I scrambled off of her, and in doing so my hand, or foot, went through a drum I had been drumming on, at which I cried.As I sat crying on the floor beside her, I recollect her naked legs, and one of her hands shaking violently beneath her petticoats, and of my having some vague notion that the woman was ill; I felt timid. All was for a moment quiet, her hand ceased, still she lay on her back, and I saw her thighs, then turning around she drew me to her, kissed me, and tranquilized me. As she turned around I saw one side of her backside, I leaned over it and laid my face on it crying about my broken drum, the evening sunbeams made it all bright, it had at some time been raining, I recollect.I expect I must have seen her cunt, as I sat beside her naked thigh. Looking towards her and crying about my broken drum, and when I saw her hand moving no doubt she was frigging. Yet I have not the slightest recollection of her cunt, nor of anything more than I have told. But of having seen her. She looked stunning. We hugged and kissed easily and walked to the entrance holding hands. The cuisine was Asian fusion, pricy but good. Chastity had clams in a chili broth and I had sea bass. The fish was cooked perfectly, flaky and delicious. We killed a bottle of Pinot blanc that was dry and full-bodied, and cost more than my shirt. I walked her to her car and kissed her again. It was a nice friendly kiss that I couldn’t read into. She had a condo in the suburbs just west of the city. I thought about her all weekend, and was glad to go to work Sunday afternoon. I needed work to occupy my mind. We exchanged a few friendly text messages on Monday, only light chat, nothing serious. I was still having second thoughts about renewing our relationship. Wednesday night she called me at work about seven. When I heard her voice dread gripped my gut. “Mike, I want to see you,” she said. “Okay, sure. Do you want to have dinner again?” “I was thinking tonight, when you finish work.” My.
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