Damn. I move the cursor over to the picture and circle her face, the arrow tip brushing her lips, tracing a raised eyebrow, the curve of her jaw. Some...kind of caress? At the thought, I catch my breath again and close my eyes, images rushing my mind in a flurry: snapshots of companionship, openness, the endless tease of anticipation, and then the rapture of sudden release – before the cold smack of shock, numbness, guilt and rejection. And then flight. My flight. I remember her mouth, _feel_ her. Again, panty and bra-less. I had started playing a game of pool, feeling like an idiot but also remembering what her near nude body looked like. Her perfect tits, with light pink nipples. The curve of her hips, and the way she had them slightly cocked out, with her hand on one, holding a coat hanger with the other. As she came into the room, she told me to sit down, that we needed to talk. I sat down in a chair in the corner, to which she very promptly ran over (tits bouncing the wildly over. More

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