His hands slipped from my shoulders and went to the top button on the black, loose weave, slightly see-through, tiny, low-cut, and high-waisted, cashm...re cardigan. As if by a sixth sense, I knew exactly what he was going to do. What he wanted to do for that was what I wanted him to do and what our relationship needed him to do. He didn't ask permission, he didn't need to, it was unnecessary. It was implied in me standing there, my breasts and nipples almost convulsing with desire, as I, as good. Nevertheless, he was bewitched by her. She seemed to live a quiet, solitary life like his. Everyday she came and went like clockwork, occasionally returning with only a few small parcels of common necessities. Even less often she would have visitors. Yet, she never seemed melancholy. Just like everything else he witnessed, she would appear on her balcony with her violin as though it was a formal symphony performance. But unlike she appeared, he was lonely. He didn’t need anyone to tell him he. More

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