The woman.

Wanted me to write about her.
'Like what,' I said, 'I don't even know you. Give me something and I try.'
She looked into my eyes then. Took my hand and put it on her thigh, under the thin fabric of skirt. I felt, I squeezed, I caressed. She moved my hand away. Looked into my eyes again.
'Now you got something to write about,' she said.

© Marcus Bastel