Feature Writer: NSCarter

Feature Title: MEETING MY SUCCUBUS 2

Published: 21.03.2021

Story Codes: Erotic Horror

Synopsis: Adam begins to sense how he is changing.

Author’s Notes: A big thank you to those who voted on ‘Meeting My Succubus’ and for the comments. I was not sure I would be continuing the story, but the positive response has motivated me, as well as the fact I also want to know what is going to happen. As for the comments on breaking the fourth wall, I have to say that I get it; it can be a bit tiresome and self-indulgent. I hope I have good reasons for doing it but will try to keep it in bounds. There will be a Chapter 3. It is already mostly written. If you have not already done so I would advise reading Meeting My Succubus first, or you won’t have much of an idea what is going on. Please remember that the opinions of the characters are not necessarily the same as mine. You might want to skip this tale if you have strong traditional religious views, but then probably in that case you might be wiser to avoid Literotica altogether! There is some sex, but it is towards the end and it takes place in the dark so you might not see much. It goes without saying that all the characters engaged in sexual activities are over eighteen (in one case by several centuries), this is of course a work of fiction, and the copyright is reserved by me, N. S. Carter, and I forbid its use, in whole or in part, without my explicit permission.

Meeting My Succubus 2

Immortality and a bigger cock! It would be interesting to carry out an opinion poll among men as to which of the two is more desirable. On the other hand, even as Clara told me this there was a little voice in my head asking what price I might have to pay. I was certain that these two features were not the end of the story, and I was right.

The exhibition opening, or vernissage as it was pretentiously termed, was scheduled to start at eight in the evening, so we went for a light snack first to a pleasant little café just around the corner. It had a slightly hipster feel to it. We were overdressed for the place as we were ready for our cultural duty, and it was in that café that I had the first inkling of some of the more subtle and profound changes that Clara’s juices were working on me.

Our waitress had cultivated a retro look, with a scarf tying up her curly red hair, and she was wearing a fifties style dress and cute little ballet slippers. And she fancied me. I knew. To be more specific I could sense her lust, savoring it as one might enjoy the aroma of a delicious meal.

She introduced herself as Jasmine, and I knew it was not the norm in this café to do that. I looked into her grey-blue eyes and I could tell that she did not have a boyfriend, that she wanted to be tied to her bed but that no-one had ever done so, and she had never dared ask. I knew that she had fantasies of supernatural lovers, and that she had never orgasmed on a cock.

One moment I did not know these things and the next I did. It bypassed my senses and was simply uploaded into my brain. Somehow, I managed to restrain myself from saying ‘What the fuck!’ I guess spending time with Clara had not just overwhelmed my sense of what was normal but had in fact taken a sledgehammer to it.

Clara gave a comically exaggerated cough and said,

“If you two lovebirds have finished making eyes at each other, I fancy the cheese omelette and I’ll have a salad with it.”

Jasmine looked flustered and apologized. She fished out a little pad and noted it down. By the time she turned to me I had pulled myself together, at least enough to say that I would have the same, and we allowed Jasmine to retreat to the kitchen.

Clara began laughing but stopped when she saw the serious look on my face.

“Clara, I think I’m going crazy. I could sense things about her. It was like I was reading her mind, or at least the bits that involved sex. What’s going on?”

She looked at me, thinking.

“Look, Adam, I’m not completely sure, but I guess I have some ideas.”

She reached across the table with both hands and captured mine.

“You know, they don’t tell you much other than to say ‘don’t let any mortal lick your pussy’, but I think that you are changing more than just physically. I know someone who might be able to tell us more and I’ll take you to see her tomorrow, so please be patient until then.”

Although there were other staff in the café, I had the impression that Jasmine had made it clear that ours was ‘her’ table.

After we had eaten, Clara had taken out the smartphone I had got her that afternoon and was admiring it, a little Gollum-like, and I was waiting for her to say ‘preciousss’. I had solved the issue of her not officially existing by purchasing it with a contract under my name. The phone I used was a company phone. She had just put my number into contacts after I had shown her how. There was something innocently charming in her enjoyment of learning this simple skill.

Which just shows me how much I knew.

Surprising me, she suddenly got to her feet and taking her phone with her she sauntered over to Jasmine. I could see that she looked a little apprehensive at Clara’s approach. Whatever it was that Clara said at first surprised her and then I saw her smile and briefly glance over towards me. Then she took out her phone and was entering something into it.

