Precious things are for those who prize them

Cat sat alone again, I thought of the time she had undressed for me in my mind.  I loved the way she was so open to my imaginings, somehow so much more open than anyone else.  Well, at the moment anyway. Perhaps it was her sensual earnestness, the way she held my gaze like it was me she was pleased to see when she came into the pub.  Perhaps it was her unconventionality, her lack of decorum. It was raining earlier and her tights must have got wet from the spray from her bicycle wheels, although why she came by bike I do not know as she lives a short walk from Aesop’s Playground.  There must be a reason why she cycles straight to the pub on a Tuesday rather than dropping her bike at home first, though I respect her commitment to our fine establishment. She smiled at me, shrugs and somehow, even though there is a good 5 steps between us I know she is referring to being wet.  So many connotations to that phrase, and every one seemed to be going through... Read more...