The carpet was grey, matched by the walls, all together it was a very dreary place. The sky outside was dark, and through the windows in the roof he could see the first stars appearing and the crescent moon shining through a patch of clouds.He could see his teacher Mrs Bury, sitting at her desk before he got anywhere near the room. The short, plump woman of about fortyfive was marking test papers, and her round, dimpled (and rather rinckled) face looked angry. She got up quickly and marched. At least, used to be. I wanted to resume that friendship. No sexy daughter approaching the age of consent was going to screw that up, I mean, mess that up.Harriett entered the living room, catching me peeking through the drapes. "I made a casserole and a bundt," she said."And I thought you liked them."Harriet put her hands on her hips. "You take the cake." I do, don't I?" I tossed back a smile and a raised eyebrow."I mean, you, take the cake. It's in the dining room. I'll get the casserole from. "Jane says you're the one that rescued me from living in the woods and hiding from every man I saw. It was you, wasn't it?" she asked."Well, I had a little help, but I can not tell a lie, it was me?" I said, and braced myself for another kiss; it was even hotter."I guess I'd better send for another waitress. Looks to me like you two are going to get along fine," Jane said."I thought you said he already had some women in his household," Jackie said."There are five with me already. Is that going. The pictures in the magazines are mine, which is to say I took them. It started not long after we were married. I knew that my wife had an exhibitionistic streak, and she needed no persuading to pose for the camera, and only a smidgen for photos to be sent off to various magazines – so long as a dark wig and a mask preserved her anonymity. The pictures were almost always accepted, no doubt more on account of my wife’s ample curves than my photographic prowess. My wife appeared in the Readers’.
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