Hi Tom, it’s Chrissy. Ceila’s over here. I wasn’t sure whether to call you, but I didn’t want you to worry. She’s okay, I guess. She’s sleeping on the couch.

Yeah, she got here maybe almost two hours ago, showing up at my door in the middle of the night wearing a parka and snow boots. “What, are we having a blizzard in July?” I was going to ask her, but she was in tears, her face a mess from sobbing, and I tried to get her to tell me what was wrong, but she was so distraught. I tried to think what could have happened, that you’d died in a car crash or something, but eventually she managed to blubber that you were cheating on her. “How do you know?” I asked her, and she said you’d been working late on this project for the past month, almost every night, but it turns out you weren’t working on the project at all, because tonight Frank called saying he was sorry to call at home but he couldn’t get your cell phone and he really needed this piece of information for the Heimsouth Project, and she said, “Isn’t he there?” and Frank told her that you weren’t on the Heimsouth Project, that they just got certain information from you on an as needed basis.

Yeah, as needed. She said that with real venom. Then she said, “So he must be fucking some, some, some bimbo.” I was kind of shocked. I mean in four years as my college roommate I’m sure she never once said fuck. Maybe she never even thought it. After she blurted this we fell into each other’s arms, and I said, “There, there, maybe he’s not. Maybe there’s some other explanation.” And she said, “What other explanation can there be?” And I said, “Maybe he’s involved in some other project. Something secret.” And she said, “What?” And I said, “I don’t know. Maybe he’s taking dancing lessons so he can surprise you. Or painting lessons so he can paint your portrait for your fourth anniversary next month.” And she said, “You think so?” She really wanted to believe that. Maybe she could even imagine you painting her. I nodded. “Something like that,” I said. And then I asked why she was wearing a parka and snow boots in the middle of summer, and she explained that after Frank’s call she tried your cell but it went right to voice mail and she left a bunch of messages and then she thought she heard the car outside, but when you didn’t come in she got worried that something had happened to you out there so she grabbed the parka and the boots from the hall closet and the keys from the key rack and went out, but they were the wrong keys, the spare keys to her car, and the door had locked behind her, and your car wasn’t there, and there she was, so she drove over here because she didn’t know what else to do. I said, “Well, for starters you can take that parka off now, you must be steaming,” and she said, “I can’t. I’m not wearing anything underneath,” and we both laughed, sort of, and I said, “I can find you something—we’ve shared enough clothes and stuff over the years,” and I helped her off with the parka. She hadn’t changed in the four years since college. So beautiful. I wish I had a body like hers. I guess I’ve always been a little envious. I said, “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll...” and she sat on the couch, and instead of going to the bedroom to find something for her to wear, I sat next to her. “It’ll be all right,” I said, stroking her bare arms. “I’m sure there’s a good explanation.” “You think so?” she said. She wanted to believe it so desperately. And really, how could anyone be unfaithful to such a sweet, beautiful girl? “I’m sure of it,” I said, and we hugged, and I caressed her shoulders, and she was sobbing again. I could feel her breasts against me as little spasms wracked her body. I told her just to lie down, just to relax, and she curled up on the couch, more or less on her tummy, and I kept stroking her shoulders, her arms, her back. Her skin was so soft. I used my fingernails, scratching her ever so lightly, and I used the pads of my fingertips, caressing her ever so gently, and my hands roamed here and there, on her upper back, her shoulders, her upper arms, the nape of her neck. When I touched her neck she shivered, so I touched her there again, and she shivered again, so I started tracing my finger down her spine, down, down, down, and then back up, and then I went back to caressing her shoulders, her arms, but then I did that with her spine again, tracing my fingernail down, lower and lower, almost but not all the way, and her body responded—I don’t know how to described it—in a way that made me want to go further, but I traced my finger back up, and caressed her shoulders again, small circles, nails and fingertips, and I rubbed her shoulder blades, putting pressure with my thumb, and I did that for a while, and she calmed, but then I returned to the nape of her neck, to that shivery place, and down her spine, down and down and down, and this time I didn’t stop. I moved my finger into the crease of her ass. She tightened. I didn’t get to her asshole. My finger went back up. She relaxed. But I knew some part of her wanted what I wanted. So after rubbing her back and shoulders again, I started down again, down and down and down, and into the snug little crease of her snug little ass, and she tightened again, and I went up again, up and up, slow as slow could be, but this time I didn’t rub her shoulders—this time I went down again, slow, slow, slow, and when I got to the bottom, to her beautiful bottom, she clenched, but I didn’t let that stop me, no, I pushed my finger further, all the way to the hot little button of her asshole, just a fingertip, and she jerked, and I didn’t press it; I went out, I went up, I went back to her shoulders, rubbing, pressing, and I could hear her making little moans, purring, and I said, “Yes, yes, yes,” soft as soft could be, while I caressed her, while I rode slowly down her spine, “yes, yes, yes,” until I was at her asshole again, touching it, teasing it just for a moment, and then up again, “yes, yes, yes,” up all the way and back down, down to that special spot, and beyond it, into the hot wet heat of her cunt. And she was wet. So wet. My finger dipped, dipped deep into that slippery heat, and gathered up some of that wet, and brought it back, back to her hot little asshole, and it opened, it opened just like that to my finger, and my finger went in, and her asshole clamped tight, and I caressed her with my finger, the smallest motions, tiny, tiny circles, teasing the inside of her asshole, and I wanted to plunge my finger in, to go as deep as it would go, all the way into her, but I didn’t. I took my finger out. I turned her to her back. I spread her legs apart. I spread her lips apart. I fastened my lips to the jut of her clit and sucked.