”“How fucking special can something like that be?” He was annoyed. Perhaps more than I expected and I needed to explain it further. I pleaded wi...h him to stay calm and atleast listen to me, which he did.I told him my story of Lorraine and San Monique. How we met and how we became friends as well as lovers in that one afternoon and night. I then told him about her visit here and how we spent a day shopping together and then that marvellous evening we spent together in each other’s. Funny thing though. A few months ago I would have probably assumed he was making a pass at me and punched out his lights. If I'd done that tonight I might have lost a friend. I guess the news has changed me more than I thought. I think it's made me more tolerate. I'm less willing to jump to conclusions about people than I used to be. Maybe that's a good thing. But still, I wonder if he sees me as more than just a friend?Last night, as I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep, I started to think. Being something of a snob, with an attractive wife of his own, Benson had kept his dealings with his partner on a strictly business footing, finding Sunil’s wife –on the few social occasions where he had been forced to interact with her- uninteresting as well as unattractive. However, when he goes to his former partner’s house with the intention of buying the wife out of the business, he comes under the influence of a strange tea, the widow herself, and her disapproving and sadistic. Another way to show off is to rip one's clothes. Whenever I decide to dothis, I wear an old, inexpensive dress--something expendable. Instead oftaking the bus, I drive, making sure I close the car door on my dress asI exit the vehicle. The fabric tears and I act surprised and embarrassedto have shown the world my breasts, cock, balls, and ass. Usually, Ihesitate, as if I don't know what to do, before trying to dash backinside my car. Of course, I make sure I've locked the doors, so I can'tget.