Her pubic hair was a dark thick triangle between her spread legs. “Is that you? (Regular readers of this series will be well aware that Star is not her real name.)
“You’ve got to live again,” she’d said. I await your pleasure.”
“Come over right now. “Here it is.” I pushed in another finger, in a corkscrew motion, and rubbed the backs of my fingernails against it. “Doesn’t matter to me, really,” I said. Who on earth was Star? “This group isn’t much, I know,” she said. “Kiss me hard.”
We kissed, our lips crushed together so tightly I could feel her teeth against mine. I’ll go have a bath and freshen up.”
I looked down at the street and estimated the time it would take from the traffic conditions. “You’ve seen everything already.”
The rush of memories had occupied me right across town, so that the usual insane traffic hadn’t even exasperated me as it usually did. Her tunnel, hot and moist, clutched at me. “And that,” she informed me solemnly, “is a revolution.”
I took photos of her standing in the surf, laughing and holding her arms out as the waves crashed around her bare feet.