Clara wandered back to my table, looking satisfied with herself. I could not help myself and had to ask.

“What’s going on?”

She smiled sweetly at me.

“Oh, I was just giving her your number.”

At that moment my phone beeped, and I had a text. ‘Thanks, Jasmine’ with a little heart emoji.

“Good and now you have her number.”

I was having trouble processing this.

“So, you are trying to set me up with Jasmine?”

She smirked and said,

“Got it in one, brainbox.”

Another pause for thought.

“But you said you can only be with me, now, Clara. Won’t you be jealous?”

Clara gave me an understanding look.

“Not at all. It’s only sex. And to be honest the idea of you taking her to bed and fucking her brains out turns me on … master.” She added this last word in a semi-mocking manner that sounded about as far from subservient as you could imagine.

I was still having a problem with this.

“Look Clara, I don’t think that’s me, even if you say you are OK with it. Serial monogamy is more my style. I’ve never cheated on a girl …”

At that she jumped in.

“It’s not cheating though, is it? Not if I say I’m OK with it, and in this case I’m actually leading you into temptation and delivering you into evil.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her parodying of the Lord’s Prayer.

“Clara, I’m beginning to get the idea that your real turn-on is corrupting people.”

She gave me a self-satisfied grin and intoned,

“Yep, that’s me. Founder of the Society for the Promotion of Sin and the Seduction and Corruption of the Innocent …”

I had just taken a sip of my lemonade so when I laughed some of it sprayed on the table and a couple of people turned to look.

Then she gave me a particularly naughty smirk and continued,

“… and I am planning on inducting you as a dishonorable member.”

Now I laughed so much I choked, and she had to thump me on the back to help me recover.

Once more she looked thoughtful and said,

“And anyway Adam, I have a feeling you may just be forced to change your approach.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to say too much in case I’m wrong, and I’m not really an expert, but hopefully The Lady will be able to tell us more tomorrow.”

I was intrigued.

“The Lady? Doesn’t she have a name?”

“I’m sure she has but everyone calls her The Lady, or My Lady when speaking to her, and I really wouldn’t want to know what might happen if you didn’t.”

Now I was beginning to have visions of some kind of fearsome demon queen.

“How do you know she will be in when we go?”

Clara chuckled.

“I don’t think she goes out much, I mean I can’t imagine bumping into her in Sainsbury’s.”

After that we paid up as it was time to head for the gallery.

On our way I had warned Clara about Frank’s tendency to try his luck with every pretty girl he met, sometimes even awkwardly in the presence of his wife.

She stopped, looked at me mock seriously and said with an over-the-top demonic accent,

“If he has the temerity to covet your property, I shall seduce him and smother him with my infernal pussy, master. You need only say the word.”

I laughed and responded,

“Well, I can imagine worse ways to go. And I would love to see the forensic report on the crime scene.”

I put on an official-sounding voice.

“The victim appears to have had intimate relations with an entity with demonic attributes, as is evidenced by the way his facial features were frozen in an expression of ecstasy.”

Clara laughed out loud, and I realized that I enjoyed getting her to laugh almost as much as giving her orgasms.

“Adam, I’m a sex demon, not some kind of assassin. You know, kind of ‘make love not war’, man,” and she made a hippy-like peace sign, and tried to affect a stoned American accent, failing horribly but making us both burst out laughing. And it was in that moment that I realized I was falling for her.

Though we were on a busy street I stopped her abruptly, pulled her to me and kissed her passionately. After a moment of shock, she responded just as fervently. After someone bumped into us, bringing us back to reality, by silent agreement neither of us mentioned what we had just shared, and we walked on.

“So, Clara, you’ve never done anything like that?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment.

“Well, I suppose there was that business with the necromancer in Prague.”

I wanted to ask for more details, but we had arrived and Judy, my head of HR, was hovering by the door to the gallery. She tried to make it look like she just happened to be there at the same time as we arrived, but I could tell she wanted to grab me before I went in. Although I was the boss, anyone watching us interact might imagine the opposite, and at times even get the idea that she was my mum! However, she meant well and was extremely good at her job.

She was a bit taken aback at seeing Clara by my side, and after a slightly awkward pause I introduced her as my partner. I could see Judy wanted to ask questions, but she was also anxious to give her customary warning when dealing with American potential investors.

