"Connie sat on the sofa and curled her feet under her. James sat in an easy chair nearby. "I don't usually drink this much wine," she confided."You ha...e a nice home," James observed. "How long have you lived here?" About two years," she answered."Where did you live before that?" Hmmm—around," she replied."Have you been a social worker a long time?" Fifteen years." In the kitchen you said that I was less a stranger to you than I thought," James asked. "Why did you say that?"Connie looked away. She wore a t-shirt from the local University and short, loose shorts that barely covered her shapely ass where it rested against the bumper of the car in the driveway. She had no shoes, and her hair looked like she had just gotten out of bed. I would not have given her a second look, except that her free hand kept sliding along her thigh. As I got closer, I noted that she would slip a finger up inside the leg of her shorts. It would disappear for a moment then reappear as her hand pushed back. More

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