She tilted again and filled her mouth with beer, but her eyes never moved.“What are you doing sitting in the corner all alone?” I asked, trying no... to look at her braless, tight tank top filled with fleshy cleavage and covered in what looked like food and beer stains.This stranger gazed at me as if she were reading me, learning what I know, getting inside me. Then, she ever so slowly smirked, just halfway, and whispered “I’m finger fucking myself, and I needed a dark corner.” With dead on. ”“And?”“And I assume this… sitting would be at your place.”I could see her point. A married woman visiting a man she knew to write sometimes excessively depraved stories. “I wouldn’t lay a finger on you. Scout’s honour.”“You were in the scouts?” She sounded both amused and incredulous.“You can come up and see my badges,” I said, nervousness fading along with the realisation that had been there all along that it was a mad idea that she would never agree to.“I’ll think about it,” she said. Before. More

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