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It's one of those fancy envelopes with gold paper lining on the inside, almost like a wedding invitation. She figures that must be it; someone else in this damn office is getting married, and once again, it's not her. Not that she really wants to get married again. She is very happy being divorced, career oriented, spending her weekends with girlfriends or the occasional date, at least that's what she tells herself over a glass of wine at night. I've never been the type of woman who dreamed about her wedding; she didn't want to get married the first time, and she don't really want to get married again. However, it would be nice to have a special someone in her life who wasn't battery operated.She pulls out the invitation and is immediately struck by its elegant flare. The invitation is square, black, textured paper with gold text. On the left side is an ornate mask. She is mesmerized by the mask, as she runs her fingers over it, feeling the indentation from the printing. It's gold. Although my mind told me it was foolish; that I would find nothing and should want to find nothing, my body was sending completely different messages. My body was telling me in no uncertain terms that it wanted to have been exposed; that it wanted men to have drooled and lusted over it and, just in case the message wasn’t clear enough, it was lubricating for all it was worth into my panties to make sure I understood.My understanding of computers was limited, but I had sat by Pete often enough to have picked up a few techniques and was using them to the best of my ability.To my disappointment, the most careful analysis of all the browser histories revealed only my own forays into the world of online sex. This proved nothing of course; Pete could have used his laptop or just cleaned out the evidence afterwards, but it soon became clear there was nothing to find.There was nothing in his favourites either so, frustrated, I turned my attention to the photographs themselves.Apart from.
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