‘His warm hand moving down my spine, taking the sheet with it, making my skin tingle and coming to rest just above my bottom.
I smiled.
I had done it. I finally had done it. I found him. He was right there in bed with me and it wasn’t the tequila talking! I was naked in bed with him having been given so many orgasms I lost count and I knew he was it. He was the shadowy-faced man I’d been daydreaming about since I could remember…’.
‘Are you British or Arab Miss?’
I turn blind sided by this polite question from a cleric in his black and white clerical outfit complete with beard, headdress and a startling mole growing out of the side of his nose. I stare at nose mole trying valiantly to remember why I was staring. Oooooh yes multiple orgasms he interrupted with stupid question of identity.
‘half and half.’ I say and pointedly return to my iPad to finish what the riveting shadowy man was about to do to the heroine multiple more times.
‘Muslim or Christian?’. Now I ask you how fair is it that my sister travelling last week to Singapore gets to sit (so she tells me) next to a real live shadowy special ops guy who looks like Aaron Eckhart (and who apparently has washboard this and that) and who is traveling the world to find himself (poor lost lamb) and I end up traveling today next to a man in a frock who wants to ask about my religion. So I expound in Arabic no less for an hour on Bhuddism. He was an Iraqi cleric going from Baghdad to London for a conference on religious dialogue. Our conversation then deteriorates to how many children I have and when I say none he tells me I am not trying hard enough… Now really, I ask you…why me? What did I do to deserve this particular messenger? Sadly I had to stop reading because nose mole seemed to be staring at me every time I came to any juicy bits…turned me right off the shadowy man let me tell you. Don’t you just hate it when that happens.

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