I recognized the woman too, only I remembered her married name."Mrs. Styles," I said. She was my second grade teacher."Becky McFadden and Sammy Kovel,..." the woman said, showing that she recognized us too.Mrs. Styles was a litter heavier than I remembered but still an attractive woman. I recalled that she had gotten married when I was in the third or forth grade, something I would remember because of the crush I had had on her. Her breasts looked larger than I remembered and, sitting in the. After a lot of ego boosting spirits, together they staggered to the station, each buying a big bunch of flowers from a stall in the station, (the railway equivalent of ‘petrol station after-thought flowers’,) both thinking it, an ice breaker, a diplomatic start of their week of hopeful lust. Taking their places in the train and sharing a last nip from their hip flask`s, they exchanged wives names, house keys and oh the house addresses, just in case, each saying that the wives should be meeting. “I’m putting you through to his voice mail now.”She is glad to be rid of me and my silence that could be helplessness or aggression but is unlikely to be anything she wants to deal with.“This is Allison Kent. I can’t take your call right now. Please leave a message.”“Please” sounds as alien on your tongue as “thank you” or “I love you.” Please is a verb describing what I should do for you. Please is what you make me say when I'm naked, needy and on my knees with my hands spreading my asshole. (No children, which was a major reason for my divorce.)Although we had renewed our friendship our sexual interaction is one of convenience. Once in a while, when one of us was unusually horny and there was no other recourse available, we would accommodate each other. For some reason, a single 38 year old man, with a good job and all of his hair has less problems acquiring partners for casual sex than a working mother living at home, so she was usually the one who called me.I don't mean to.