After the Sunset

Prologue

There are those people in this world, not through their own doing, their own control, or their own intentions or thoughts, force themselves to go through life being pretenders. Suppressing and internalizing their true feelings, personalities, and identities in a vain effort to fit in, to be what society wants them to be, or the world perceives they should be. Staying under control, staying within confines, never allowing themselves to drift or express their true feelings, passion, or emotions, it is all so exhausting and tiresome. Yet, when eventually the suppression lifts and the true person finally manages to escape the grasp of their make-believe world, it is a wonder of life, an event of such magnitude that it shakes the very Earth.

When two such people meet, fall in love, share their hopes, desires, bodies and love, then life becomes so sweet and so majestic, the honor that their love brings, is an expression of all that God intended this life really to be.

1

Can You Ever Imagine?

The true dreamers of this world often never fulfill their dreams. They wander through life, falter here and there, often clinging to dreams and hopes that never, ever, materialize. Their dreams remain unattainable, elusive and never quite fulfilled.

However, that does not stop the dreaming.

It only enhances it.

On a rare occasion, the dreamer’s ultimate dream does come true, and when it does, a rare and precious moment occurs. A moment that fulfills a deep, burning desire and the joy achieved from one flash in time lasts for an entire lifetime. It creates visions; it creates images that will never leave the dreamer’s mind. The visions are wilder than even the dreamer’s false realities could ever produce.

It is euphoria.

That fact is the most profound, remarkable aspect of the entire moment.

You see, once in an extraordinary flash in time, a gifted dreamer manifests a reality, and dreams do come true, then it arrives true on another plane, in a holy place that God reserves for demonstrating his greatest gift of all, which is the gift of love.

It occurs when the two wayward souls meet.

Time, space, and years mean nothing. Only when two exceptional dreamers combine dreams, and they manifest two realities, it becomes two lovers in paradise, two dreamers fulfilled, and it makes the moment even more astonishing.

Can you ever imagine?

TIME TO COME IN FOR dinner, Miller! I swear . . . how you can stay out all day in all this heat playing a make-believe baseball game with imaginary people is remarkable. You do realize that you talk to yourself the entire time as if you are a baseball announcer. Make-believe teams. Make-believe players and even make-believe stadiums. My goodness, such a fervent imagination. A very pretty, no actually, she was a striking woman in her mid-thirties, leaned out a window and she smiled at her nine-year-old son, watching as he smiled back at her. He held a plastic baseball bat in his hand while he chased across the yard to capture a plastic baseball, which he had just tapped across the yard. He looked up at her, tugged fervently at the lid of a dirty baseball cap, and smiled.

Ah, c’mon, Ma! I got one more innin’ left. Scores tied, ya know!

Score is tied, huh? And who determines the outcome? After all, it is your make-believe game. Can you really imagine all of this? Miller, my precious little boy, can you ever imagine enough?

The little boy shrugged his shoulders. He never actually figured that portion of the dream, or of the game out.

Then again, when you are a dreamer, it is actually quite easy.

MILLER GAVINS WALKED across the floor of his kitchen. He opened the cupboards, stared inside, poked around a bit at the cans of food inside, and sighed deeply. He really was nothing without her. Nothing. In fact, he could not even recall the part of his life where the most glorious woman ever to walk this world was not in his life. His mind purged that half of his existence from his memory.

He missed her more than words could ever describe.

While staring into the barren cupboard, Miller did not have many options. He was the world’s worst cook and since cooking a meal fell into his rather incapable hands today; he had better come up with something to prepare and eat, or plant his ass in the car and roll off to the nearest restaurant or the corner pub. His solitary plans today included watching the hockey game, and he never enjoyed watching the games from a bar because there were too many distractions and Miller preferred to concentrate on the ins and outs of the game.

Miller Gavins was seventy years old, still strong, still tall, a bit bent over from his years of work, but remaining lean, handsome, masculine and powerful. His hands were still strong, wide and powerful, honed from years of physical labor, yet as he moved cans and food sundries about in the cupboards, his hands reflected a gentle touch. A feel of the tips of his fingers that reflected a special touch of which God had provided him.

A gift. A touch of which few people possessed.

He had wide, blue eyes that bordered on steel-gray when his mood changed, and he had a hard face, no hair left on his head, but his face clearly framed its lines with a finely trimmed beard that reflected his well-groomed persona.

Let’s see now. I need a can of green beans, some chili for during the hockey game, and a can of gravy for the potatoes. . .. He spoke aloud as he made notes on his shopping list for some simple meals that even he could not screw up. Maybe.

