I didn't see her at the sheriff's office. I did find myself fingerprinted and photographed and strip-searched, then put into a pair of orange coverall.... I tried to get a phone call, but that request was summarily denied. "You'll get to make your phone call tomorrow. It'll be better for you anyway. People will be awake." He smiled at his display of wit.All I could do was wait. A holding cell. Me, a bunk, a toilet and a sink and a steel door locked in front of me. I considered myself. Sharon is at the sink and hasn't heard me. Or has pretended not to hear me.She is wearing jeans and a navy blue sleeveless top. Her chestnut hair, rich and lustrous as ever, hangs halfway down her back.Her bare white arms, which are liberally spotted with small moles, move industriously, scrubbing each plate, placing it noisily in the rack before repeating the action with another piece of crockery or cutlery.I feel my erection straining against the fabric of my trousers.I imagine Sharon in hot. More

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