He unscrewed the cap bit by bit. He moved brokenly. Rhythmless. Wordlessly, he upended the bottle over the green brass floor drain, watching the amber...liquid slowly stream away.“You’re a fucking hateful bitch, you know that?”“Yeah. I know.”“What if I slip up?”“You die.”He knew I wasn’t bluffing. Knew that I’d never forget. I could see that understanding as clear as his hate.I pulled a set of clothes and a bar of soap from my pack, then unlocked the handcuff for the first time since I put it on. As his wife is in a home for the elderly.I felt quite sad for him so visiting him, originally had nothing to do with sex.One day it was hot and I had gone next door and he was abit drunk.Do you like grapa?I didnt know what it was but I let him give me a glass.It was a rich red wine of Italian origin but apparently he traded tomatoes and eggs with a friend and he got Grapa.The first glass was hard to drink but the second and third and so on I was quite merry.I had on a green halter top, and. More

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