”“That makes no sense!”“PTSD will do that to you,” I said.“That’s pretty warped.”“What? The backstory? Or my understanding it?”“...ou sound like you’re excusing his behavior.”I shook my head, “No, I’m explaining it. An excuse is only necessary if you need to justify your actions to yourself or a loved one. I don’t think Bond needs any excuses for his behavior with women, for his drinking, or for his gambling. Killing is another matter.”“You’re a blackbelt in karate and you were carrying a pistol. The other chair would be in the farthest corner of the closet, a blood stained cardboard box filled with pliers, power tools, and chains sitting on top. The room was impersonal, immaculate, businesslike. In the two decades he had stayed in the room, Alaster hadn’t done much to change it. The sheets had been changed from plain sterile white to a pleasant cream, but otherwise the room was exactly the way it had been the day Alaster moved in. There were no pictures of girls on the walls, no. The man in me just wanted to caress my hand up the inside of them both and explore under that short skirt; but the married man in me resisted.I sat down next to her, turning my body toward hers, allowing my knees to casually touch hers; how I wish I was wearing shorts instead of jeans. As we talked, I would “innocently” allow my fingers to nonchalantly brush over her soft thighs, as if only to make a point. At no point did she seem bothered by the contact, so I continued my slightly flirtatious. She would not stop. He wouldn’t stop. Heat built up. An arousing high temperature built up again between their bodies. The drizzle continued as these two kissed and kissed. Their clothing got wetter and wetter as they kissed. Their hands, and more like his moved all over her body as he touched her back, and her ass as well more and more. He squeezed it for the very first time. She jumped towards him. She loved it but never expected it at all. She knew one thing. She was going to go home that.