They served to keep him excited and interested in his mystery lover and friend. It would be better if he had her in the flesh, but she had told him that it could never be. Then last night she had sent him her strange message; she was going to send him a friend to play with, someone who lived close to him, and was willing to act out some of the fantasies that Veronica and he had devised."Who is it?" he asked as he stood just inside the door."A friend of a friend," came a soft, girlish voice.Johnny peered through he door's peephole and saw the woman, shivering in her raincoat. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, but with her head bowed, in shame or fear of detection, he could not easily make out her features. Still, there was something in her presence that reminded him of Veronica's joking, tempting, and naughty word play. Maybe it was they way she stole glances at the door's peephole, like a camera shy teen who tempted the boys to stare and desire. This was not Veronica, but at. Opening her eyes, she giggled, "Oops! I forgot you were here." I tilted my head to the side, "But, I'm holding your hands." She reddened, embarrassed. "I was imagining it was Anthony, holding my hands." I brushed my thumbs across the back of her hands. "I'm sorry that I'm not him." She smiled warmly, "Don't get me wrong, I miss him, but I'm not sorry you're not him." I didn't respond, but blushed and lowered my eyes. We sat silently for a few minutes, holding hands. Finally, she slowly withdrew her hands. When I looked up, she had folded them in her lap, her expression flat and difficult to read. I looked at her questioningly. "This is where the story gets harder to tell and I understand that it gets harder to hear." She said quietly. "Are you sure you want me to continue?" My heart ached for the sadness that seemed to envelop her. Nosiness aside, I felt a need to hear the rest of the story. I really liked Reilly and I wanted to get to know her. There is no reasonable explanation for.
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