Tears on a Sunday Afternoon Read Online Free PDF Page A

white man with a deep, Russian accent. “Can I get you something to drink while you peruse the menu?”
    “No, thank you. We’ll order in a minute,” I said.
    “Where do they get these people from? We haven’t sat down a minute and they’re in your face. Didn’t he see us looking at the menus?” Donna said, sounding exasperated.
    “We’re obviously not at the Waldorf in Manhattan,” I answered, noticing the waiter standing a few feet away staring at me.
    “Should we drink the water and leave?” Donna asked, returning the waiter’s penetrating gaze. “Or should I order the chicken sandwich? It looks delicious.”
    “I’ve had it before. It’s very good. Today I think I’ll have the salmon sandwich. It’s difficult to mess up salmon.” I closed the menu.
    “You obviously haven’t been to Fish and Things on Jessup Avenue. I had the worst salmon in my life there,” she replied, putting down her menu.
    I lifted my right hand up and the waiter hurried over. I placed the order for both of us, repeating it twice as the waiter fumbled with his pen.
    “What’s the occasion? This isn’t our usual meeting place,” I said, as our eyes connected.
    I had fucked Donna four more times since our initial encounter in the office. Unlike the first encounter, those sessions were long and exciting. I had put in some wonderful work on that woman.
    “It’s time,” she said.
    The waiter had remembered and placed the correct dishes in front of us.
    “Will that be all? Something to drink?” he asked.
    “Water is fine,” Donna answered.
    “We have bottled water, if you would like.”
    “Just leave us alone,” I finally said, beginning to get annoyed.
    “Call me if you need anything,” he replied and disappeared behind the large door leading to the kitchen.
    “He’s pissing me off!” Donna said, separating her precut sandwich into two halves.
    “Time for what?” I brought her back to her original statement.
    “Donald, did you think that I got together with you because of your looks?” she asked. “Yeah, I’m sure you did. You put me in the cage with those chicken-heads out there.”
    “I didn’t put you anywhere,” I said; not liking where our conversation was headed.
    “Of course you didn’t, but all you men do the same thing.”
    I was curious. “What’s that?”
    “Think with your dicks and lie with your mouth. Donald, let me give you some advice. Never fool yourself into thinking that you know what a woman wants.” She bit into her sandwich.
    I wasn’t expecting anything but occasional sex from Donna. She never once mentioned anything else. She would call me and, if I was available, I would go. We rarely talked about our home lives and we had completed the project at her office.
    She showed her hearty appetite by tearing into the sandwich. I looked at her as she ate, making sure that she chewed completely before swallowing. And when she did swallow, everything was gone. I began getting excited by mentally replacing my dick for the food.
    “Your dick is thinking again,” she said. “How’s your wife?”
    “The same as your husband, I suppose.”
    “He’s at home, happy in bed, waiting for me to come to the house and fuck him until he pledges undying love to me,” she said, a soft smile forming on her perfectly shaped lips. “Is your wife at home picking pussy hairs from between her teeth?”
    “What do you know about my wife?”
    “I know she likes the beaver more than she likes the dog.”
    “And?”
    “How did you happen to have Emerald? By the way, he looks exactly like you. Was she drunk that night?” Donna said, finishing up the fries that came with the sandwich.
    “What do you want from me?” I asked, feeling like the only one naked in this conversation.
    “The only time you used your head for the right thing, you ended up getting fucked, didn’t you?” Donna started on the other half of the sandwich.
    I finished the first half of mine and pushed it away from the