"I'm sooo tired in my hands. Damn you when I get hands like a lumberjack from all this massaging." Their routine had become an intimate session where ...hey, besides the main massage event shave their legs, fixed their eyebrows, like a private beauty saloon. Everything happened in small steps, like they became more nude and more intimate each evening. "It's is enough for today, can you help me with the lotion to honey?" It was maybe here that their mother-daughter intimate moment stepped over the. Or, Mr Lawson, as I’d first known him. How many years had it been now? Ten? No, eleven. Things had changed. I could hardly believe it’d taken me so long to recognise him. But back then, he’d been clean shaven. And not so – fatherly? And he’d never had glasses. Or grey hair. He seemed to have aged a lot in a decade.But it was him. I knew that voice. And the giveaway? The orange juice. His voice tipped in the same way as it always did, the emphasis on the not from concentrate, the way the line. More

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