"We fell to silence, drank our drinks. I wanted to talk, but didn't know how to start, when Phil did it for me, "Who is this Ken, anyway? Do I know hi...?" Well you must have met him, at one of our barbeques or parties. He's about late forties, maybe fifty. Slim-ish, about six foot, greying hair. Always immaculately dressed, he always stands out for wearing expensive clothes that are always one step too formal for whatever the occasion. I thought he was OK, average really. I would never have. As I said, I love myself.Just looking at myself in the mirror, naked with high-heels, I turn myself on.I make good money running a design consultancy, and I love anything andeverything to do with sex; I really do mean anything and everything, you?llsee. So where am I now? Well, right now I?m standing in the bakingafternoon sun, naked, except for my heels, of course, in the walled garden ofmy father?s summer cottage in southwest France. He?s got me standing bentforward at the waist with my legs. * * * * She woke up shivering in a cold sweat to find him beside her. She sensed more than saw him—it was completely dark, their rooms were small, his knees pressed right up against the edge of her cot as he shifted in the chair. ‘Finn?’ ‘I’m here.’ His voice was soft, and there was no anger in it. She rolled toward him, clutching his knee, sure now. She didn’t know if it had been the fever that had given her the sudden flash of realization, or if was just something that had bubbled up from. I stopped only an inch from our noses touching. ‘Logan,’ she repeated. Her eyes were glazed over and shone a complicated emotion I had never seen before. I tilted my head slightly and moved ever so closer to her. Sophie bit her lip and gazed into my eyes. Our lips met and locked. They were so soft, my god! I could taste the remnants of her lip gloss from that evening. It felt so right. I could feel something new, Sophie had slipped her tongue into my mouth, running it over my teeth and flicking.
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