Mercy Me.
I was in a restaurant the last time he found me. I gasped in surprise when my eyes traced dark sinewy arms to his face. I was with my date, a nice man called Adam with who I was pretending to be ordinary. Adam was basking in me. I could tell he was hoping I would help him release the pressure building in his loins. He had offered to give me a tour of his house twice already. A wily euphemism for sex. These were the code words permitted in our mating dance, so I feigned a modicum of interest, politely widening my lips into a faltering smile. There were many spacious high-ceilinged lofts in Midtown Houston, and I imagined his to be grand but unimaginative.
