Instead he had stared at her like he trying to read her story, like how men had looked at the Mona Lisa for hundreds of years searching for the secret...behind her smile. A horn blared behind her startling her out of her reverie, she saw traffic had moved on well ahead of her and her cheeks flamed as a short dumpy man behind her gestured rudely out his window. Sick at her mooning over a stranger she surged forward without a backwards glance, never catching the glare the man had given the rude. I also bet that when he rings you up he asks you what you’re wearing and you have to tell him that you have nothing on and describe to him how you have your finger in your cunt, he likes you to use the word cunt and not pussy, and that you are masturbating just thinking of him and his magnificent cock. Even when he rings you at work you have to tell him that you’re sitting at your desk with your panties pushed aside and you finger in your cunt.’ This was true. Michael had called just before. More

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