MARILYN BY CLARA JONES 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 76
Curt’s hand stroked Marilyn’s thigh, and, as I bowed, I noticed a long leather strap bound Curt’s wrist to Marilyn’s ankle. She wore black stockings which made her long legs appear alive and winsome, as shapely and arousing as any escort we had ever served. I straightened up abruptly, meeting Curt eye-to-eye. “Don’t be shy, boy. I won’t bite you! It’s our anniversary and we decided to go out on the town. My wife doesn’t drink but I’ll have a martini with two green olives and a lemon twist.”
