“What?” “That feels really good, but I, um, don't think we should do this right here. Maybe we can go someplace else.” “Ok. What if we do th...s instead?” He quickly moved his body down, wedged her legs apart with his hands, and thrust his tongue right into her pussy. “Ah, ah.. you um know I um could squeeze my legs, ooh, around your neck aah! if we were really grappling, ah, ah, aaaah,” said Charlotte. All thoughts of dinner and janitors were fading under the assault of his tongue sliding. She was an artist. And a writer—he’d seen that! A writer of love, passion, and eroticism; she had a fertile imagination, coupled with a ribald wit. She liked to put herself into her stories, becoming the character she wrote—different, but the same. And in her stories, she enjoyed misbehaving.Just like she did in life.Yes, she was perfect for him.It was a shame she wouldn’t remember any of this—not until he was ready for her to remember. Though perhaps elements of this night would surface in her. More

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