I guess she had good reason, due to the infamous occasion when I lost patience with Oscar Curtis (‘the third’, as he would frequently stress). I had listened to him lecture me for an hour over lunch before I cracked and told him that importing a system to the UK where ‘life is sacred from conception until birth, after which it is open season with anything up to a guided missile’ was likely to be a hard sell. Needless to say, he did not invest in my company. I found it somewhat ironic to watch him storm off, calling me a socialist, given that he had inherited all his money while I was actually a self-made millionaire though still in my twenties. Oh, and of course he left me to pick up the bill.

So, after the said warning, and me promising to be on my best behavior while looking a bit like a contrite schoolboy. She added, much to Clara’s amusement,

“Oh, and by the way he seems to have some kind of a priest with him, Adam, so try not to come across as too much of the militant atheist. Please.”

I could see that the evening was shaping up to be ‘fun’.

The gallery was in what seemed to be pretty much de rigueur for this kind of thing, a Victorian era brick-built factory from which the innards had been stripped to create a cathedral to pretentiousness. Someone was trying too hard to be artistic and a lot of other people were trying equally hard to pretend that they understood it. So, it was pretty much a standard contemporary art exhibition.

Frank Bellingham was waiting at the entrance, trying to look casual, with his wife Anthea. The couple of times we had met I had gained the impression she did not like me, and I was kind of glad that this had not changed. There seemed to be something calculating behind her eyes. If your net worth was under a million, she probably would not give you the time of day. Even though I was not a great admirer of Frank she made me feel a little sorry for him, as I imagined she was simply waiting for the financially optimum moment to file for divorce.

We exchanged all the normal dull social niceties, and I was amazed (and perversely maybe even secretly disappointed) to see Clara on her best behavior. I suspect most people seeing us interact imagined we were an established couple. Frank attempted to worm some details about us out of Clara, but she skilfully deflected him, and he gave up, saying,

“Let me introduce you to Arthur Cummings, he’s the cultural attaché at the US Embassy,” and guided us over to where a relatively short guy, at a guess in his early thirties and so younger than I would have expected, was looking at a large garish triptych. Frank then left us to circulate.

Arthur turned out to be more fun than I had feared. I could see that he was looking at the painting with an expression of bemused distaste, and so I pulled out the well-worn line about ‘When I hear the word culture, I reach for my revolver’, and he smiled before saying,

“I kind of get that, although actually the original line is from a play by a Nazi writer, Hanns Johst, and it went something like ‘When I hear culture … I release the safety catch on my Browning.'”

I was impressed, but before I could respond a woman’s voice said, affectionately, with a slight accent,

“Are you being a nerd again, darling? Carry on like that and you won’t last long when the MAGA crowd take power.”

He laughed ruefully and said,

“I guess I’m going to have to start appreciating the tweet as an art form.”

I turned to see a lovely woman standing behind us with a couple of glasses. She was wearing heels, but it was clear she was taller than Arthur even without them, she had long blond hair and the prominent cheekbones that suggested Slavic origins. She had evidently been to get drinks.

Arthur introduced her,

“This is Elena, my wife, who vainly tries to get me to act like a diplomat.”

For some reason I said,

“Grant. Adam Grant,” with the same cadence as the famous ‘Bond. James Bond’.

Arthur got the intended parallel and chuckled.

I looked into Elena’s striking bright blue eyes and it happened again. I knew. She wanted me. She loved her husband, but she was lusting after me. She fantasized about dangerous dominant men who took what they wanted. A certain kind of English accent turned her on. And she was eminently fuckable.

Shit. What happened with Jasmine was not a one-off. And while in some part of my mind I could just about imagine consummating this strange visceral attraction with Jasmine, cuckolding an American diplomat would surely not end well. Judy would certainly not approve!

With difficulty I turned away to Clara, who was giving me a slightly knowing smirk.

“Hi, I’m Clara and I’m even less diplomatic than Adam here, and we’re both nerds. Adam has even got rich from it, so I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire.” I immediately thought how accurate that might be, at least in the sense of sirens and people screaming and leaping out of windows.

Clara turned to the picture and said,

“You know, the brushwork is atrocious and his choice of that combination of shades suggests colour blindness, but there does actually seem to be some kind of concept behind it.”

At this we all examined the paining and Elena spoke. Her voice was surprisingly low, but it had a sensual tone to it and despite her English being perfect there was a hint of a Russian accent.

