Something completely out of the blue which would expose his own personal fetishes, not only in the comfort of his own home online which he kept strictly private, but up front in person. He was ready to set out to the club to enjoy another evening of music and light entertainment when an unsuspecting knock came from the main door on the side. Being made from frosted privacy glass, he couldn’t see who was there. He could however make out it was female and wondered who it could be. He didn't know anyone on site, no one had talked to him and only presumed it may have been someone from neighbouring static caravan somewhere. It certainly wasn’t Laura from the bar as she had distinctive hair which this mystery lady didn’t. He also knew the caravan next to him was empty so whoever it was wasn’t from there. There was only one way to find out. Bill opened the door to find a young lady there carrying one of those wheeled suitcases. She was a beautifully long-legged with long, straight jet black. Or of blind anger. No. Surely not even Grace de Messembry would do that. She never didanything without a reason. Emotion did not rule in her heart, ifheart she had.Whatever had happened, there was no going back. Too late to undowhat had been done. He had first to try to heal himself. Findhimself again. Try to undo what could be undone. He rose, took a couple of paces to his right, stooped and extractedfrom the swift running beck a bottle of Hobgoblin Ale that had beencooling there for the last twenty minutes. Sat down again andfumbled in his knapsack for an opener and his sandwiches. At leastgoing down would be more comfortable with a lightened load on hisback. He rubbed the top of his shoulders reflectively. Two sorespots where the straps of the knapsack had rubbed on the metaladjustments of his bra straps. A bite and a swallow. Cool in his throat. Eyes closed savouring themoment. Helgarren seemed a long way away.Five whole days away. Five whole days since he had escaped, crampedin.
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