He pledged his love and kissed across the phone wires. As he cradled the receiver, he wondered what he'd do when his two horny-hearted girls finally compared notes about men.
Ken checked the time. He slid the Rachmaninoff compact disc into the player. First the moody, spooky Isle of the Dead. Then the dark sensuality of the Second Piano Concerto. It should come on almost as his punctual Irish beauty came in, her hips still wincing from the Sigma paddle and Delinda's spanking.
He patrolled the apartment, careful to hide anything with his birth name on it. He slid the Opera News copy of his current review into a manila envelope with regret. Something had gone very vocally wrong with the soprano in The Flying Dutchman. Jose van Dam had ignited the boards as the tortured, God-cursed Hollande
