He was sure he had seen her before. A vague memory gnawed at him. He stole another glance. Their eyes met for a second, and however brief that moment ...as, he thought he saw a flicker of recognition on her face. They were so close to each other that he could smell her perfume. She was biting her lower lip, her eyes narrowed. There was a small spot on the sleeve of her white shirt. Coffee maybe. Her black knee–length skirt was hugging her slender hips. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.. Still some distance from our home I slow down and stopped, and then look into my wifes face. I can feel the annoyance in her at the delay but it is something I need to say, My Love, I do not need to be with anyone else but you. I do not know why we had the gifts that we have now. I never want to do without them. They give me an advantage over every other man. I will confess, your fantasy is arousing, but at the same time disturbing. The problem is I might be able to accept you and Joan are. This semi-darkness is miasmic from Dorothy's musky scent, now laced with the pair's boozy breath. She goes to the foot of the bed and stands watching Joe and Dorothy sleeping back to back, their mingled long, dark hair is something spilt, cascading from their pillows, two rivers at their confluence becoming one torrent. She cannot comprehend how the girl can still be here, why he hasn't sent her packing. Her hoped for reconciliation is now scuttled and sunk.From his half-sleep, Joe senses her. She left her hair open and she and put on her mangalsutra (I told her in our previous chats that I love woman’s mangalsutra hanging between their boobs and woman look the best when they are draped in a sari especially south Indians) which were stuck in between her boobs which added to her beauty.Her perfume smell was inviting, she had come and sat beside me on the sofa. She had served the wine in only one glass intentionally which we both had to share. She was cuddling me and she was giving me.