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The dark haired girl looked at her two henchmen. ‘There goes another satisfied customer,’ she said. The blonde henchman laughed. ‘Are you sure, Valarie? I think he wet himself.’ The dark-haired Valarie nodded. ‘Of course I’m sure, Janey. I could tell by the gratitude in his eyes. Right, Desiree?’ Desiree, the henchman with the mocha skin, smirked. The tall mulatto girl was quite pretty even dressed in street clothes, but it was obvious she could be beautiful if she decided to be. ‘Right, Val,’ she said. They made their way down the street, on the lookout for more potential victims. They preferred this part of the carnival to any other. Less potentials, granted, but less official types as well. There was an edgy atmosphere back here, a breathless anticipation of dark excitement. Valarie looked down the dirt path running between several brightly colored tents and paused. Then she elbowed the blond Janey. ‘Over there,’ she said. Janey looked down the dirt path. ‘The clown?’ Valarie. Afterwards we toured Faneuil Hall / Quincy Market doing tourist shopping and there we saw a company of teenage actors recreate scenes from “The Crucible” a tale of the witch trials and hangings among the settlers in Salem Mass. Rosalind had learned about that part of our history before and she enjoyed seeing the show. The next day we planned to visit Salem so it was a good primer. That night I took Rosalind to the most romantic restaurant in Boston, on the top floor of a skyscraper overlooking Boston Harbor. During dinner I went to pour Rosalind a third glass of wine she stopped me and said, “Don’t go getting me too drunk tonight Yank, I’m not so sore anymore!” We skipped dessert. Back in our room, lovemaking was unrushed and I touched and kissed all of her. I traced Rosalind’s name on her skin with my finger and composed a full-on love letter and traced it on her back. “Cheeky bastard, Rosalind said, if you’re going to finger me put that thing where it’ll do more good.” Playfully I.
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