began to make flirtatious moves toward each other.

Bryce started to do the same thing by sliding his fingers across Oliver's right arm. Because of his immersion of the manuscript, Oliver didn't even realize that Bryce stood right alongside him. Gasping, he suddenly stepped away. He didn't know what to think at the moment. Bryce's seductive smile returned, leaving Oliver in a state of pure bewilderment.

Nervously, he scratched the side of his neck. "So you're into this particular sort of erotica, huh?"

Bryce took one step forward. "Surprised, aren't you?"

"Of course, I am. I thought you prefer women."

"I do...but I'm also fond of someone else. I'll give you a hint. He's standing right in front of me."

Oliver left his mouth open from the shock that he had to endure. "Why me? I don't understand."

"You fascinate me. I can see why you're my friend. It's because of the nature allure of your body and mind. It's the main reason for my dirty little fantasies."

Oliver shook his head in disbelief. "That has to be some kind of a sick joke. That's what it is! A stupid little joke!"

"You know I'm not the kind of man who would take it this far. This is the absolute truth."

"I'm gonna go home now."

Oliver's denial was kept strong as he left the study room and walked across the hallway. He could hear Bryce's footsteps growing louder and faster. He tried to quicken his pace, but the crime writer caught up to him. Bryce had him standing against the wall because he pressed his hands against the vertical surface, with Oliver stuck in between his muscular arms. The younger man stared right at his best friend, their faces just inches away from each other.

Bryce, who was barely two inches taller, held a more conniving stare than ever before. "Are you afraid of stepping into brand new boundaries?"

Oliver took deeper breaths. "I don't think I like where this is going."

"Just answer the question and you'll be fine."

"Okay, you got me. I am afraid. What are you going to do about it?"

Bryce whispered, "Let me take you there."

He leaned his head in and gave Oliver a long hard kiss. At first, the absolute distress from this radical interaction made his legs grow weak. He wanted to push Bryce away, but something in his current state of mind didn't agree with his simple intention. As a result, Oliver just stood there, giving Bryce the opportunity to permanently alter their relationship.

The older writer stopped the kiss. Oliver left his mouth open. "Why did you do that?"

Bryce's sly smile returned. "I think the question is...why didn't you do anything about it?"

"I'm too shocked."

"You're not a very good liar. I think it's because you never let me down."

"Please don't do this."

"Don't stop me. It gives me inspiration."

It may have been a puzzling feeling, but Oliver didn't find it bothersome that his best friend began to kiss him on the neck. Bryce took it further by caressing the enlarged bump in Oliver's pants. The careful movement of the fingers caused Oliver to gasp. This would easily offer an effective stimulation from down below.

"It feels good, doesn't it?"

Oliver started to pant profusely. "Yes...yes."

He couldn't help but wrap his arms around Bryce and let him stimulate his senses. Bryce held him tightly while pressing his own hips against Oliver's. It became a cyclic movement that made both of their concealed weapons grow to a more solid exterior. The two men began to kiss each other, a straightforward action that provided a more encouraging sensation between them. Bryce didn't stop his forward momentum. The direct collision between two lumps helped unleash their primordial yearnings. Oliver longed for a more ardent camaraderie as he strengthened their kisses with more determined lips. He kept the kisses slow and steady.

Bryce ceased their foul play to whisper in Oliver's ear, "Maybe you can help me with my next book."

Oliver was about to say yes. But then, he thought of his wife and son. The blissful family would be best described as almost an exact duplicate of what was expected from the American Dream.

Oliver immediately pushed Bryce away from himself. "I gotta go."

Oliver's abrupt propulsion didn't seem to surprise the thirty-five-year-old crime writer at all. He stood still and said, "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"I have to go home!"

"Fine. I won't stop you."

Oliver ran downstairs and out the door without giving his best friend another look. He stepped into his car and drove off, exiting Anaheim Hills in just a few minutes.

* * *

He tried everything to forget what had just happened several minutes ago. When he reached the city of Tustin, the vintage representation of middle-class suburbia, he went home to distract himself from one of his more unforeseen recollections. He tried to do the laundry, a trivial chore that didn't succeed in calming his nerves. He then tried to listen to some music by activating his stereo system and playing a Celtic folk song, modernized with keyboards and electric guitars. He sat back at his desk in his study room. The soothing instrumental should have eased the origin of his disorientation, but he still couldn't stop remembering what transpired in Bryce's residence. He tapped his fingers on the table while taking a few deep breaths. No one would be able to forget an event such as this, especially if it happened between two close friends of the same sex.

