Mr. Trombone just stared at her. ‘I’m leaving! I’m leaving!’ she said, as she and Denise made a quick exit from the room. ‘Who the hell was...that?’ Mr. Trombone asked a clarinet player. ‘Somebody new. The other girl was Denise. I think they’re both in chorus.’ ‘Hum…’ said Trombone man. He finished straightening up and headed to his car. * * * It was a very sunny and breezy December afternoon as he approached the door of his ’64 Malibu when he saw Denise and the other girl running up to him,. The tears and sobs burst from Sandi while her cunt still spasmed under my fingers. Another dam of feeling had burst inside her. At first I thought the pleasure had blown an emotional fuse, but, no, I realized that sorrow had replaced passion. She burrowed like a frightened child against my chest, weeping."Sandi, Sandi, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?" I've never come . . . so hard before. . . I mean it," she said between sobs. "I can't describe it, I just can't." Two heartbeats of silence, then. More

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