John glides his fingers up along your shoulder and against your neck. His cool fingers tickle against your neck. "Don't worry" He says, "it can be our...little secret". Curling his fingers around your neck, he lifts your chin and lowers down. Suddenly his lips are around yours. You thrust your hands against your chest to push him away, but the hard muscle forces you coil down against his shirt and grip a hold, tugging him in.You feel his hand drift down your shoulder, gently caressing your tricep. When I saw the body, I knew it was indeed Bradford Gold. I immediately thought that my latter theory was the most likely, that Gold had committed suicide. This was the plain clothed Police Sergeant from Bob Cummings’ office’s opinion too, as he expounded his theory by the side of that sad muddy beach next to the impenetrable grey water of the Thames as I arrived.“ ... in summary,” the Sergeant continued, nodding to me and, knowing I was deafened yesterday, he considerately kept his face in my. More

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