But you do it like a dance, like water. And you seem to coat every bit of me. With your flesh and with your hands. You’re drenching me and drowning ...e so I gasp for breath. How quickly your hands have moved, like spiders. Coated in webs of passion, I’m now burning alive. In my soul and in my mind. Like we were made into a cocktail, shaken and stirred. I’m dizzy, drunk, and forgetful, as the vodka, but you being as the water, keep rhythm with your tides. You wash over my legs and navel. You. The next day, the son returned home very sad. I saw that he had some stress and something bothers him. I asked several times what happened, but he would dispose of me and answer some nonsense. The next day was school and work day. That day, my husband went to Brussels for a few days, and I had an evening meeting with several of the company's clients. As usual at such dinners there was a lot of good food and some alcohol. Full and after a few glasses of dry red wine I came back home. The son was. More

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