Off on an adventure, off to the corner supermarket. Another road trip, even if it was only a quick roll of a few miles down the road. However, Miller Gavins had accumulated quite a few million miles under his belt. For a poor kid from the streets of Philadelphia, he sure had achieved quite a bit of success in his life. He had seen every state in the nation, was a certified million miler in the air, and he did not even want to guess at the road miles.

He had lived, so far, an extraordinary life. A life that a dreamer could never imagine, not even a dreamer of the magnitude of capabilities of the likes of Mr. Miller Gavins.

Yet, every day, there was always her.

Her to captivate him, her to keep him alive. The vision would never leave him. Etched forever in a deep cavity in his mind, a special place, a place that he visited every minute of every day. A place where he saw her smile, where he heard her voice, felt her touch upon her arm, and felt the curves, smells, and softness of her body. The remarkable beauty, the remarkable desire, the incomparable passion, the sound of her voice, the softness of her skin. It seemed as if her vision was a constant blessing.

A blessing that he relished. A blessing that he knew, in some strange way, kept him alive.

Not even as powerful a dreamer, such as Miller Gavins was, could ever conjure up such a goddess.

He pulled his car into a parking space at the corner supermarket. Miller Gavins even parked in the same spot every single time. In many ways, he was indeed quite predictable, in other ways, after his goddess used her magical key to unlock the door to his pretend world and unleashed the real Miller Gavins, he was quite unpredictable. While he strode to the front door of the supermarket, he dreamed of her touch with every step that he took. Miller Gavins never stopped dreaming, but ever since they met, most of his dreams were all about her.

It was what he did. You see, everything was a potential situation for a dream, or another chapter or subject in one of his books and in one of his stories. Miller had originally thought of his writing as a hobby and a sideline, and after his heart melted in her hands, his writing slowly turned into a career. When the miles finally wore his soul out and the travel became a burden, his books carved out the direction of the rest of his life. His first novel exploded on the scene, and it was a success beyond any of their wildest dreams and expectations. It was a novel of one-half of their story and someday, he vowed to write the sequel. Someday, very soon, but he was not sure of when because he felt as if they were still living a huge part of it.

Miller picked out a shopping cart; he reached in his pocket for the list and rolled towards the produce aisle. A bunch of bananas, an apple or two, a nod to a stranger, turn, spin and head to the meat section. Ah yes, cut down the frozen food aisle, come back for frozen food, because it is too hot outside. Miller always calculated things, and coming back for the frozen food was the correct thing to do. He looked up and stopped dead in his tracks. Dreams and memories manifested once again into Miller Gavins’ realities.

She was there in front of him.

Once again, she was there.

There was a young lady shopping here in front of him, and she was gorgeous. Short hair, wide, dark eyes, a perfect body. Her ample breasts, just a touch of cleavage exposed . . . a seductive tease at their limitless potential. Serving a dual potential for her babies and for her lover! He gazed openly at her smooth curves, the sway of her body as she browsed the food selections, and he marveled at the way she carried herself, even while shopping, and he detected the incredible softness of her demeanor.

Miller Gavins might be seventy years old, but he was hardly dead yet! Legions of much younger men wished that they had what Miller Gavins possessed, even at seventy years of age. Miller Gavins could dream. He could imagine and feel energy like few men could. That was part of the magic.

Then he felt it, the tingle of old, the joy of two lovers in paradise, and she was there in front of him. The unforgettable aroma of her skin, the kiss and taste of her lips, the passion of her soul. The look in her eyes and the tremble of her body.

It was always the tremble of her body during those first moments of making love, in which Miller Gavins could never forget.

Watching so deeply into her eyes, seeing right through her ecstasy, right into her very soul, feeling her joy, and watching as her aura of eye-penetrating beauty etched a scar forever inside his mind, while she reached a point that she had never been before and he knew that she was his forever.

That, above all else, was the memory that haunted Miller forever, and he felt her there in his arms. It was there that he felt love for a woman as he had never felt before.

Miller Gavins watched as the young woman walked away, and he smiled. The flood of memories filled his mind. He reeled a bit, gripped the handle of the shopping cart, and remembered every aspect of their lives and their love. Today was going to be a special day of dreaming. A day filled with glorious dreaming of their amazing relationship. A day of reliving all that brought them to the heights of their love. A day filled with what Miller did best, and that was to recall these glorious memories.

Their love was too deep, too powerful, and too special for it ever to leave his heart and mind, even for a second in time.

Their love transcended time, space, age and limits forever more.

