How did she end up here? She searched her memories. The last thing she remembered was after work walking home from the bus stop to her apartment build...ng. Did she ever make it home? No, there was this stranger, wasn’t there? He tried to talk to her, he was handsome and kind at first, but quickly he became creepy and pushy, insisting they would go out for a drink right then and there. She had rejected him and he had pushed a smelly cloth into her face. She remembered the stench, the light-headed. Wearing a long sleeved shirt and rubber gloves, I took a hint from the last time I'd been in an emergency room. I staged plastic pans with various kits for wound debridement, bandaging, intubation, suturing and stapling. I placed all these kits in the pans and turned on the UV, then turned over everything in the sterilizing light. After seven minutes or so I turned off the light, removed my goggles and covered everything with cling film, then gave it another blast of UV to make sure the cling. They agreed that adoption was a bad idea: despite all the screening they still would not know what they were getting.A surrogate would be a crapshoot too: half of the gene pool would be an unknown, and probably not the better half. And even if they went that route, and all of the expense, what if the mother had a change of heart and decided she couldn’t give up the baby after carrying it? Who needs that kind of angst? They would be accepting of their fate and be thankful that they had each. She had put on a black basque with equally alluring lace panties with a red trim. Our bodies squashed together in a mutual exchange of warmth and passion. Our lips met and our tongues united in sheer wantonness. “You’re like my lasagne,” I whispered. “How so?” “Soft layers of pure goodness, with tasty naughtiness in between.” Elizabeth giggled. “You’re funny.” “I was ages making that up,” I said, smirking, “Upstairs?” I added. “Hmmm… lead the way,” she said, her eyes sparkling. .
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