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I couldn't blame them-- my girlfriend is hot. There was one woman sitting between two men at the far corner of the bar from us, and we couldn't tell ...f she was a dancer or not based on the way she was sitting there with them instead of standing like the other dancers who were working the room after their stage shift. She was pretty, with long dark hair. She looked over at the two of us a few times and smiled.We drank, watched the dancers, and talked to the women who stopped by our seats. I. He disliked organised toy fairs, the stall holders were professionals looking to turn a profit, at the flea market it was either people clearing out their lofts or charities with the contents of other people’s lofts. Martin turned from the tressel table of tat and looked down at the pretty dark haired woman who beamed up at him. Her innocent bright blue eyes shone with friendly intent and he found himself smiling back. Her cardigan was done up to the neck but tight and the curve of her breasts. As I poured myself another drink I found myself thinking back to my own childhood and that wondrous day when I was sixteen and my mother had caught me wanking in my room, she had calmly told me not to waste my erection, stripped, climbed onto the bed and given me the first of many lessons in the joys of sex. I could still remember her words as we cuddled afterwards on that first of many occasions ‘People make rules, but those rules don’t always make sense. As far as I’m concerned what we have. Which meant that he had to be baited. Unexpected awakenings, bodies going missing in the lower reaches, all designed to make the old man question his sanity and log on to report. Each time Troll did so, his report was questioned and his findings disputed. Each time he logged on, the old geezer was asked in the most friendly of voices, the female icon flashing the most reassuring of smiles, whether he was sure he did not wish to run deep-cognitive tests, in the comfort of cryo-sleep. The game.
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