To him she was all he could desire, a real woman, not some model in a sex magazine or page 3, but a woman he would meet in any street, desirable, and ...illing, begging him to take her, use her, enjoy her. a spitting image of his mother too, again he kissed her, then his hand found her fast wetting crutch, his memory straying to that time with his mother, the crunch of his fathers car tyres on the gravel outside, that moment when he knew it was impossible and he needed to get to his room… But not. Flash! Buried again, balls resting against her anus. So if Catherine wasn’t suggesting we join a Parisian orgy, what did she have in mind? We talked for more than an hour, reviewing the diminution of early ardour and discussing possible remedies. Only then, and very obliquely, did Catherine ask how I would feel about involving someone else. I told her it wasn’t an issue worth considering because we had too much to lose. ‘But we trust each other, don’t we?’ she asked. ‘Of course we do. But. More

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