After what seemed like hours, but was only minutes, the scarf drifted overher left shoulder and was brought up across her eyes. Gently, but firmly, hetied the scarf off behind her head. "I think we're supposed to be in the kitchen," she mouthed softly. She couldhear him breathing behind her, and felt the weight of his fingers on her shoulder. "Sshhhh," he whispered. "Don't speak. Listen." He thought for a second. "Don'ttouch. Feel. Don't hear. Experience." He stepped away. There was a rustling at her side. Jason slid what felt like a leather gloveover her left hand and up her arm past her elbow. "Is it black?" she asked.Jason did not respond. The next glove went over her other hand and extendedpast the right elbow. She pinched a finger and thumb together and marveledat the texture and thinness of the leather. The smell joined that of the bustierand the pants to envelope her senses. She reveled in the sensuousness of itall. She felt him grasp her gloved hands and swing them. There I was... lying on the couch with the murder of the mouse a nearly forgotten memory. To create a bit of atmosphere I had piled logs in my fire place even though it was about 26 degrees Celsius and I was coated in a thin sheen of sweat. Beside the fireplace was my "Christmas tree", a short, stubby, rubber plant in a cheap plastic pot. I had draped a bit of tinsel over it and had briefly contemplated stringing some lights on it but decided against it, as it would surely sound the death knell for this long suffering and noble plant. Under the tree sat my Christmas presents to me, wrapped in the shiniest of Christmas paper. A carton of cigarettes and a DVD of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders in action.As was my recently established Christmas tradition I had settled in to indulge my Christmas fantasy. Closing my eyes I was transported to the Dallas Cowboys cheerleader locker rooms. As I gazed in wonder, hats, boots and vests flew everywhere as these luscious creatures disrobed just.
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