Connie lies facedown on the bed and lifts her red slip up over her ass, spreading her legs wide and sliding her fingers up and down in her crotch. Mickey gets up behind Connie and puts the head in, bringing a breathy moan from Connie. She teases the girl for a long time, just the head pushed in. Then, inch by inch, she gives Connie the whole schlong, making the girl’s full lips part wide, showing her white teeth as she whimpers, “More…more…more…,” with every tiny squirming movement of Mickey’s hips. She’s loud enough that I can hear everything. I don’t know if maybe Connie’s putting on a good act to try to pay the dyke back for that scene last night, but either way it seems to be working. The dyke presses her meat home and gives Connie a long, hard bang on the bed, making her clutch the dirty sheets and choke and sob as she gets fucked.

Mickey lets go; I’m not sure if it’s an act for Connie’s sake or if she really gets off on this. But it sure sounds real, like she’s shooting long streams of jizz up inside Connie’s lush body.

Then Mickey curses, loud. “I’m gonna be fucking late,” it sounds like she says. I shrink deeper into the shadows as Mickey races around getting on a fresh pair of jockeys and some blue jeans and a work shirt.

It takes a long time for the dyke to get ready, and I risk a cigarette, hiding back on the edge of the fire escape in the darkness between the buildings. I don’t move until I finally hear the sound of a motorcycle far below and see Mickey pulling away on a Harley, wearing a backward baseball cap and a black leather backpack, with a big bunch of white roses hanging out. I go back to Connie’s window.

It’s still open a crack to let in the humid summer breeze. I lift it up, nice and easy, and slip inside.

Connie’s still lying on the bed, sprawled on her back. It looks like she’s taking a little nap. She’s got the sheets tangled around her body, bunched up between her legs. The slip’s hanging off her body, revealing her delicate curves. I was always a pretty good second-story man, though I suppose you could say it’s part of my moral code not to break in on girlfriends. But I guess Connie counts as an ex. I’m real quiet as I come up to the bed.

Like I said, she’s still got her red slip on, but one strap’s hanging over her shoulder and one beautiful soft brown tit is winking at me. One long leg hangs over the edge of the bed, the torn black fishnet stocking, a lace-top stay-up, bunched almost to her knee.