News of my wedding had spread through Uni, and girls who had treated me like dirt suddenly revised their opinions as they believed me to be a gigolo sponging off my rich wife. “Art, Antiques, Russian Art, that sort of thing.” she said. Indian sex “Shall I see you again?” she asked as she handed me the bin for the used condom. I switched the phone off, “Sounds like her,” I agreed, “She just sends me money.” I thought a moment, “So why don’t you find her?”
“Because you don’t mess with those guys do you?” the older one suggested, “Not when you can do it for us.”
“Ok,” I agreed, “I’ll find her, give me a call, maybe tomorrow, I don’t suppose you want to hand out your number?” I handed him my business card., and he peered closely at it and they walked away.
