“This is not a massage,” she said, with all the righteous indignation she could muster. Phil stopped, and he placed his hands on her thighs, and l...aned forward into Jane's face. “No, it's not a massage. But if I'd said, 'I want to tickle you, because watching you squirm excites me,' would you have let me do it?” “No. Because … it's...” “It's what?” “A bit forward to say the least. You should have been honest with me.” “And I should have said, 'I want to tickle you.' And you would have said. ) She walked along the beach, pausing occasionally to kick at the sand as the water swirled around her ankles. It was night and the clouds shrouding the deserted beach matched her mood. She was wearing shorts and a man’s shirt with the ends knotted under her breasts. She swung her shoes back and forth in her left hand as she absent mindedly toyed with the shirt’s buttons with her right hand. He probably didn’t even remember that she had taken the shirt home after their last night together. When. More

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