As she turned to go back into her bedroom, her arms slipped under her flannel shirt and unhooked her bra. She slid it out from under her shirt as she ...lipped the bathroom light off.She stopped suddenly....The shadows in her bedroom shifted.“Rachel.” The shadow spoke.She stiffened, dropping her bra that she had been clinging onto. “Who’s there!?”“Come here Rachel.”She stepped forward, towards the shadowy figure, unable to control herself. “Who, who are you? What are you doing to me?” Rachel. I just wouldn't kiss her right afterward.As always, my woman's Neapolitan heritage showed up in her cooking. Early on in our relationship, I tried to be somewhat egalitarian in the kitchen sense, helping out and so forth. Desiree soon disabused me of such rubbish, as she thought of it. In her mind, it was her second most sacred duty to fill my belly, superseded only by a woman's proper service to a man in the bedroom. I suppose that not all Old World traditions die out, even in a modern. More

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