We both apologised to each other profusely. We both at the same time bent down to pick up the dropped items and banged our heads together. We ended up...on the floor, the items between us, and we were stained with the red of the wine. We both looked at each other and laughed both with a hand to our heads, massaging the bruised spot. I looked at him and said, “Sorry, I seem to have ruined your shirt.” He seemed not to have heard what I said. I noticed him looking straight at my boobs. I looked. " And so on.It's all the same theme, and it's all enjoyable to my mind, if it'swritten well. I am rusty. So please forgive me at the awkwardness of thenarrative. Don't forgive me on the story: I'm just pushing an envelopeand typing for the hell of it, because it's fun. After all, when wewrite, who are we writing for? Me or You.I thank Fictionmania for allowing me to engage in my narcistic thoughts,and share them.)Madhouse 4Through the gag, I was mewling as quietly as I could, a little. More

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