But - I like you. So let's go." We left the bar, heading through the snow-covered back streets of Moscow. And no, we didn't hold hands, or have 'urgen... passion' like you read about. We arrived at a garage. There, round the side of the decrepit building that passed as the workshop, was her car. Looking out of place in such an environment of disuse as this, it gleamed. Black bodywork swept sensually over from the long bonnet, sweeping back over the doors and roof, curving into an unobtrusive. When we went to recce in the bar we found that they belonged to a pensioners outing and my hopes of seeing Babs in public in the red skirt disappeared.We agreed that it wouldn’t be appropriate to wear the skirt in a restaurant and bar full of pensioners but she did surprise me by saying she would wear a white rather transparent top without a bra albeit with a jacket over it for discretion.I was delighted with her look when I saw her getting ready for dinner in skin tight black stretch trousers. More

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