“I have to admit I’m not quite sure I see the connection between the parts. I mean one part shows men measuring the size of their … penises, then the other side shows a man … fucking … a woman … while another man watches … showing an … erection, and then in the middle there are these … what is the word? … tadpoles? … wearing different colored shirts, heading towards a big ball.”

Arthur had gone very quiet.

Clara spoke again and I had a horrible premonition of where she was taking this.

“I think the tadpoles are meant to be spermatozoa, you know, men’s seed, or ‘swimmers’ as they sometimes get called. The shirts are to indicate that they come from different men, and they’re racing to be the first to fertilize a woman’s egg.”

Elena nodded and Clara continued.

“And then the other part is about how men are aroused by the idea of sexual competition.”

Of course, Elena had to say something.

“Does that really happen?”

She had given Clara her opening. I tried praying but I guess being an atheist is a bit of a drawback when it comes to the efficacy of prayer.

“Oh yes. I mean if Adam here were to grab you and give you a passionate kiss, aside from causing a diplomatic incident your husband would be angry … but he would also be aroused.”

For the only time in my life, I was glad to see the arrival of Frank Bellingham. Oblivious to the conversation he had interrupted he said there was someone he needed me to meet. Apologising to the others he led me away. I was more than a little nervous to leave Clara there, but at the same time very happy to escape.

Frank led me across the room to where an elderly priest stood beside a young nun, evidently trying to make sense of a chaotic painting that seemed to be trying to make some kind of point by mixing transcriptions of amino acid sequences with obscure religious iconography. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Judy bustling across the room to join us, anxious to avoid the kind of incident that might lead to my excommunication. Though as a non-Catholic you might say I was kind of pre-excommunicated in any case, but I am sure that you get what I mean.

“Monsignor Kelly, I would like to introduce you to Dr Adam Grant, the brilliant geneticist and entrepreneur I was telling you about. Adam, this is Monsignor Kelly, my spiritual advisor”.

How anyone can keep a straight face while introducing someone as their spiritual advisor I have no idea, but he managed it without difficulty.

“Pleased to meet you, Monsignor.” And then because it seemed rude to me to ignore the young nun alongside him, I continued,

“And this charming lady is …?”

For the first time I took a proper look at her and she took my breath away. Although her body was covered by an unflattering dark blue habit, and her hair was hidden by her headpiece, which I think is what they call a wimple, she was beautiful in a way that seemed utterly inappropriate for a nun. She had the kind of face that would have made her a fortune as a porn star, with large light blue eyes, prominent cheekbones and lips that had that slightly swollen look that is so sexy.

It had happened once more. This was beginning to be ridiculous. For the third time that day I was aware that a woman wanted me, and in this case she was rather disturbed by the fact. I could also tell that despite her looks she was a virgin. I was being lusted after by a nun. And I was lusting after a nun.

Monsignor Kelly broke into our mutual examination.

“How remiss of me. This is Sister Mary Magdalene. I brought her along since she is unusual among my colleagues in having a degree in biochemistry … from Cambridge I believe.”

I turned to look at her once more and said,

“I’m impressed. So, what do you make of the picture?”

It wasn’t fair. She had a lovely voice as well. It sounded slightly younger than her apparent years and had a little of that quality of when a woman puts on a girlish voice to be sexy, even though I was sure that was far from her intention. For a moment I imagined her reciting the Song of Solomon, then had to stop since getting a cold shower did not seem to be an option. Then again maybe her reciting Das Kapital would have had the same effect.

“Well, I’m not sure which is worse, his grasp of Christian iconography, or his complete ignorance of amino acid sequences … Some of those aren’t even possible in terms of chemical bonds.”

That put the tin lid on it. She was also pressing my sapiosexual buttons. By this point Judy had arrived and joined our little group.

I responded,

“Well, I hope he isn’t listening, but I’ve got to say that you’ve pretty much nailed it.”

Frank coughed, probably feeling excluded, and completely ignoring what had gone before, said,

“Adam. As you know I am planning to make a considerable investment in our joint project. However, I’m a bit concerned about the ethical dimensions of some of the potential outcomes, so I would like to involve Monsignor Kelly in that side of things, or more specifically Sister Mary as his representative.”

I could not help it. I pulled a face that showed what I thought of this idea.

