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” Like she knew where to go. As we walked out of the building she turned left instead of right to my usual place so I followed her lead. She took me to a place I had not noticed yet. It appeared to be a small open air café. At the back they had a juice bar, there was a lot of modern art on the walls. It seemed really fresh and clean. She took a seat and I sat across from her. I looked into her eyes. That was a huge mistake. It was almost like they sucked me into her. Like she was absorbing. I felt my old combat instincts returning, my hand grabbed the woman's wrist and broke it with one twist, the knife I caught in mid-air with my other hand, before she could scream in pain I had spun her around and had the knife to her throat. It was a sinister piece of steel, curved and black. “Might your mother be the Witch of Gyre?” I hissed at her. She only gasped in shock at my reflexes and at her broken wrist. My bodyguards were only now moving to control the crowd and isolate me. “Answer. After that episode, it was difficult to turn or lean to my left side without a lot of pain. I started taking some pain-killers, but would not touch the hard stuff that makes you into a zombie.This flared up on me pretty bad about six weeks after I returned State-side. I was walking up the stairs of a subway exit in New York City and felt the same familiar stabbing pain in my back. It was really funny how I could not even stand up straight. I looked like a character out of a Dickens novel. I was. I asked more question, but my wife was evasive. She happily told me how great he made her feel and the intense orgasms she had (yes plural, not a common occurrence for her).She went to see him the next Wednesday and the Monday after that. Every time, she came home tired but satisfied.It was a Wednesday morning. I had been refused any morning playtime within seconds of groping my wife's tits. I was soon up and dressed for work. I had just poured a bowl of cereal when I saw Jeremy walking across.
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