My phone number is 555-8503.WhitneyI called Whitney, and we talked on the phone for about an hour. Her voice was pleasant, and the call consisted most...y of her asking me questions about my life, my experiences, and to fill in some of the details about my Craigslist listing. I was happy that someone who sounded interesting had responded to my listing. Her background didn't matter to me as much.I asked her to meet me for dinner Friday night, and she agreed. Since she knew what I looked like, she. I’d put up with so much abuse, so much crap, that I’d now resolved myself to be celibate. For how long, I wasn’t sure. Maybe for the rest of my life. I was in my late thirties and I had spent so many years feeling unfulfilled and unsatisfied with a whole series of losers who hardly seemed to notice me in bed and who seemed to see me as an object to satisfy their own sexual needs. I had spent these years pursuing more spiritual pursuits. I had begun to practice yoga and meditation, trying to. “Three days in which to succumb to my grief, undisturbed...” She half bent over me, the tip of the index finger of her left hand trailed the thin red line down from my throat, slowly, unstoppably, not that for all in the world I would have wanted it to stop. I almost winced when she reached my clitoris, not from pain but from remembered pain, not from the shallow cut from her knife, but from the agony of the awl. A scar had begun to form on it, and I thought that it had lost some of its. He brushed fronds of hair back behind her ear and gazed on her in a type of wonder. ‘Keep it there, darling, keep it there, that’s my good girl…’It was that serendipitous meeting three weeks back, which had led to the current agreeable positioning of his cock. There she’d been, window shopping on the high street in a pale-blue halter top and tomato-red shorter-than-shorts, the latter of which looked meticulously tailored to showcase her exquisite bubble-ass. She’d clutched an ostentatious Sara.