Deborah and Peter were walking along a promenade near the beach. They had dined in a restaurant near the center, where Peter had left all the money in his wallet, part of his liver and mortgaged his corneas. At least he gazed in ecstasy at the wonderful figure of his companion"s body. Deborah"s black dress wore the same décolleté on her back as on her torso. And it was extremely difficult for Peter to look away from those frontal protuberances.
In spite of all that magnificent vision, at the bottom of his being, something was eating at him.
“Peter, I feel so cold...”
Deborah began to perform a theatrical gesture patented brand Femme Fatale Deborah Company in distress. That trick always awakened the protective spirit of most stupid men.
“Do you want my jacket?” asked the gentleman Peter
