I slowly make my way to the bathroom in the dark. As I drain my bladder with my panties around my ankles I keep my eyes closed. As the stream fizzles ... reach for the roll. ‘Shit, no toilet paper.’ I stand up and scuttle over to turn on the light so I can see, then scuttle back and finish up. As I stand up, my eyes are still fighting the light but I catch a glimpse of something in the mirror. It’s my reflection, standing there in the boyshort panties and tank top that I threw on last night,. Pierre (that was his name) had been very closely attentive to Em over dinner. Ambrose had told her later he felt a bit like a Parisian sidewalk deposit; a necessary but fundamentally unhelpful part of the ambiance. Dinner finished, Pierre then suggested they drive two blocks to a nice little nightclub he knew where they did a very hot floorshow and had some very pretty girls. They could spend a couple of hours there and then go back to their hotel by taxi if they wished. Ambrose was sure. More

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