Her hands are caressing my shoulders as I try in vain to push her knickers out of my mouth, but they fill my void and I can't as she gently guides me to my feet and I hear the chair being moved away. I lift my hands to my face to try and remove the gag, but she takes my wrists, not harshly, holding them only by her fingertips as if taking my pulse, but I stop moving and let her move my arms to my sides. Powerless to resist her, I leave them there even after she releases me. I feel her cotton covered breasts against my back and her soft clean hair once more against my cheek and I am no longer concerned about the gag, I'm content to feel her close, and to have my mouth full of her taste. Her arms encircle me and I hear her nails click against the pearl buttons of my blouse as she unfastens them, exposing my body to the warm air and I think I am going to melt, to puddle at her feet into a quivering pool of desire. My blouse slips down my arms to lie discarded at my feet and now her. It’s the only thing that gets us up in the mornings, to read the celebrity pages in the local press.”“All right then, but it is all very plain and unexciting, not scandalous at all. We were just children who grew up together in a relatively small rural village in Kent, quite close to London. So close, that, as the factories for the Royal Ordnance at Woolwich grew, the houses for the workers spread out and our village was swallowed up by the larger town. This made the local children stick together more closely, I think. Mildred, Tom and me were always close, we went everywhere together, we did everything as one, like Dumas’ Musketeers. When we reached puberty, it dawned on us that Mildred gradually became a lot less like us and relatively more attractive, and Tom and I turned into rivals for her affections. As you know, Mild and I became more intimate, mainly through the medium of dance.”“And you asked her to marry you?”“I did, and she accepted, sort of.”“Sort of? What does that.
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