“Very good. Whatever you do, don’t refer to her as ‘her’ or ‘she’. Always ‘it’.”We descended. I use the internet. I’d heard about ...ungeons, seen photos. Thought it was all make-believe. It wasn’t. We passed an open door, wide, solid, dark oak, through which I could see the impedimenta of a mediaeval torture dungeon. We came to cells; bare stone walls, flagged floors. Wooden sleeping bench in each one, rings and shackles on the walls, tiny gratings up near the ceiling. Metal bucket in one. I'm not gonna lie." I finally said.She leaned in, looked me right in the eye and said with a smile, "Good." and didn't say another word.She stood there staring at me. Face to face. I wasn't sure what the fuck to do. Until she spoke."For an older guy you're cute as fuck. But you're blushing. I hope I didn't embarrass you. Married? Kids? Anything?" Bridget said.Christ, she was pretty open and forward. So I just chose to answer truthfully."Yeah. Married. Step daughter. Daughter. Pretty laid back. More

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