A phone number written on the back of the receipt, with the mutual promise to get together one day. No mention of why. But that is where the subtext c...mes in. That was a weekday. I called her on the Friday of that week, and she said I should come by on Saturday night around 8:00 p.m. (her kids were at their dad’s place for the weekend), and we could watch a movie on television. Bull Durham. I remember the movie’s name, but I confess I don’t remember much about the movie. I came over, we. “Oh god you have no idea,” she says sleepily rubbing you as she pulls you to her. You swing your leg over her taking her instruction and run your finger up her wet slit. She moans lightly and pushes her hips up contacting the head of your dick, “Fuck me again,” she moans pulling you to her entrance. You slide into her easily, you fit here perfectly. You push yourself all the way into her and stay there grinding yourself on her clit. Her eyes look up at you with longing as she grabs your face. I wondered if the bartender had slipped some acid or PCP into my drink, because I definitely wasn't sober, but I wasn't drunk either, in fact I wasn't even buzzed from the alcohol. I got up and walked over to the mirror and gazed at my reflection. I looked just as I always do, but I felt a little different. I ignored the feelings and walked back to my couch and sat down on it, grabbed the remote control and just as I was about to press the power button, I noticed my fingernails were a little. I swallowed hard. What have I gotten myself into?! I finally take it out. It is a soft, pale lavender and has a pleasant silky feel to it. It has an egg-shaped section with a cable leading to a control unit. Only two buttons; an on/off switch and a function selector. I carefully insert the batteries and try the on switch. It immediately buzzes like an enraged wasp and, with a squeak, I throw it down on the bed. There it lies angrily buzzing away. I am sure that the whole neighborhood can hear.