Carter follows me like a little puppy dog; I’m surprised she doesn’t yap that he has to take a piss in the yard. Once inside the bungalow, she rushes for the dry bar and makes a “cocktail”: straight gin.
“Make me one, please.”
“Of course, darling.”
I strip out of my dress shirt and drop it over the sofa. Carter blares, “My God! What the fuck happened to your back? There are bite marks all over it.”
I chuckle and fill her in on my quick fuck with my bar-bear.
“You didmake him wear protection, right?” Queen Carter flops a stereotypically limp wrist at me. She’s simply adorable in a pair of late summer capris, sandals, and a silk blouse.
“I did. You know I’m always careful.”
“That’s a relief. So you enjoyed your strange?”
“I always enjoy my strange. The stranger the better.” I laugh and head into the kitchen to whip up two salads with oil and vinegar and grab an orange roughy for the grill.