Moving On
When I got back, stumbling up the stairs and entering the room, I felt a wave of relief wash over me as I saw that my roommate, Marianne was nowhere about. I knew that I wanted out; I did not want to see her again. Like a woman in a frenzy, I packed my bags and rushed out of the room, Luckily, except for my books, I had very little by way of luggage. So by 9 am, I was in the local diner, peering at ads for rentals, or adverts seeking roommates.
By the time I was on my second coffee, I was feeling exhausted and almost tearful. I had taken a hurried shower before leaving and I felt as though everyone in the room must know what I had been up to the night before. Every time I moved I felt the ache in my s*x, the tenderness that filled me with a longing which I clamped down with has