2

The Pear

Iam not quite sure how I get myself into these situations. Just yesterday, I went on the huge shopping world in the great beyond of the internet and bought a lucky charm. I really did. It is some stupid-ass horseshoe or some kind of bullshit of a horseshoe with a phony green emerald or something similar cemented on top of it. While I need to check the package when it arrives, I am pretty sure that it is Chinese in origin. Nowadays, it seems as if everything comes from China. I am going to pull my pants down, hold a mirror up to my bare ass and see if my ass has a stamp that states, Made in China. As far as I know, my parents made me in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, U.S.A.

Regardless, I do not discriminate because in the world of luck and the shitty world of Miller Gavins, Chinese luck sounds as good as any luck right now. I am going to nail my luck-changing-trinket over my apartment door. I figured, what the hell? It cannot hurt and it only cost twelve bucks. I am guilty of drunk internet shopping, but the lucky charm is a helluva huge step up from the diamond-encrusted dog tags that I bought after sucking down a bottle of cheap whiskey last month. Luckily, the huge shopping world in the great beyond of the internet allows you to return, EVERYTHING!

Anyway, I sat in a large chair in a hot office in lower Manhattan in New York City. I studied the eyes of the woman who now, upon the passing of her husband, and the pushing aside of her newly minted-worthless-overly educated son, had assumed the CEO position of the company in which I was presently gainfully, yet I was now, somewhat, very perplexingly employed. A business that she knew zero. Zilch, nothing about, not that it seemed to be a requirement to be a CEO these days. Most of the leadership executives that I met along the way were worthless dopes. Clueless idiots that mumble bullshit, talk gibberish, and know zero about anything. They try to bang their administrative assistants every day, even if these clueless dopes have asses the size of Montana and bellies bigger than Texas. Their assistants would sooner screw nuts on the end of bolts than these clowns. These nitwits generally spend their days by sitting their big asses at bars at the end of golf courses within fancy country clubs. Wow! That sure painted a picture in my mind! I need to remember that one and write it down for one of my stories.

The construction business sucked big time, and it was going to get even worse as the recession worsened. Luckily, we were into project management of the installation heating and cooling systems and the operation, maintenance and cleaning of those same systems. Even when times sucked, people generally enjoyed being warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Recession or not.

Hmmm. Okay, Miller, listen to what she says. Try to remain open-minded and not too cynical. This was going to be interesting. Times were tough and I needed the job. Sit back and listen, Miller Gavins. It is not as if you have many options other than the gig in front of you right now.

I need your help, Miller. I know how difficult all of this is for you. Leaving your life in North Carolina, coming to a strange, big city such as New York City is. Not knowing anyone here. Never being here before.

She cleared her throat, and I could swear that she might have even batted her eyes at me. Oh lordy, lordy, no eye batting. Please.

However, while it is none of my business to pry into your family life, I do know that you recently divorced and no longer have a wife in North Carolina and are . . . available. She cleared her throat again, fiddled with the stupid-shit nick-knack-patty-whacks on her desk, and clarified her remark.

Available for relocation, that is.

I was not going to comment or correct her, or ask her not to bring it all up, because she was correct. My new boss and the inside intelligence feeds nailed the rumors on this one. My now ex-wife preferred anyone to me. I do mean anyone! No one cared about Miller Gavins. That includes my now ex-wife and my three children. No one. Oh well, it is what it is. My ex-wife and family couldn't care less. They checked out on me a long time ago before the divorce. I was not exactly sure why. I did my best, worked hard, was trustworthy and faithful to my wife and took good care of the children. Big house, nice new car every few years, you know the drill. A fine-trimmed lawn, nice flowers in the flowerpots, a happy dog with a wagging tail, and warm fires in the fireplace and multiple college educations bought and paid for with my labor. My wife did not work outside of the home. I thought that we had a deal. She takes the home front and I assault the world and send home the paychecks. Nevertheless, somewhere along the way, they checked out on me and I was a bad guy. Not sure why, but they did. I had come to terms with it so long ago that I was now numb to the entire mess. Send home the money, keep us all warm, fed and cozy. However, as far as Miller Gavins, the man, the husband, the father, no one actually cared about him. On my last trip home to collect what was left of my stuff that the gang had not tossed out in the trash, even the dog growled and barked at me. No more tail wagging.

I nodded my head, pushed back the daydreaming, and tried my best to focus on this important meeting with my new boss.

My son is an overly educated idiot. I love him, but he knows nothing about business. His education cost us a fortune, but they erased his brain. He will run this business into the ground, so I relieved him of his duties.

I thought, ‘Well now, I am glad you said it and I did not have to. Perhaps this chick is not so whacky after all.’ Oops, there she goes, blabbing again. Better pay attention, Miller.

