Cheryl had black lace underwear she wore when she was taking one for the team. She always wore them when she was going to meet? They were gone. ?Che...yl?, Joanna swore. ?God damn it Cheryl.? She had taken her phone and gone to meet Sade. Why didn’t she see this coming? She was spiralling down faster and faster. Cheryl’s need to be victim was becoming more rampant, just like her appetite for Xanax had been when they had first met. Joanna had had to find something new to takes its place -. Over the years, I've had quite a number of fantasy lovers. Marianne, with the big breasts and round, bouncy ass. Many's the time I bounced off it as I plowed into her from behind. Ginette, the intellectual, who liked to talk about English literature and Renaissance architecture, but was a red-hot maniac in bed. She would climb atop me and ride for hours, conjugating irregular Latin verbs and pumping me in the same rhythm. Theresa, the madonna, who swore she would have become a nun if only she. More

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