They did not notice my presence there. I could see Ana was absolutely wasted…I hid in the shadows; knowing that Ana had been already well fucked by ...hat lucky bastard. In the darkness I heard some kissing and soft moans.I peeked around the corner. I saw Anita sprawled out on the main sofa with her date’s face buried between her thighs. My sweet wife’s pale legs were propped up over that black guy’s muscular shoulders. There was just enough light to see him darting three fingers in and out of. Like ... is it autobiographical?”I smirked. It’s the question that always comes up, but I tried to be as courteous as possible. “Well, some of them are, some of them are not. I like to say I write about what I did, like to do or dream of doing and let my readers figure it out for themselves which is which. It’s part of the appeal, I think, so I like to keep that a secret. However, some stories clearly are fiction, like the Zombie thing I had started recently...”“Oh,” she said. “Like the Walking. More

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