“Kelly?”She looked up.“Kelly, can you talk to me?”She sat back on her heels and shook her head.“You spoke last night,” I said. “Why not ...oday?”She opened her mouth and pointed at it, then she pointed at my crotch, and finally she rubbed her tummy.If she was thinking what I thought she was thinking, then this whole thing was about sex.I looked back over my shoulder at the door. It was secure. The only thing stopping me was me.I looked at Mom ... or, Kelly, and said, “Show me.”She smiled and her. I was, nonetheless, pleased by one or two approving looks I received.As I walked home I smiled to myself, happy that I had finally taken the plunge.*When I became a regular at the bar, I met a thirty-something man named Clive. Clive was the manager of the bar. He was stout, stood five-foot-ten tall and had a cheery demeanour. He had an impressive gut and an advanced receding hairline. One would never call him good-looking; nevertheless, he wasn’t butt-ugly. Truthfully, however, he was. More

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