Dutifully, Shelly set her clock ahead a full hour forward. She wasn’t about to lose any sleep over it either, though everyone facing DST faced the yearly loss of a whole hour. “And that is the issue, isn’t it?” She mused. No one loses anything at the moment the clocks are changed. The next day is a different story.

But, why wait? Let’s tell 'a different story' of the hour that Shelly never dreamed she would have.

Within the first minute of that fateful hour, she came to a decision, one she had never thought possible until this moment.

“Why change, clean up, go to bed fitfully, and do the same ritual, only to wake up and regret tonight?” To her surprise, she had spoken those words aloud. Truly “allowed” represented a line she wouldn’t/couldn’t/shouldn’t/mustn’t cross. Indeed, her current attire contradicted her ‘non crossing’ proclivities. However the warning, “you are not allowed” had such power: how often did any of her several, inner voices remind her of that stridently, persistently, insistently, and maddeningly.

“Other people must be regretting the loss of a whole sixty minutes too.” She suspected that she was rationalizing. Why even the face in the mirror seemed about to smirk at first, but followed that expression with a seductive smile. And, when that desired face in the mirror smiled, Shelly was smitten.

So, the next hour was to be both ephemeral and earthy. One foot firmly in reality; the other foot in a size 8, taupe pump. For Shelly, the river was crossed, and she was thusly dressed. So, instead of re-boxing the other pump, she submitted to the siren in the looking glass, smiled right back, and replaced her toes in the pump’s partner.

How often she had dreamed of exiting her efficiency apartment without care or concern that the eyes of onlookers could see her? Most of them were abed, she speculated. "Spring Forward" She immediately realized that she was made for this moment, this hour, and she suspected that others were so destined, too, like her. So, decisions which would have normally taken her months to make and moments to discard as too risky were transformed in this particular, and peculiar, moment. She determined that this time she would not "fall back." She would lustfully embrace every minute, and there were only fifty-nine and a half minutes of those remaining.

With another glance at that vixen in the mirror, Shelly decided to slip into something suited for evening wear, with a slip, of course. A white, silk dress with an attached shoulder-less, black bustier beckoned to her from her 'secret' stash. And to this she added a white, lengthy coverlet to keep the chill from her exposed shoulders.

And, with no second guessing, this time, out the door, she nearly danced.

Into a street populated with other revelers. whom she neither recognized nor recognized her, she moved with a purpose. Was some force moving the whole party with the same gusto, the same carefree attitude, and in the same direction?

A dreary, old, poorly lit city park seemed to be the destination. But this version of the park was awash in colorful hues. Oh, it must have been the rainbow of hues worn by others who cavorted. Unexpectedly, there was a myriad of colors, and the intensity of those colors perfectly enhanced the ones nearest.

The closer Shelly came to the others, she was aware of the crowd’s proximity to her and each other. Spontaneous and welcoming hugs were being exchanged by total strangers, and Shelly welcomed each embrace, each smiling face, each fresh fragrance, and each lush pressing of body-to-body contact.

Did the soft, grassy mounds of the park seem almost mattress-like and undulating? Soon, all the attendees were reclining, at least the ones who were not still slowly dancing and grinding sexually. There were pairs, threesomes, daisy-chains, orgies, and even a few who chose to be alone, but not lonely. Hands caressed, fingers danced, toes curled, and every-body-part-cliché, well, cliched.

And the sounds, oh my, the sounds. The soft, throaty murmurings of lovers; the loud  wails of those who achieved climaxes, expected and unexpected. And the music, never a solitary genre, but a complete and harmonious symphony.

Shelly, herself, was making soft, purring feline sounds which had never escaped her lips before. And her lovers groaned, sighed, sang, roared, mewed, moaned, in a cacophony which became a chorus of carnal desires fulfilled. Had she been penetrated? Yes. Had she also penetrated others? Yes, too. Had her every dream of loving and being loved become real? Yes, yes, and yes again.

She was not the only one who breathed the Dickensian query, “Could I have more, please?” But, the un-Dickensian answers were always affirmative, never delayed, and never plagued by negative inner voices.

So, Shelly was surprised, but not unpleasantly, when the same force that had captured her and the whole troop of time travelers and lovers, gently deposited her at the threshold of her tiny apartment. She did not even bother to remove the clothing, which was as fresh as when she had donned it, and the make-up still as perfectly applied as when she had touched it to her face. That could wait until the dawn. She was filled with the juices, the tastes, the aromas, of each and all of her lovers, and so, saturated with sensations, she slept soundly.

And the very next day, she did ‘spring forward’ and would never again rue the hour lost: whether the sixty, sexy, sensual minutes ever returned or not. No longer were her thoughts dutiful; she had become and remained beautiful.

So, Dear Readers, were you engaged enough in this tale to realized the significance of Shelly's name: ('shall he')? Our protagonist, aka, 'Shelton' answered the question for all of her futures.