All theway down to my feet, his hands kept up a pulsing,throbbing pressure. I loved it.He shifted his position, pulling my legs apart evenmore. I felt...something warm and hairy rub against mycalf. His balls, I figured. I heard the squishingnoise of the plastic bottle again. I was stillthinking about that warm hairy thing that had beenpressed against my leg. I had liked that too. Ireally had.The guy’s touch was erotic. The sensations of histouch and caress were doing something to me. It. A call like that can set you up for whatever the rest of the day has to offer, or it can leave you feeling down for the next three or four hours. Perhaps it was the effect of the coffee, but within minutes of closing Linda Shoesmith's front door, I felt ready to take on all comers.It must be time for another one of those little author's asides which are so tending to break up the narrative flow round here. I did not screw Linda Shoesmith. All these sleazy, twee little double-entendres are not. More

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