To my complete surprise, Martha followed me in."Where were you last night," she demanded."What possible difference would it make to you where I was?" ... asked abruptly, shrugging my shoulders, as I rehung the tux on its hanger, "It's not like you turned over and checked to see if I was in bed with you." I'm your wife, and I'm entitled to know," was Martha's instinctive response, asserting some sort of territorial claim.Looking at her, I spoke,"Go and get cleaned up and dressed. Then we can sit. She watched tentatively as her host strolled through the modest habitat in his jeans and bashed-up leather waistcoat. His largely-exposed upper body with its finely etched muscle and correspondingly well-crafted tattoo-work only caused her qualms to multiply. He ducked into what she assumed to be the bedroom and a few moments later the opening bars of a Who song came floating out. The tune she couldn’t have named, but she recognised it as the intro to one of the CSI shows. Its raucous energy,. I didn’t really know what I was doing so I matched the rhythm of her kiss, trying to return it the best I possibly could. Every time her tongue started to swirl around mine, mine did the same back to hers. Every time she bit on my lip, I bit back, one of the times I heard what I almost thought was a slight groan, leading into her hand grabbing my waist a little harder. Every time she tried to suck the air out of my lungs, I pulled it back. The kiss couldn’t have been very long, but it felt like. " Last Sunday, Kristen, Jennifer..." Mandy pointed to two of the girls behind the table, "and I went the Marina. That new crowd was there. The guys were wearing board shorts ... now, board shorts I can deal with; nobody here wears them but we see them enough on TV. The girls, however, were wearing full-body leotards in feminine colours like sky blue, turquoise, covered with flowery cotton blouses. On their heads they had what looked like tube tops, you know, like those stretchy things women on.
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