He picked up a segment of orange and watched as her eyes followed the fruit, her hazel gaze inquisitive and wondering. He ran the fruit over her chest...and breasts, leaving a sticky trail behind. He held the orange above her chest and squeezed hard, the corners folding in on each other, the juices gushing out and running down her body. Like a river coursing a path, the orange juice ran down in between the valley of her breasts, heading toward her stomach. The smaller streams of orange liquid ran. We lay together, drenched in our sweat, a string of silver stretching out from my lazy penis. ‘I want, I WANT, to hear the next part of the story…’ Sophia began hoarsely as she drifted off. She trembled in a moment of post-coital relaxation, mumbled something about ‘Barnard….’ and then was sound asleep. I understood why she was trying to think of that name. It was a name out of our past, our past shared with a woman named Karen and her special ring, a past which was being drawn back into the. More

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