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Because it was in a restaurant, we sat in a booth and so Cheryl and I were sitting closer together, our hips and thighs touching the whole time. Occas...onally, she would slip her hand through my arm, as though I was escorting her. Keeping it there for a bit, she would slightly squeeze my arm and use it as a lever to scoot even closer, maneuvering it so that it would brush her ample breast. This was getting good! Again, after the lunch was over, we agreed to gather once more, sometime during the. She could still feel how wonderful it had been to hold him in her arms, dancing in the dark with him. He moved so well, so easily.An urge to do it again hit her. An urge to kiss him made her nipples respond. She stood suddenly, now restless."What's up?" he asked.Switching the television off, she turned the stereo on, soft music filling the living room. Moving over to him she switched the lamp off."Will you dance with me?" she asked, taking his hand.Emotions passed through his dark eyes and. She stared back at me with calm eyes, her hair falling in a rippling curtain of waves and curls. She stood there dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, but the shirt was bunched and shaped so that it hinted at half-hidden curves and shapes that the sane part of Bec, hiding in the back of my head, knew didn’t actually exist. She looked older, prettier, more – I don’t know – more.That girl, trapped in the mirror, seemed more ready to be a part of the world than I could ever be. She seemed more. The sensation felt like it had been going on forever. Her eyes must be open. She wouldn’t create a dream of various shades of khaki if her eyes were closed. The walls were a light khaki. The blanket was a darker khaki. The ceiling was . . . well it was sort of white. Those spongy tiles with the holes all over them. Like you would have found in a school or a hospital years ago. A hospital. She felt it now. The pain and the heaviness were coming on in a slow wave. It seemed like her whole left.
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