Sex at St Agnes'

"I must go," Rebecca said. "I'm on stage again in a moment."

We hastily pulled our clothes on and left the booth, with its puddle of semen on the floor for its next occupants to find.

That strip club encounter was almost the last time I saw Rebecca. The very last time was late one night when I was driving through a rough part of the big city. There she was leaning against a lamp post, in a skimpy sleeveless red boob-clinging top, a black leather look PVC miniskirt, sheer black nylon-clad legs and high heels, in a classic prostitute's stance with one knee up. I nearly stopped my car but I saw a man walk up to her and put his hand on her uplifted knee. I left them to their business.

Besides, I was on my way for an appointment with another girl in the same profession as Rebecca and who was just as imaginative, if not such an exhibitionist. I didn't want to keep her waiting.