Profile: David Dorle
History
- Member for
- 52 weeks 14 hours
Recently written
Layover
He rolled up in the late afternoon twilight of January. He was not expecting to see her, not here at what had been her parent's house, but there she was at the front windows, tall and lanky, looking out as though waiting for someone, for him perhaps, he could only dream.
Forensic Romance
I am reminded lately of your perfume. Not the scent you wore during London, but before then, before New York. I remember it came in a short clear bottle and that it was a golden color which, as you can see, does little to narrow the field of the thousands of perfumes available today. Of course I'm fully aware, as you taught me, that if I were to find it and the salesclerk sprayed it on one of those paper swatches, or on her wrist, or mine, it would not emit the same scent that arose from your wrist, or the back of your ear, or the curve of your neck.
Upon the Suwannee River
He came for the cool, lazy running of the water and the fog drifting over it, for the loamy shoreline and the iridescence of spring mangrove. The serenade of a lone mockingbird to an unseen mate - that was a bonus. The others had come for a little R&R before redeploying, simple as that, but he had come for something more. He sat alone on the foot bridge, legs dangling, listening to the morning stillness and breathing in the forest air, but in this most peaceful of settings, his jaw clenched and his chest was tight as ever.
The Neglected Breast
He couldn't help glancing at her legs. It wasn't just that they were long and slender and perfectly tapered, or that she had swung one over the other and now tapped the air with a sling-back stiletto, or that they were smooth and tanned and flawless, but that they were bare. Like so many young professional women down here, she did not wear stockings and for a man of his age and tradition, he found that slightly crass and sexy as all get-out.
