We shared another kiss, this one longer, more passionate, and sensually arousing. We lay down together without saying a word, both not quite sure wha... to do next. I stared at the TV, without much interest, and then decided to go for the gold. I rolled over on my side, and pulled on her shoulder. She willingly rolled over on her side as well, facing me. I slid my hand under her shirt, and slid it up slowly. She didn’t resist after I had gotten it half way off, so I pulled it the rest of. She could not quite remember when they had first become friends: somehow he had been around the periphery of her adult life, it seemed, for as long as she could remember, at school in the sixth form, during University holidays, in the pub. She liked his shy humour, the kindness with which he spoke about the children he taught, and his anxiety (she was pretty certain misplaced) that he was getting it right for them. And too, she liked the way his hair was all floppy over his forehead, his broad. More

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