That was supposed to have been a dream. This would mean …“Oh, do I have a story to tell you ...” And, at that moment, the feather that had been ...ntangled in my hair slipped out and fluttered down. Chris, only Chris with his reflexes, managed to capture it before it hit the ground.He handed it to me carefully. “I don’t know why, but it seems to be important.”It was long after we had finished our dinner and now finishing another bottle of wine. We were still sitting around the dining table as I. Then I wrote the author. I don't know why I did it; I guess I just wanted to tell him how much his story had excited me. He wrote me back the next day and talked dirty to me. He told me how he knew what I was doing to myself (How did he know?) and how much it excited him. How hard my e-mail had made him. Well, I should have stopped right there, but I didn't.The flowing morning I got out of bed and got the children off to school and my husband had already left for work. I was dressed in my. More

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