...?" I was aware we were heading into dangerous territory here, but an ambivilence urged me on. "Yes, please!" I said. She smiled at me and made me a Martini and lemonade - I accepted it and gulped half of it down. "Who is your friend in the photgraph?" I asked. "That's Melanie - I guess you'd have to call her my 'Lover'. We've being going steady for three years, now. We don't live together, though." "Oh." I said. Angela eased herself beside me, at the oppsite end of the three-seat sofa. She had been sitting in the Armchair across from me. "Can I ask _you_ a question, now you've satisfied your curiosity," she said, looking mischevious. I said OK, and took another gulp of Martini. "How did you and your friend get together that time when you were fourteen?" She certainly hadn't forgotten anything about our interview! She must fancy me, that's why she invited me over here, she wants to.. she wants to fuck me, I thought, and my eyes glanced over her breasts. She noticed my attention, and now her eyes were bright. "Her name was Claire - she was a year older than me, much more confident than I was. She - she made me do things." She had mastered me; I had been her slave. She had teased me with her too-perfect blonde body until I begged to lick her perfect little sixteen-year-old cunt for her, tears in my eyes. She never cared for me, and finished with me in two weeks, before moving on to greater victories; I was like some kind of warm up for her. The last I heard of her, she was high up in a famous woman's magazine in London. "She made you just masturbate her? Did she make you do anything else?" Angela had edged closer on the sofa. I felt a familiar warmth between my legs; I shivered. I couldn't look Angela in the eyes, somehow, "She made me, you know, do cunnilingus on her," I stammered out. |