Monday, March 19, 2012

I was never sure who took the picture.  It just showed up in the mail a week after the party. 

Christine came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist.  “I need to talk to you.”

“Just talk?” I asked.

“You’re hopeless.  And that’s why I love you.”

She opened the door and pushed me into the room.  She stood in front of me and kissed me, gently at first, then hard, her tongue exploring my mouth.  She pushed me onto the sofa.  She stood in front of me and slowly stripped, her fingers methodically undoing each button.  She slid the blouse off her shoulders and it fell onto the floor.

She straddled my hips and brought her nipple to my mouth.  It grazed my lips, out of the reach of my tongue.  She nuzzled my neck and kissed me, her tongue brushing my lips.

“I want you to do something for me,” she hissed into my ear.

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