Horrigan pushing her heart-shaped backside into my groin was more than pleasant, it was satisfying sublime.I generally didn't get involved with married women ever since an unpleasant incident on the East Coast when I found myself moving to another neighborhood because my landlord's wife was leaving her shades up on purpose just to tease me with her carnal activities in a bedroom with a distressing red light bulb that make it seem like the depths of hell with all the writhing flesh and oversized backsides mooning me from different angles. It seemed that the lady and her husband and the husband's younger sister were quite the item in nocturnal pursuits.I did know that Mrs. Horrigan lived alone and had no children or relatives to make life difficult and for the past year I was certain she had not gone on a single outing with anyone from either sex. In fact, I was the only one she actually engaged in lengthy conversations and to whom she confided details of her married life that made me. "She stopped me after class. That reminds me. She gave me an envelope and I haven't had a chance to see what was in it yet. Excuse me for a minute, please." I got up and went up to my room to look for the brown envelope in my bag. I brought it back to the table. "She said the office delivered it, so maybe there's information about graduation or something." I opened the clasp and shook out the papers in the envelope."What is it, Brian?" Dad asked."Um ... it's ... uh ... poetry." Do you have a secret admirer?" Courtney giggled. "Love poems?" Not exactly. Ms. Streeter told me a few weeks ago that she'd entered me in the State Forensics competition again this year to read poetry. I told her I didn't have any new stuff to read. I think I do now," I said."Who is Nat Hart?" Anna asked, looking over my shoulder. "Oh! This is dark. May I read them?" If you want to. A couple years ago when I was in Ms. Streeter's speech class, she had me read poetry. I did pretty well. I didn't know what to.
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