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She was watching her caress with a smile on her face.She released her grip but not before placing my hand on her thigh, then she reached for our glasses and passed one to me. She raised her glass to me and I followed suit. As we drank I squeezed her leg, she smiled and her free hand reached for the hanging tablecloth, pulling it to cover my hand.I raised an eyebrow at her, now she grinned. I gripped the skirt of her suit and began to ease it up her legs, Still, she grinned. My fingers found the sheer material covering her legs, I traced them upwards until I came to the top. She was wearing stockings and suspenders. Now I could feel her flesh, hot beneath my touch. Her legs were tight together but when my fingers pushed downwards to go between her thighs, I felt them move apart, easing my way. I could hear her breathing getting a little ragged, her tongue just peeping between her pursed lips.She gave a noticeable jump when my fingers touched the front of her panties. But her legs. ..Another flash of memory.My mother, weeping at the kitchen sink, was holding a sheaf of medical papers in her hand. She stared at the papers as if they were a palpable enemy that she could rend, tear, or kill. Her tears were hard and angry – but soft, and almost helpless. Hindsight cleared up so much, and I now know the anguish she felt as the sterile, white forms pronounced her death sentence.For millennia I lingered in the valley of death. There were no shadows in that valley, only blackness, silence, and emptiness. My mind went away again. I drifted on the smokescreen of memory, and visited myself on places and people I'd not thought about for ... well, for the rest of my life.The first sounds I heard that were not from my manufactured memories, were the sounds made by cloth sliding over cloth. The sounds may have been present for a very long time, or just a second, but I separated the sounds from those of mind, and spirit, hoarding them, because it was so novel.In the presence of.
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