"Not that old," she said, a sting of tartness in her voice. His tone had suggested he'd slept with her-or could any time he wanted to. He hadn't, but she wasn't sure he couldn't, and she had to put him down. She would not give him the satisfaction of trying to cover herself more adequately with the towel, let him know that the sudden sight of him had shocked her sexually. Clutching the towel, she strode to the mini-fridge and got a bottle of Fresca, opened it and drank, her full sensuous lips ovalling softly around the neck. Then she sat in one of the chairs, conscious of her almost-naked condition, and carefully crossed her legs to conceal the narrow barely curling slit of her pussy, yet aware that the position hiked the towel up so he could clearly see the smooth white roundness of her ass-cheeks. Well, let him look!

Against her will, her own huge eyes were drawn to the tight-fitting crotch of his flare jeans. He was hard! His erected cock was outlined unmistakably against the thin fabric… long and thick. She imagined she could see the darkening dampness of preseminal fluid seeping through the cloth! Combined with the burning in her own cuntal vee, it was almost too much to look at! She tried, with only partial success, pulling her eyes away. They kept returning to the thick bulge of his cock, and she could feel the hot surge of blood into her face as she shamefully tried to avert her gaze. She swigged hurriedly on the soft drink and said, "What's up, Lee?"

"Thought we might rap about the setup at the Bedford Festival," he said casually. Candy was booked for the famous Bedford Shakespearean Festival, which had long ago left Shakespeare behind, and which was coming up in less than three months. "It can be a bummer. Open-air, and the fog comes in, and the audience is cold, and no one's happy, and it could fuck you up. Twenty thousand idiots under the oaks, most of them stoned! A ham-bone emcee! That's what I came to talk about."