Sunday morning I had breakfast and rang Amy. Stan answered “Hello Sally. How are you?” he asked. “I am fine thanks. How about you?’ “It’s ...ll good at this end honey. Anyway here is Amy”. “Hello Sal, what’s up?” “You devil. You put that address in my purse” I said, trying to sound angry and failing miserably. “Yep, I did. Did you go honey?” she asked. I didn’t say anything. “Oh wow, you did didn’t you” she said “Stan is outside in the garden we can talk. What was it like? Did you enjoy it?” I. Especially the way the stage light is catching it now. See it? There, right above her shoulder, where her tresses start to flow down the curve of her small but delightful breasts. Breasts that are straining against the fabric of a white tank top. Her shirt is adorned with bunnies and kittens. Stitched strategically in place to nestle in her cleavage, or lay lazily on the ridge of those dark, half dollar circles that surround her long, sensual, nipples. Pinky sized protrusions that poke out of. More

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