3/26/11

Forbidden Love
By Jack Bristow



"Leave her," Kimberly had said. "Oh, Harold. Please just leave her."

"I will Kitten. I assure you. I just need more time."

"How much more?"

Harold Evans averted his eyes from the brutal sunlight. He and Kimberly met here every weekday afternoon, in the patio section; and every weekday, without fail, he'd forget to bring the aviators.

He had never been any good at planning things out. That's for sure. He rushed into things, that was the man's biggest problem.

Kimberly saw through him; so did his wife, Pam; he, Harold Evans, was the only person unaware of his own deranged hijinks.

"Soon, Kim. Soon."

"And then we'll move away and get married and live happily-ever-after?"

"Yes."

"Swear to God?"

A pause. Harold, devoutly religious, had tried to avoid since childhood swearing to his Maker. Not that he didn't have confidence in his promises, he'd just been around long enough to know that, sometimes, things would not follow through as planned. But Harold also knew he was losing Kimberly, and to effectively re-gain her trust, he'd have to tell her something uncharacteristically
brazen. Finally, he said, "Of course, Kitten: swear to God," and then he put his hand underneath the table and squeezed Kimberly's thigh; she blushed.

Harold looked into his wristwatch.

"Damn. Time for work. See you later, kitten."

"No kiss good-bye?" Kimberly pouted.

"I keep telling you: not here. Somebody might see us."

Harold Evans, thirty-five, watched Kimberly get up, grab her bicycle from off the guard, put her pink-colored helmet on and ride away into the sunset.

Look at her, Harold thought, watching his piece of forbidden fruit ride away briskly.

If Pam were to ever find out about this one she would, unlike the other times, never forgive him. This one was so different. Well-read, well-built, and stunningly gorgeous.

She was thirteen going on thirty-five.


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