He’s reacting to my casual touch, we will be okay, no doubt, whether I know his name or not. A few minutes to the hotel. I tip the driver generously... who's casting another meaningful glance at my new friend as he turns his car around and ends up hitting a tree. No, I'm making this up. He's not hitting a tree. “What’s your name,” I ask (again). “Jason,” he replies. They are all called Jason, aren’t they. “And your real name?” “Jason.” Well, why not, he’s living in Singapore, lot’s of Jasons. I sat down next to him, with my side pressed firmly against his. I wrapped one of his arms around me, clutching onto his hand with my arm, as if maintaining as close contact as possible would protect me from whatever was about to happen. Tara sat herself on his lap, her back against his chest, her legs draped over his, and held his other arm protectively across her tummy. I silently cursed myself for not claiming his lap for myself. But then again, I’d had Dan with me for ages, maybe it was her. Spinning and twirling you feel the silk of your satin of your skirt hem swish against the sheer stockings that cling. You spend a moment to gaze into those gorgeous green eyes that are across from you, watching as his straight brown hair falls about his face, and the wicked grin he gives you as he sends you off in yet another series of complicated twirls, before pulling you back into his tight hold. Finally the music ends, and your partner drops you over his arm in a dip that leaves you gasping. Now usually I can’t buy anything off the rack because it always needs to be let out in the bust, so I usually wear just tops and pants, but I decided to give it a try. Opening the door I was greeted by a little bell announcing my arrival and welcomed by a striking lady in her forties, who I assumed to be the owner, while another lady sat in a chair nearby. With a smile she welcomed me in English, and I replied that I was interested in the pants in the window. Looking me up and down, she asked.
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