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Foxy Lady
Star
- Joined
- Jan 30, 2014
- Location
- United Kingdom
The next day, the pattern changed. A parcel arrived, addressed to Dona Wherry. Inside was a receipt showing that I had paid for it. The box contained a set of lingerie of high quality but of minimal coverage. I tried it on; it was a perfect fit and just the colour to match my hair and skin tone. Someone knew me well enough to choose my underwear.
That night, I wore it for my lover. He seemed both aroused and disturbed when I revealed myself to him. Afterwards, he still seemed troubled. When I asked him, he denied that anything was wrong, but I persisted. In the end, he admitted that his wife had identical underwear. And that made me wonder. Did she know about us? Might she be the person with a grudge against me?
Later, when he was calmer and tired, I popped my question. I had never asked about his wife before. She was none of my business. At least, she hadn’t been so far.
‘Just out of idle curiosity,’ I asked, ‘what is your wife’s name?’
He answer stunned me.
‘May,’ he said, ‘she’s called May.’
Even I could see the connection. May and Amy. The same letters. An anagram. But what did that signify? Was his wife, May, trying to conceal her identity? Or was it someone laying a false trail to disguise their own involvement?
The next morning, I dropped into Starbucks.
‘Has Andy been in recently?’ I asked the barista who served me.
‘Andy?’ she asked.
‘Andy Antrim,’ I replied and described him.
She thought for a moment.
‘The guy who was with you the other day? No, he’s not been in. Never seen here before or since. I thought you knew him.’
‘And Nigel Warner?’ I asked without much hope.
‘The other guy you were talking to?’ she asked.
I nodded.
‘No,’ she shook her head, ‘never seen him either. He came straight over to you, so I assumed you were friends.’
I took my coffee to a corner seat, fully expecting another man to appear to give me advice, but no one came.
As I was leaving, I asked casually if the barista was any good at anagrams.
‘Not brilliant,’ she admitted, ‘although I noticed that both those guys have names that are anagrams. Andrew Antrim is Martin Warden and Nigel Warner is Warren Elgin.’
So that was three anagrams.
A final thought made me turn back when I reached the door.
‘I don’t suppose Dona Wherry is an anagram too.’
She thought for a few moments. Then she told me.
‘Randy whore,’ she said, ‘Dona Wherry is an anagram for randy whore. Why do you ask?’
I didn’t answer.
TO BE CONTINUED
That night, I wore it for my lover. He seemed both aroused and disturbed when I revealed myself to him. Afterwards, he still seemed troubled. When I asked him, he denied that anything was wrong, but I persisted. In the end, he admitted that his wife had identical underwear. And that made me wonder. Did she know about us? Might she be the person with a grudge against me?
Later, when he was calmer and tired, I popped my question. I had never asked about his wife before. She was none of my business. At least, she hadn’t been so far.
‘Just out of idle curiosity,’ I asked, ‘what is your wife’s name?’
He answer stunned me.
‘May,’ he said, ‘she’s called May.’
Even I could see the connection. May and Amy. The same letters. An anagram. But what did that signify? Was his wife, May, trying to conceal her identity? Or was it someone laying a false trail to disguise their own involvement?
The next morning, I dropped into Starbucks.
‘Has Andy been in recently?’ I asked the barista who served me.
‘Andy?’ she asked.
‘Andy Antrim,’ I replied and described him.
She thought for a moment.
‘The guy who was with you the other day? No, he’s not been in. Never seen here before or since. I thought you knew him.’
‘And Nigel Warner?’ I asked without much hope.
‘The other guy you were talking to?’ she asked.
I nodded.
‘No,’ she shook her head, ‘never seen him either. He came straight over to you, so I assumed you were friends.’
I took my coffee to a corner seat, fully expecting another man to appear to give me advice, but no one came.
As I was leaving, I asked casually if the barista was any good at anagrams.
‘Not brilliant,’ she admitted, ‘although I noticed that both those guys have names that are anagrams. Andrew Antrim is Martin Warden and Nigel Warner is Warren Elgin.’
So that was three anagrams.
A final thought made me turn back when I reached the door.
‘I don’t suppose Dona Wherry is an anagram too.’
She thought for a few moments. Then she told me.
‘Randy whore,’ she said, ‘Dona Wherry is an anagram for randy whore. Why do you ask?’
I didn’t answer.
TO BE CONTINUED