The anticipation was driving me crazy. Friday night finally came and there she was – section 12, row 6, seat B. She had a home team jersey on a...d her hair pulled back into a ponytail – a sporty look I hadn’t seen her in before. She beamed brightly when she spotted me walking up the steps to our row. “Hey, you.” she said as she stood to hug me. I lingered in the hug and took in the sensation of her arms around me. Her perfume was different than what she wore at work – less flowery, more. I wondered what coming next as the hand squeeze usually means a serious talk. “Baby,” she said, “before Chris left this morning, we were talking about me and you and how I forbid you my body.” “Yes,” I said, “carry on.” My heart was racing as she continued. “I told Chris that it started as a sex buzz for me,” Carole replied, “but as it got longer and longer that I denied you my body, the thought of making love with you or letting you see me naked actually made me feel sick.” I could feel her. Well, that's what I thought.So I sat down at my PC and, my hands trembling slightly, I wrote my e-mail. I hadn't thought it out at all, and just typed whatever came into my head. In the spirit of the magazine, though, I wanted to make it as dirty as possible. 'Hi Gladys, Big John here (well, I wasn't going to risk using my real first name), eight inches of rigid manhood, and it's all for you. I'm in my twenties, and I go like a stallion. I can't believe you haven't had it in 30 years -- are all. .." he said, having no idea what to say.He grabbed her shoulders and held her at arm's length, not trying to seeher fake tits - or the new high cheekbones."I'm sorry," she whispered with a cough, her lips trembling. "Oh Lucian,please forgive me. I am so sorry."The words were exactly like her: the studied drama, the overdone pathos.But her face no longer supplied the required expressions; no humility,no regret - no puppy eyes, no desperate eyebrows.Her face was a waxen mask - and her eyes were.