Welcome to Sonja Blonde’s romantic blog, where you can read short emotional and sensual stories. Perfect for a few minutes of escape.
On Monday morning I walked to the office. The cold bit into my face and crept up through my wrists all the way to the back of my neck. I dug through my bag to see if I’d packed my gloves after all, but just as I suspected, they were nowhere to be found.
The first entry from my ridiculously comfortable velvet armchair. Though when I think about the fact that I’ll be buried in work for the next six months, this might be the last one for a while.
The psychologist’s hand was already hovering above the keyboard when she spoke.
“How has the past semester been for you?” she asked.
The boy gave a slow shrug.
“Girls! Get into position,” the father called out. “They’ll be here any second.”
The two sisters, eighteen and sixteen, raced down the stairs one after the other into the spacious, sunlit living room.
A few years ago, I walked into an elegant lakeside restaurant. I wanted to buy a voucher there as a gift for my friend, and I thought I’d try the place first. Alone.
“Lili keeps driving me crazy with this thing about wanting red nail polish,” Martha grumbled. “Absolutely not. She’s thirteen. A kid that young doesn’t need nail polish.”
At some point in life, something shifts.
Before that, we only cry at movies.
After that… even at a detergent commercial.
An old acquaintance once said to me, many years ago:
You should bend down for every coin — because if you don’t, someone else will.
I’m object-dependent. As the saying goes, they don’t serve me—I serve them. On bended knee, head bowed.
