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“Um,” I started terrified, I had never done anything like this before. “Hi.”She smiled warmly at me.“Hi there, what can I do for you?”“Uh, I was wondering if I could, I mean if...” just then the girl that played bass walked over and slipped her arm around the waist of the smaller girl, she leant forward and kissed her cheek.“Hi did you enjoy the show?” she asked. I think she may have thought I was hitting on the other girl. I took a deep breath.“That song you sang earlier, What are we waiting for. um is there anyway I could sort buy a copy of it?”“Well we haven’t actually recorded anything yet. This place has got the rights to do live performances, but we haven’t gone into the recording bit yet. Sorry.” The taller girl said and went to move away. Her partner stopped her a moment.“Hold on a sec love. Why do you need a copy of the track, I mean the original is better produced and is easily available.”“Uh I need to tell someone something and I’ve tried but I ... I can’t just say it.” I. But after some struggling, I achieved it - and I leaned back onto the fully reclinned passenger seat, and waited ... and waited...and waited. Eventually, I heard a car pull onto the gravel. Slowed. Stopped. Door opening. Door closing. Footsteps. This was it! My cock twitched in anticipation.The footsteps approahed my open window. Stopped. And there was silence. This was unnerving! Should I speak? Then a camera shutter clicked, clicked again, and again. I sensed that someone had leaned in the window. A camera shutter clicked right in front of me. Fingers grasped my nipple clamp chain - pulled hard. I gasped. The shutter clicked again. Then footsteps on the gravel, receding this time. Car door opens and shuts. Engine starts. Car drives away. Silence. What is going on? Should I have said something?I could only wait for events to overtake me. And I waited. After what seemed an eternity, another car arrived. This one parked close. Door slammed. Footsteps. My passenger door opens. "Open.
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Yes she was proud, and manipulative, and a very angry woman of experience. Yet he saw otherwise. He knew more. Eighteen years had not passed for naught. It was not always this way, this battle of wills. He had known Melissa since his father was scene painter for Booth’s Theatre, before pauper papa could afford his own theatrical digs. She’d been Lawrence Barrett’s newest find, and as the lowly stage hand Christopher could only watch as she made love to Lawrence or Edwin Booth in the way that he imagined her voluptuous frame should press against his own. She was a wayward child of 26 then, yes, far too old to be so bold. She should have been married, Christopher would often cluck to himself, yet secretly allowing, ‘Well done, well done.’ He liked bold women, and he liked Melissa. He wanted Melissa at any price. But the opportunity never came. There were flirtations and exchanges, marriages and mistresses, fleeting touches. Nothing more. It was fairly maddening. Now the time had come.

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