But there,as the rain fell, I leaned over and kissed Paul on the cheek. I wipedthe lipstick off of his jaw.?Don?t start anything you won?t finish,? he...said.?Mistress said I could finish,? I said, looking into his eyes.And then his lips were against mine, pushing and prodding, his tonguelike a serpent in my mouth. His fingers were in my hair, twisting andpulling in his passion. My hand found its way to his crotch. I moanedwhen I felt his election,?Damn, that?s a big nightstick,? I. It was foggy and cold on Monday morning; coats, hats, scarves and gloves were the order of the day on the bus going to work.Armistice Day itself was the Tuesday, at work 11 o’clock was marked by a short burst of the fire alarm to announce the two minutes silence. The office was hushed, although somewhere a phone rang and was answered, and then the bell rang again. It certainly wasn’t as formal as it had been – Grandad had once told me that in the years immediately after the War, everything. More

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