She was exhausted and so was I when we darted into the bowels of an underground coffee house to end our session. There were no more pictures, just alluring images of her feasting on the afternoon’s excitement. Her face flushed with excitement; her eyes burned like stars lighting up the dreary decay of the coffee house. In the darkness of our private corner we sipped coffee and exchanged lust. Unrequited lust, so I figured.
“You know it wouldn’t take much to bring you home with me,” she said.
“Is that a proposition?” I asked.
“I wish it was, but he’s very jealous.”
“Too bad,” I said, genuinely disappointed. “I’m not sure I could go through another afternoon like this and not have some honest relief.”
“I’m sorry it has to be this way, Michael.” Oh, how she caressed the syllables o
