We didn't care what the neighbours thought. Not that we saw much of them, except the quiet, friendly, white-haired gentleman from upstairs. He seemed ...onely. He was always at his window as we went out. It was almost like he wished he was with us. I could feel his eyes as we walked away. I was sure they were following Matt's hand slinking over the small of my back to where it really wanted to be. I didn't mind the eyes any more than the hand. It's nice to be appreciated and he never looked. I’d like to think I know what he’s thinking sometimes even before he knows. Perhaps that’s just feminine arrogance speaking out of turn, but I do know what gets his attention and what gets him off. He can play my body like a finely tuned instrument and he knows my mind as if it were his own, because I’ve bravely stretched out both, gloriously naked, before him like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. I share my secrets with this man. My hopes, dreams, fears, he hears them all. There is nothing. More

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