"It's just a story that has been floating around my dreams for a few years," I explained, settling down onto the bench beside him. "I thought it was time I tried to tell it."Alon clapped me on the back then went back to reading my scroll. The silence of the garden wasn't even broken by the scurrying of squirrels and the light breeze had died away, leaving the leaves still and quiet. Yet somehow at the edge of my perception, all was not as it should be. I took another sip of wine and tried to ignore it.I noticed Alon had stopped reading, and was casually glancing around the garden, but the corners of his eyes were tightening up and I could tell he was concentrating."Alon..." I began, but he Blended into the background. Near the far end of the Garden there was a faint rustle.I sighed and took another sip.Close to the entrance of the Garden there was a large crash and some very pretty bushes were crushed. The invisible commotion rolled away from the entrance towards some just budding. The next two hours were spent on the conversation that might normally have preceded any sexual intimacy: how we each knew the marrying couple- I was a university friend of the bride, she a cousin of the groom- our careers, our families, how her parents felt about her being gay – very supportive it turned out- our disillusionment with our respective ex’s. We faced each other as we talked. We kissed a few times on the lips, but her mouth did not open to allow my tongue inside. Most of the time my hand remained on her breast. At one stage I slipped a hand between her legs. She did not object perhaps because her knickers were still on. The conversation did not break as I stroked her the length of her very wet vagina through the thin cotton material wondering if if it was acceptable to put a finger inside the garment or indeed inside her or even to concentrate on her clitoris as much as I normally would, but nor did her breathing change or she show much change of arousal. When other.
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