You slide your hands up and down, exploring every inch of my body as if refreshing your memory of each curve. I run my hands up the back of your shirt...to grip your shoulders and tremble with desire… “I’ve only got a few minutes” you mumble as you plunge your face into my neck, smelling my perfume and kissing oh so gently… My jacket falls to the ground as our fondling becomes more rabid and we stumble deeper into the darkness of the wood. You realise we’ll need it and quickly grab the jacket in. “We’ll figure out something,” he said. “I want to as much as you do.”“Doubtful that part,” she said. “But yes, we do need to come up with something, anything!”“Yes,” he said.The funeral was attended by a relatively small group of people. Cecilia Scott was not an outgoing person. People who did know her respected her and, yes, one could say loved her. But the fact was, there were not a lot of people who knew her, at least not intimately. When her husband had died so many years before; she’d. More

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