Monsignor Kelly jumped in,

“Surely you are not denying that there are potential ethical … issues in your work, Dr Grant?”

It amused me that he suddenly invoked my title.

“Not at all, Monsignor Kelly, rather it comes down to my philosophy on outsourcing.”

Now he looked puzzled.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Meanwhile Judy looked like she was about to have kittens, waiting for me to detonate, given what she knew of my opinion on the church and religion in general, and maybe wondering if there might even be fatalities.

“Well, there are things I am happy to outsource, Monsignor Kelly, like making glassware for experiments, or cleaning lab coats, but then there are other priority areas like HR, or sales that nobody will outsource, and even more of a priority is ethics, so I have no intention of outsourcing that.”

I did not add that if I were to ever consider getting an outside party involved, his church would pretty much be at the bottom of the list, maybe one rung above the Nazi party. I did not want to be responsible for Judy having heart failure.

Frank was not looking happy and said,

“Now come on, Adam, please …”

I didn’t let him finish but then said,

“However, I have a suggestion …” Judy was already as white as a sheet and I suspect she was expecting the worst. Even I was not sure what I was going to say, and I had a feeling that my motives were far from honorable.

“Judy here has been encouraging me to take on a PA for a while, but we never quite got round to it, since I insisted the person needed to have at least a decent grasp of the scientific basics and at the same time the requisite organizational skills. I have the feeling that Sister Mary here would be a good fit.”

Judy was looking at me as if I had taken leave of my senses. I continued.

“As my PA Sister Mary would pretty much have access to everything we are doing. In the first place I would want her to express any ethical concerns to me, in case it was something I’d overlooked, but if we disagree then she will be free to report that to Monsignor Kelly and/or Frank, and we would have to resolve it at our level.”

Interestingly I could see that Frank and Monsignor Kelly appeared inclined to agree, while I could sense that Sister Mary was rather more conflicted, and I knew why. She would have to work in close proximity to me. I could imagine her having to do a lot of praying … or a lot of confessing … and maybe even some self-flagellation.

Monsignor Kelly was quick to agree and praised my reasonableness. Then I added,

“However, there is one condition. Sister Mary would have to dress in civilian clothing.”

She was the one to answer, clearly uncomfortable with the idea, maybe imagining that her nun’s habit would act as a kind of spiritual suit of armor, protecting her against her lustful feelings for me, or mine for her.

“Why is that, Dr Grant?”

I smiled,

“Well, partly because you would find it would get in the way of you getting accepted by your colleagues, but more importantly because one of my colleagues, and for obvious reasons I will not say who, was in the orphanage of St. Canundra’s, and is still in therapy due to the horrific abuse they suffered there, and seeing someone in nun’s gear would make the workplace pretty unpleasant for them …”

Her face fell. The scandal was a recent memory and had been exacerbated by the church moving the key figures to dioceses out of the reach of British law before they could be charged. It was clear Monsignor Kelly did not want to get into that and he said,

“I think we can compromise on that. Dr Grant has been very reasonable, and I think we have a good working agreement.”

Sister Mary asked, in rather a quiet voice,

“What sort of clothing should I wear?”

OK. I’m evil. I just couldn’t help myself.

“I think the standard office attire for female staff, you know, stiletto heels, stockings, a pencil skirt …”

I could see her turning bright red, and at the same time I could sense that dressing like that was a fantasy that turned her on, although she could not admit it, even to herself.

Judy jumped in,

“Don’t listen to him, dear, he’s just pulling your leg. Just wear some informal clothes that you are comfortable in.”

Sister Mary looked relieved, but I could also sense that hidden part that was actually a little disappointed.

I said my goodbyes, left Judy to make the practical arrangements and set off to find Clara.

I was surprised to see that she was still with Arthur and Elena, and the atmosphere did not seem awkward or tense when I joined them once more. They were about to leave so it gave us an excuse to do the same. Outside, as we parted on the street, Elena surprised me when she said,

“Thanks for the invite, Clara, I’ll give you a call in a day or two to agree the details.”

She surprised me even more when she leaned into me and kissed me full on the lips, then smiled, winked and said,

“I’m now going to see if Clara was right,” before giggling and marching off, holding Arthur’s hand.

I looked at Clara questioningly.

She responded, comically waggling her eyebrows like a villain in a silent film,

“What Adam? Have you forgotten? Society for the Promotion of Sin and the Seduction and Corruption of the Innocent!”

