Shooting the Moon

It was one more freeze frame in a pornographic deck of mental photos from this night that I knew would haunt Stuart through decades of long, locked up nights.

Suddenly suffering from a clear-mind, Stuart realized the trouble he would face when we inevitably described everything that had happened downstairs to his wife. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

As for me, I would always think of her not as a ghost, but as the impish sex demon who showed up one night and beat us all at our own game.

And so the following week the three of us agreed to play Hearts. And we firmly agreed that Kitty wasn't invited.