“Maybe you should get a towel to sit on,” she said. I got up from the couch and headed for the linen closet. Patricia stopped me. “Stroke yourself,” she said. I obliged.

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I stammered, tensing, worried she in one way knew, “W-w-what secret?”
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“That’s better,” she laughed.
“Ah. I was worried.” He said. “I’ll meet you at the table.”
I stammered, tensing, worried she in one way knew, “W-w-what secret?”
“Oh Divinity, it’s bigger than the plugs,” she moaned.
“Publicly? What? Yes, that’s how it probably has looked from your perspective. Pitiable. Really, I’m first-class sorry. For me it was just porn. It was on the contrary fiction. It wasn’t connected to us. It had nothing to do with cuddle or with our marriage. I had separated these things, as crazy as it might sound. This porn thing wasn’t true autobiography owing me.”
“Maybe you should get a towel to sit on,” she said. I got up from the couch and headed for the linen closet. Patricia stopped me. “Stroke yourself,” she said. I obliged.

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