Foster, out to a creek for a Sunday picnic. I guess it was nearly a river since it was wide enough to have an island that supported two rickty bridges...that made it possible for folks walking or on horseback to cross the stream. I sat and napped while my betters ambled out to the island, arm in arm, spread their blankets and food and enjoyed themselves that afternoon. I could hear their chatter and laughter when the wind was right and I was not dozing.Suddenly the birds were quiet and black. She would catch a trace of the smell of his hair; she would wake up feeling naked and cold, wishing for arms to hold her. She even missed sex; no matter how she had tried to duplicate it in the days since then, it just wasn't the same with only one person in the bed. She'd hadn't even known how masturbate; ever since she and David had shared their secret places together that night so long ago, she'd never needed to touch herself: he was always on hand, always willing. It was galling to realize. "What was I to do. I'd been a wife for 30 years with no job or money. My parents lived in another city and my sister was married and living abroad. I had no real friends. My husband and children had been my life. If I went back to my parents I'd never see my children again. There had to be something I could do. Just then my husband came back into the kitchen. I told him this had to stop, that he couldn't do this to me. He left again and I heard him go upstairs. After awhile he returned with two. Your hands were under my top, playing over my bare skin, slipping under the underwire of my bra. I whimpered as your thumbs skated over the underside of my breasts, arching my back towards you, asking wordlessly for more as you pushed up the bra with your knuckles at the same moment as taking my nipples in your strong fingers, twisting enough to make me gasp. You abruptly stepped back, and pulled off your t-shirt, looking at me with hooded eyes. 'Strip,' you told me. My fingers found the hem.
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