While I sat, she served me, pouring us each another mug of tea.She sat and drank hers while I ate and drank, stole half of one of my muffins, then stood, came round the table, pressed herself against my back and kissed my head before leaving to dress, giving a view of the backs of her calves and half thighs. I wondered how many cold showers I would need to soften my hardness.I also wondered how Rachel would dress for the meeting with my parents, and was interested and pleased when I saw her close fitting (not tight) jumper which hinted at her shape, and slacks tight around her bottom and gently flaring below, showing her other shape. Knee-length boots. It was December after all.She was saying by this that she was all woman but demure with it. I admired her style.I was on edge as we approached the house, every sense on full alert for any signs of dislike or distance from my mother.“Relax, Roddy,” my married girlfriend whispered. “Everything will be fine.”I was not convinced, but. Standing up, she moved over to the window and opened the curtains, then turned to survey the room. Her clothes from the night before were strewn on the floor where she had left them when getting changed for bed, her dress near the bedroom door over her heels, her bra lying on the top of the dresser, panties over the edge of the laundry basket in the closet where she had thrown them before going into bed. Erin walked across the room to the door, and headed down the hall, and down the stairs, through the kitchen to the front of the house. The solid door was closed, and on the ground in front of it lay a collection of letters, Even from ten feet away, the white and beige envelopes showed that most of them were bills. But she could see right at the very bottom, the corner of a hot pink envelope mostly hidden by the other mail, and a smile spread across her face. She grabbed the letter, and saw that it was from Alison, her best friend and confidante who lived in Vancouver, and tucked it.
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