“Oh please. I know for a fact you won’t have any trouble. No, don’t worry, he’s perfectly capable. Shush,” she giggled girlishly, “did you... really? So what did you do last weekend anyways?” I stopped listening at that point, stepping fully into the bathroom and closing the door behind me. When I stepped out, I could still hear her chattering away on the phone from her room. Shaking my head, I dumped my stuff in the laundry bin and gathered up my wallet and cell. I had arranged for a friend. "Let's figure out where to go while I drive." We got in the car and started to drive away. My anticipation was growing (among other things). I decided to ask her if there was someplace private nearby that she knew of."How about a park? I've always wanted to try something outside." Are you sure that's private enough? I don't want to get caught."She paused for a moment. Then she leaned over towards me and started rubbing her hand in my lap, which got me hard almost instantly. She nibbled a bit on. Over the years I had honed my craft, publishing first in the university magazine, then a few regional pieces. The local newspaper used a few of my essays, and a chain picked them up and I became syndicated. Ten years ago I reached an agreement with The New Yorker magazine, and did an essay for them every three months. They used a few of my poems, and one of my short stories.Three years ago the university press wanted to put out a compilation of my work. I didn't think it was worth the effort.. He only lifts his hand to move a strand of hair from my face. His touch, as chaste as it seems, feels strangely intimate and I wonder if that is his doing or my knowledge of what his touch can do. ‘Lay down,’ he tells me. I do what I’m told. I don’t know why. I don’t often take demands from a man. Perhaps I’m too hungover to argue, let alone ask why. I lay down on the ground and Alex hovers over me. I feel him removing my jeans and my knickers. He handles me delicately, almost as if he’s afraid.