After I cleaned the office up, I took a shower and I put in the security code and went to my car.I went home, and my boyfriend was still snoring like a rabid dog.I just grinned.So the rest of the month went like this, Tuesdays was me being fucked after work by him, me on my knees with oozes of cum dribbling to the floor, from my gaping pussy.Tuesdays soon became, no knickers Tuesday, and then Thursdays became Motel fuck night. Until Saturdays, became fantasy Saturdays, at a place of his choosing.Tuesdays, also became no knickers Tuesdays for me.By now I knew he was married, hence Thursdays and Saturdays.He would come to the bar and feel my bare ass, sometimes revealing it to the odd patron.The girls just looked at me in disgust.It was like I was now his toy to live out all his sexual fantasies on.I got a huge pay increase so I wasn’t that upset, at being used like a slut.He would tell me I was more useful for fucking than working the bar, so Thursdays I was to go to the Motel and wait. Sure she had ideas. She wanted to build a life with her son. Funny how dreams remain so simple, and yet to arrive at those dreams one has to cross streams of complexities, seas of conflict and confrontation, and oceans of uncertainty. There is no grander, more illustrious, and more farfetched dream than the simple dream, and most of us, through the course of our temporary lives, save those dreams like ships in a bottle, wasting our time, our years, not in pursuit of our simple dreams, but coping with realities.On the short walk to the bodega, Maryam saw along the street corner a woman bundled in a torn jacket, a woolen muffler tied around her head. She held a mangled coffee cup with a few pennies at the bottom, her blue eyes, cloudy and dull, looking into the distance of lost dreams, broken and savagely severed, as though her dreams kept her alive while the wind petrified her hands and burned her face. She too had dreams, thought Maryam, and still this woman must be dreaming. Maryam.
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