The conversation flowed progressively easier as we went through dinner. We ordered dessert but decided against coffee and instead hit a local jazz clu... we noticed a couple of doors down. As we walked out the door and down the street to the club, the evening air felt good. We held hands and laughed as we told each other jokes. We arrived at the club in a few minutes. As we went inside the change of atmosphere was a bit of a shock. The jazz band was hot and the music loud. We were seated at a. I was avisiting lecturer in creative writing. My third novel was not quitefinished and my second had not lived up to the promise of my first,according to many critics.I was well known for my womanizing ways, was often pictured in thepopular press alongside a collection of beautiful young ladies. Usuallyseveral on each arm.I was a celebrity more than a writer these days, and my public personawas all about the wine, women and song.Then I met him, beautiful, hero-worshiping Andrew, still youthful. Outlined against the moonlit window was the woman's daughter, a lovely nearly-full-grown girl of eighteen or so, about half her mother's size with a mouth made for kissing. She pulled me to her bed, pushed me down and then sat beside me, breathing fast. I dropped my boots and held my clothes in my lap."I must see it," she whispered, her hand on my hairy upper thigh, her warm breast rubbing my arm through her thin gown. I could actually feel her hard nipple.I looked at her dumbly as her eyes. "It's not my back I'm worried about". I said, "Then, I'll do my best to protect your front, too". How much protection could I expect from Mickey? He must have read my thoughts and said, "There are a few things you don't know about me, and I hope you don't have to find out this week".With that, we opened the door and stepped into the throng. Who should be standing right in front but my ex-boyfriend, Gary Griffin. With a smirk and a laugh, he said, "Well look who we have here; the Frigid Bitch.
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