He is returning to college for another degree. Please, Heaven, help my bank account! Really, another degree is just a cover for trying to bed every available college woman on campus, because he thinks with his miniature dick, but at this point, I am just glad he is doing something other than sitting at bars and running up expense accounts. Sooner or later, he will grow tired of being a dope and come around to face reality.

I nodded my head and admired how this woman had a grip on the real world and faced the truth quite well. I liked this woman. She was smart and I could tell that she was successful.

However, you are the best in the business. My husband always spoke so highly of your skills and I need your expertise right now. My boss flipped her hair and her eyes wandered across my face and down to my chest before adding, I loved my husband but his son inherited his genital size from him.

I adjusted my tie and nodded. Holy shit . . . it was hot in here and my new boss shared everything!

After sharing a little too much information about inheritances, the new owner of the company leaned forward in her chair and she nervously tapped her fingers upon her desk. She was very twitchy. It seemed as if all of her parts and pieces needed to move all the time. While she talked, I felt as if I was watching a tennis match. Her mouth moved, her shoulders moved, her head bobbed and moved side-to-side, her ass wiggled in the chair and all of her fingers moved simultaneously. Hell, I am not sure how she managed to do it, but I swear the end of her nose wiggled too. I was growing exhausted trying to follow her movements.

That is why when we folded our subsidiary, or as you know it, the Weber Corporation in North Carolina, I knew that I could grab you and bring you here to help me obtain a handle on the mothership, or what I should refer to as the parent company.

I watched as she stood up from her desk; she wandered over to the window and stared out. She was short, middle-aged, about two or three or so years older than I was, or so I surmised. She was somewhat overweight and pear shaped. Please, let me clarify that shape. All of her was pear-shaped, but her ass looked just like a pear does. Today, she wore a rather tight dress, very business-like and professional. However, I call it as I see it. It was tight. Her figure was a pear, and her ass resembled a pear, too. Therefore, she was a pear with a pear mounted on the backside of it. Does that even make sense? When she walked into the office a few minutes ago, I studied her ass. And it was most definitely a pear. No way could it be an apple, or a peach, or a slice of watermelon or any other variety of fruit—it was a pear. It seemed to have a side wiggle and then it grew thinner at the top to have a spot for a stem too. However, she did have nice breasts. They were rather large, but not too large and shaped very nicely. Yet, it was difficult for me to get over the fact that she was a double-pear-chick. Please do not take my criticism as being too harsh. Well, maybe it is a little harsh, but factual. Let me lean to the positive and say that she was one of those types of women who were not attractive, but not unattractive either. I had to say that she also had very pretty eyes. They were a deep arctic blue color with some edges that glowed like marbles of glass. I allowed my mind to wander as I observed her standing in front of the window. Her face was sort of, kind of, attractive, her red hair shoulder-length with a gentle part in the middle, a sloping face and a long nose. A very long nose. The kind of nose that you want to hang a Christmas ornament on the end of it. Those annoying icicle types of ornaments. Yes, indeed, I would hang the ornament on the end of her nose with a short hanging hook.

My eyes went up and down her body. Stop, Miller! Just stop! Just because you have not had sex since the dinosaurs roamed the Earth does not mean you are this desperate! On the other hand, ah, ah! Oh, boy . . . my dreams are wandering now. No, she is not my type. No, certainly not my type. Making love to a double-pear-chick would be too, rolly. Is that even a word? It would be hard to hit a rolly target. We would roll off the bed and I would be stabbing and poking, hoping that I hit the target until we crashed to the floor and bounced.

Nice breasts, pretty eyes, a pear ass set upon a larger and main pear body with a brain that somehow controlled endless twitches, or not; she was my new boss. In addition, she talked and talked and talked. In fact, she never shut the hell up.

I found my mind wandering as she babbled endlessly. The late June afternoon sun beat hard on the windows of the office, and the air conditioning made a vain and futile attempt to offset the heat. Shit man, we are in the air conditioning business! Note to Miller’s mind. Fix the frigging air conditioning in this office!

It was so hot . . . and she just would not stop talking. Since I was still a dreamer; my mind took me off to a happier place and time. A time when I ruled the world or the translation of that statement is a time and place when I actually had sex.

There I was, a young man of about seventeen, sitting upon the front stoop of the house in the old city in which I grew up. The stoop faced a busy city street. There, I sat on a warm summer night, dreaming as usual and watching the world go by. City bus number eight heads downtown, city bus eight returns about an hour later, dirt, horns, taxis, trucks, hot rods, commuters, drug dealers, drug addicts, prostitutes, pimps, gangsters, I could identify them all from sitting and watching the world go by. No one could teach me more than those front steps had taught me. They allowed me to dream; they allowed me to escape. Oh, there she is! That pretty chickee-poo from two blocks over with the