Groaning, Oliver turned off the stereo with the remote and placed his head in his hands. Something must have happened to Bryce's cerebral hardwiring. Oliver had known him since their early years in college, and he never once mentioned nor indicated that he was attracted to other men in any way. This dilemma was further strengthened when Oliver realized that he didn't defend himself against Bryce's direct flirtation. The blond man would have backed away as soon as the other man kissed him on the lips. But he didn't. He didn't even try to fight back. It may have been because he felt so traumatized by his best friend's actions that he didn't know what to do. Or perhaps it was because he felt comfortable with Bryce's dirty little fantasy brought to life.

"Oliver?"

He was so buried deep in his thoughts that he didn't even hear Monica, his wife, come in. She had appeared in the study room with a look of concern.

"Is there something wrong?"

He had to think of a lie as fast as possible. "A scary moment on the freeway. I almost crashed into an eighteen-wheeler."

Monica almost gasped. "Oh, that must have been a terrible experience."

"But at least I'm okay. Man, I was scared. I thought I wouldn't see you and Steve again."

She gave him a hug. "Well, thank goodness you're alive and well. But now, I'm a little worried."

"Don't worry about me. I've learned my lesson. You're still going to the music festival because the orchestra still needs you."

His wife had been a violist for the Pacific Symphony Orchestra for the past three years.

Monica nodded as she replied, "I've already calmed my nerves. You're going to miss me, aren't you?"

"Of course, I will. I'd go to Sacramento with you, but I still have a lot of work to do."

He kept his abnormal interaction with Bryce a secret from his own wife. If Monica knew about Bryce's intentions, then his own wife, Sally, would cause more problems between the two men. Oliver knew that a possible divorce would bring complete devastation towards Bryce's body and mind, knowing full well the notoriety of both alimony and child support. Oliver needed to discover the truth behind this predicament. But first, he needed to disguise his trepidation from everyone he knew and loved. He felt convinced that he did a decent job covering his true feelings in front of his wife and son.

It lasted until the early hours of the evening, when the family ate their dinner and moved on with their own business for the remainder of the night. Monica played her viola during practice in the garage, while Steve, their nine-year-old son, played games on his smartphone. Oliver stayed in his study room, listening to Ralph Vaughan Williams' Mass in G Minor, sung by the London Philharmonic Choir. He tried desperately to work on his next novel, a medieval fantasy epic. Unfortunately, he only typed a few words on the blank document on his laptop. His thoughts of sorcery and warfare had been overwhelmed by the image of Bryce kissing and fondling him without even the slightest hint of ceasing his sensual adventure. Oliver tried to avoid contact with his best friend. He didn't even want to give him a phone call. But he couldn't help himself. He kept picturing the two of them stepping out of their traditional boundaries by staying together, unclothed and unashamed.

Oliver leaned back in his chair. He shifted his attention from his laptop computer and stared at the white-colored ceiling. Vaughan Williams' Mass helped him imagine the three paragraphs that Bryce had showed him this afternoon. As he concentrated on the mystical melodies sung by the choir, he closed his eyes to improve the formation of his latest reverie. Since he was a writer of epic fantasy, he would usually imagine a medieval warrior wandering in the prairie or the snow-capped mountains. But instead, he saw himself as a present-day mercenary, wandering around in the industrial district of Los Angeles. Oliver would look exactly like the conflicted combatant, so he would have blond hair, blue eyes, and a slim exterior. He would also need a weapon for daily protection, so a pistol would suit him just fine. It would be safe inside the holster he kept on his belt. Summertime meant that the mercenary would wear blue jeans and white t-shirt, nothing that would give him a certain incongruous quality in terms of appearance.

As for the urban surroundings, it needed a more effective visualization. The setting sun would provide a more orange hue for the clear sky as it lowered itself for the city's temporary gloom. The distant towering skyline would begin to fade in the vanishing sunlight, giving way to artificial lights shining from within the interiors of modern architecture. Oliver (the mercenary) found the exact location of his reunion with Bryce (the . detective). As for the primary location, the abandoned warehouse had already begun its deteriorating cycle a long time ago. The walls had grown dark brown, the windows had been shattered, and the front door lacked a simple lock on its side. But inside, two combatants on opposite sides of criminal justice couldn't keep their most fervent desires to themselves any longer. They met each other on a landing in the main staircase. Small debris ranging from pieces of wood to crushed aluminum cans lay scattered on the concrete floor. Absolute silence had found a natural habitat, until two men disturbed its tranquil environment.

