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"Still", Tim continued, "she is probably gonna tie on a big one when we tell her our news". "God, I hope not", Lisa sighed as Tim pulled the car in front of her house. Lisa and her mom lived in a small, two bedroom home in a fairly nice location. Not Fifth Avenue by any means, but not the projects either. Tim exited the car and opened the door for Lisa. She stood on the curb and looked at Tim with a troubled expression. "What do we say? What do we do?", she said. Tim replied, "we just tell mom the truth. We know that we are NOT brother and sister, but we are in love". Lisa slumped a bit and said, "I guess that's all we can do. Let's just see if she freaks or what. I hope she will be happy for us, but I don't see it happening". "Me either", Tim said. Vickie was waiting at the window as she saw Lisa and Tim arrive. Deep inside her she knew that something was different...was it the way that the two of them were standing? Was it the way that Lisa hung her head? Vickie just wasn't sure.. I let out a soft moan, it is carried away in the breeze, lost in the moment. The wind flows across me, the coolness mixes with the heat I’m generating causing my body to shake, to shiver in anticipation. I can feel the wetness begin, I know what is next, what I want the most. I know what I have been missing since my lover left. I slowly, every so slowly, pull my nightgown up my legs, feeling the silkiness of my gown caress my legs like my lover’s hand, the movement of the gown mixes with the breeze causing a tingling along my legs. A tingling like that of when my lover touches me, loves me. I pause for a moment, this can’t be real, this is a dream, a dream of how much I miss him, I want him, I need him, but no… he is not here. But the wetness I feel is real. I reach, with one hand, to feel the wetness. I move my hand across my thigh, my hip, slowly touching my skin as I go. Feeling my skin react to the touch of my hand, ooh god you are here aren’t you my lover, this is you touching.
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By the way, you really should lock the drawer above where you keep your loaded revolver, you know?”“My loaded revolver?” My head was spinning.“Yes, Edgar!” she said in that same Home Counties accent, but now using a deeper, older voice, like an English governess might use, teaching a rather slow child, before reverting to her younger voice again, “An unlocked drawer can simply be removed entirely so that the locked drawer can be accessed from above, unless, of course, each of the locked drawers are completely enclosed in boxes. The drawers on that cheap desk in your office are not enclosed. As for your telephone, well, your office simply doesn’t have one. I looked everywhere for it. So I checked the phone booth on the corner of your street before I hailed my cab, and immediately recognised your number.”She leaned back in the carriage seat and beamed with satisfaction, while I sat stock upright with my mouth open.“I think now is the time,” she said, “when I say, ‘Elementary, my dear.

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