And although I didn’t know, couldn't be sure, and why would it be? - it felt as if she were actually pressing herself against my foot, and I didn’... move it because it felt good. She put her right arm around my shoulder, and pulled me closer to her. “Might hurt quite a bit”, she’d said. Yeah, right. I cried out in agony, and in order to stop my cry becoming a scream, I involuntarily buried my face into Mrs B’s chest, in between the folds of the robe. My face was against her skin, her right. Keeping the personal side out of it all made for better business anyway she told herself as she pulled into her street. It never mattered to her at all that he was black. No that never mattered to her. In truth, she always had a slightly stronger attraction to a lot of black men although she never acted on them, except for Harold and another man years and years ago. She always knew she “loved” Harold and no one could ever replace Harold. Nobody could ever do that. She just loved Harold simply. More

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