Both detective and mercenary dropped their weapons on the floor. They didn't need to defend themselves any longer. Bryce held Oliver in his arms while the latter kept silent. Hiding in the partial darkness, mostly due to the vanishing sunbeam seeping through a small window, the two began to kiss without the least bit of shame. They took their indignities toward their proper authorities even further when they took off their clothes and held each other naked.

It took only a few seconds for Oliver to imagine Bryce whispering in his ear, "Nothing will stand in our way."

With its heavenly choral complexity, Vaughan Williams' Mass in G Minor became the perfect stimulus for such an industrialized setting. In Oliver's mind, both mercenary and detective shared their bodies for a forthcoming eruption. Bryce pinned the mercenary against the wall to insert his hard cock deep inside his lower passage. Despite his unhurried movements, the detective mustered all of his sexual strength to make the mercenary squeal. It went on for a matter of minutes, until the eruption had arrived in the shape of a stellar orgasm.

Oliver finally opened his eyes to catch up with reality. He turned off his stereo system and let out a big sigh. He smiled to himself. He had just realized that his imagination brought him the best of the companionship between him and Bryce, despite what they have already rightfully earned. Maybe that's why he didn't stop Bryce from making his move. Maybe it was because Oliver would do anything to make him proud, no matter how radical the circumstance would be.

* * *

He had just finished his phone call to Monica. She and Steve had just left the airport and were now on their way to Sacramento. They would reach the city in just under an hour, staying for the music festival for the next two days. When he said goodbye and hung up his phone, Oliver seated in his recliner, all alone in the living room. He had nothing else to do on this temperately tranquil Friday night. He thought of giving Bryce a call, but he already hesitated. The last time he had seen Bryce was yesterday afternoon. He cut off communication for quite some time now. But if he finally wanted the opportunity to talk it out, he didn't want to go over their predicament through digital technology.

Oliver made his decision at nine o'clock. He got up from the sofa and left the house in his sedan. He took his time as he headed straight for Anaheim Hills, a lavish suburban community in the city of Anaheim for the upper middle class, situated right on the northern hillsides of the Santa Ana Mountains. Oliver tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He tried to organize his thoughts to see how he would break the silence between him and Bryce in the most effective way possible. A normal person would break off this connection to avoid further mishaps. But Oliver didn't encompass that particular mindset. His friendship with Bryce had been so indestructible that nothing would ever stand in its way. It would stay strong even when they ultimately modified their mutual respect. Oliver thought of nothing but growing a little closer to Bryce.

* * *

When the front door opened, Oliver couldn't look at his best friend the same way again. Even his standard attire, which consisted of a black polo shirt and a pair of blue jeans, added an unusual sort of charisma that surrounded his silent persona. His muscular arms provided a more alluring exterior.

"So what brings you here?"

Oliver took a deep breath. "I just want to help you with your story...if you don't mind."

Bryce smiled. "No, not at all. Come in."

"Thanks."

As soon as he let his best friend in, Bryce locked the front door and took a peek out the living room window, while keeping the curtains closed, possibly to see if there were any outside witnesses. An upbeat country song played at a low volume, coming from the stereo system situated near the flat screen TV. Oliver couldn't recognize the male singer, but the ruggedness of his voice reminded him of the ruggedness of his acquaintance.

All of this is pointless in the end. Coca-Cola still derives some of its flavor from the coca plant; the same place that cocaine comes from. Due to the obvious drug related issues that would arise from importing lots of coca plant into America legally, only one company has government permission to do it . That company is Coca-Cola. So even if someone broke into the bank and managed to take the formula, they would never be able to produce an exact Coke rip-off.

For example, Christmas and Easter are Pagan holidays. Most Christians do not know this because the Pagan beliefs and stories in Christianity are encoded to prevent Christians from knowing that their religion is filled with Pagan ideologies.

The reason is that taking the right Social Security benefits at the right time can make a huge difference to a retiree’s living standard.


Secrets I Suppose Such A PitySecrets I Suppose Such A PitySecrets I Suppose Such A PitySecrets I Suppose Such A Pity

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