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“Hey,” Mila said, climbing in next to me, behind the wheel. “Is it dreams?”
“The dreams,” I said. “You can kick me out if you want, of course, but all that’ll mean is I’ll move to an hotel nearby. I protested, saying I didn’t feel any desire for sex anymore and so didn’t need it. She never tried to be artificially cheery with me. Even so, by the time we got to the beauty parlour, I was sweating. Mila grinned. This is a sensation so excruciating that only someone with really ticklish skin who has experienced it will appreciate it. Even with an open road before me I average fifty kilometres per hour and never exceed seventy. Then her hands went to my breasts and she began rolling and kneading them.