At that moment our taxi arrived, and we spent the journey home in companionable silence.

I had thought that I was tired, and that perhaps we might end up simply going to sleep. However, you have to remember that Clara was a succubus.

She insisted on changing into the oversized t-shirt that had been a minor purchase on a whim earlier in the day. It had that old slogan on it: ‘COME TO THE DARK SIDE, WE HAVE COOKIES’. I loved the irony of that being worn by a bona fide sex demon. It came down to just below her bum and she looked utterly captivating in it. Sleep could wait.

Clara turned out the bedside lamp, which left the room was in near total darkness. She pulled me on top of her and in no time at all I was inside her.

Even though it was less than twenty-four hours since we had last had sex, I could feel the difference and knew that it was down to changes in me, both physical and otherwise, and that evidently those changes had continued. I knew how much she needed me to make love to her this time. She needed to be held, to be caressed, to feel the intimacy of skin on skin to the greatest possible extent.

There were no bedroom acrobatics, no screams of passion or shouted profanities. It was exactly what both of us needed. Clara wrapped her arms around me, holding me almost as though she wanted to pull me inside her, to truly merge the two of us. When she came it was with a low moan that made my whole body vibrate in sympathy, and which provoked my own climax.

In the afterglow I held her, neither of us speaking for a time.

Eventually, we surfaced, and though I was now definitely ready to sleep, or so I thought, I had to ask.

“Clara, about that business with Arthur and Elena … you know there is no way I want to get involved with someone married. Aside from anything else, that Arthur seems like a really nice guy …”

In the darkness Clara laughed.

“What’s that got to do with it? If anything maybe you could think of it as helping him out.”

As was rapidly becoming the norm, I was puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

Clara told me a little of their story which they had told her while I was off consorting with clergy. Arthur had been serving in the US embassy in one of the gulf states when he came across Elena. She had been tricked into going there from her Russian homeland for a secretarial job, only to discover that she was expected to essentially be a sex slave to one of myriads of princes in that little kingdom. Her own embassy was not interested. Arthur had married her in a secret ceremony as the only way to get her out of the country, which he managed due to his diplomatic status.

Somewhere in that process their marriage of convenience had evolved into one of love.

“Well then Clara, you are just making my point for me. After that how could I do that to him, or in fact to them?”

Clara sighed, seemingly at my obtuseness.

“Hmmm, Adam, you know people don’t work like that.”

“OK. Explain, oh wise and demonic one.”

“This bit is mostly not what they told me but what I sensed, but I am sure of it just the same. I guess that Arthur secretly fears that she is with him out of gratitude, feeling that she is ‘out of his league’ when it comes to looks and overall sexiness, and at the same time she worries that given her inexperience she will not be enough for this older, more sophisticated and worldly man, and in time he will be bored with her.”

I was still wondering where this was going but was inclined to believe her analysis.

“I am really not a ‘good’ person.” I could even sense the air quotes around ‘good’ but before I could contradict her, she continued,

“A ‘good’ person would tell Arthur that the fantasies he is beginning to have of watching her being taken by a well-endowed handsome lover are shameful and perverted and that he should suppress them, perhaps even seek therapy …”

I could not help but notice how evident it was that she felt strongly about this, there was a kind of evangelical fervor to her tone, though I suppose that in the context that might be an odd word to use.

“A ‘good’ person would ensure that Elena was wracked with guilt for entertaining fantasies of being ravished by a man other than the husband she owes so much to …”

She was really getting into the swing of this.

“And that ‘good’ person would walk away, happy with themselves, leaving Arthur and Elena to enjoy a marriage of quiet misery, filled with guilt and shame and unfulfilled longings, until one of them cracks, and Arthur ‘goes postal’ or Elena is caught jumping the pizza delivery guy.”

I was impressed.

“Or they might just be lucky enough to meet someone ‘bad’ … someone like me … someone who will gently lead them to embrace and share with each other their innermost desires. And if they do, they will end up being the kind of elderly couple that embarrasses their grandchildren with public displays of affection well into their eighties and gives people hope that lifelong love is not just to be found in romance novels.

“As you probably heard, I’m going to be meeting up with Elena for lunch.”

For some reason I heard shades of Hannibal Lecter saying, ‘I’m having an old friend for dinner’.

With that we really did fall asleep, wrapped around each other.

THE END OF CHAPTER TWO