Sharon is at the sink and hasn't heard me. Or has pretended not to hear me.She is wearing jeans and a navy blue sleeveless top. Her chestnut hair, ric... and lustrous as ever, hangs halfway down her back.Her bare white arms, which are liberally spotted with small moles, move industriously, scrubbing each plate, placing it noisily in the rack before repeating the action with another piece of crockery or cutlery.I feel my erection straining against the fabric of my trousers.I imagine Sharon in hot. It wasn’t until I had really looked closely that I wondered what it would be like, making love to her with this fantastic tattoo, how it might move and appear to be alive. Once thought, the idea wouldn’t go away. I wanted to touch her skin, run my fingers over the colours and trace the outlines. Suddenly, I was almost desperate to run my tongue over her inner thighs, to taste her, to have her, in my hands, writhing in the throes of passion. For the first time in my career in education, a. More

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