Even if she could. And I had no leverage to make her try.It helps me, for some reason, to talk with Hank. It frees me to sort out my thoughts. To focu.... Let my subconscious work on things.I looked off into the middle distance, not really seeing the cemetery. But remembering Hank’s funeral. That sunny day, all that law enforcement presence.I smiled to myself as a half-recalled image of Emile Chanson swam to the surface. How he stood at solemn attention at the graveside. Black Homburg held over. I dozed off in the scented water, but the black dude kept intruding ... intruding ... intruding.Until I was suddenly wide awake. My fingers were now fully enveloped in my snatch, and in a hazy lust, moved deviously, curling here, poking there; moving faster, moving deeper, faster and faster...Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"My climax reverberated off the foggy, steam-clad mirrors and tiles while my cat scurried to its safe place in the bedroom.I lay there soaking until the water cooled then climbed. More

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