Me: Do you have a copy? Peter: Yes, Why? Don’t you? Okay, we have to hold it there a minute while he laughs at his own joke. What can I say? He’s ... card. Me: As it happens, no. Peter: No what? So now, unlike my masterful piece of writing – put on stage in Liverpool, no less – the conversation starts getting tedious. No I didn’t make a back up copy. Yes, I know the importance of that now. Yes I will make a back up copy in future (fingers crossed). No, I didn’t make a hard copy. No, I don’t know. He walked back over to the table and tossed back the rest of his glass of wine. He lit a cigarette and walked over to the kitchen and picked up a bottle of olive oil and brought it to the table. He poured some oil on his hand and caressed his cock, oiling it up. He finished the cigarette and picked up the bottle of oil and walked slowly over to the bed, his eyes on the girl there. She struggled a bit again, she could see the girl’s body moving, testing her bonds again, and see a little sweat on. More

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