A hand closed over his still exposed cock, stroking it gently, exploring. Another hand took his and placed it on what he was surprised to discover was...bare flesh. Whoever held his cock had unbuttoned her dress enough that her cleavage was exposed. He felt the smooth warmth of her skin, the edge of her bra, the curve of her breasts on either side of his palm. His cock was released briefly and his hand was moved to a breast as the hand that had held his cock lifted the cup away, allowing his hand. Then he speaks a thing I do not understand, as though he does not even speak to me. “She says she will do this.”He does not say his name immediately. That is not usual, when two meet the names are the first things said. I do not speak but wait.“They call me the Lone One,” he says at last. That is a curious way to say it, as if he does not have his name from a calf and must let strangers name him. But that is not for me to speak.We exchange greetings. But I come to ask a question. “I see you. More

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