CHAPTER EIGHT
Morning Drill
A Confessional Interlude by P.N. Dedeaux Goddamn sheeut, hissed Rita Henshaw, staring at the tousled tangle on the mattress-less bed. Why does taking exercise always make me horny?
"Mona?"
There was a slight stirring-of the coarse horse blankets, the knuckling of an eye, no more. "Show a leg."
Or preferably a little more. Just go on pulling down those blankets and watch how that banana splits. One slice up and over.
Rita had risen early, gone through her daily dozen, plus twenty punishing push-ups, each of which had squashed her grapefruits on the polished bedroom floor, she was that conscientious about her shape.
Anyway. Into her taut track-suit, two pieces of royal blue terylene stretch with nothing underneath, tying up her sneaks with chin on braced-ba
