Chapter Five
The Hangover
One chocolate is soon forgotten, but the joy of an orgasm can last a whole day.
I met my Rodger ten years ago in Glasgow. I was on my way up north, and he was sitting outside his antiques store. I remember it so well; Glasgow was sunny, a rare moment.
I was on my way home from the Goddess Festival in the Midlands, where I had experienced the pleasures and wisdom of Polynesian massage along with various tribal dances. I was walking down Woodlands Road drinking in the sun and feeling inspired, womanly, and in need of a good seeing to when I came across Rodger sucking on the last of his cigar.
He had a cappuccino on a quaint little table beside him, along with a copy of Swing with the Old Guys, an antiques magazine that swung for about three editions. He was wea
