Three walls of stone with a ceiling that stretches up into the darkness. One wall has a trickle of water running down it, into a pool. It's there that...the tentacle emanates from. It flops feebly, looking foolish as its blindly creeps towards her snail-slow. You stand and find yourself just a bit chilly. There is a damp cold breeze, and you are clearly under dressed. A tight black bathing suit is all you have on. And while tight, it's no more risqué then some of the other things you own. Your. Occasionally they are ordinary lovers: caressing and kissing in a cinema. These evenings are pleasant. On the first night they did not even touch. She would have done anything he asked, but he asked for nothing but her company. More usually their meetings leave her with warm aches that arouse her for days after. He is tall, with a trim body that is perfectly dressed in English suits, silk ties and the spotless shoes of someone served by others. He is never impolite. His politeness does not hide. More

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