This was a bit of a problem as I wanted to get to thesupermarket and the diversion took me over the river through a part ofthe town I did not know ver... well. Guessing correctly that thediversion was going to take me out to the ring road I was trying todecide if it was worth riding half way back into town to Tesco's when Isaw a Gateway where I could do my shopping.In those days the internet was still in its infancy so other than theodd sensationalised newspaper article I was not really aware. I punched a number on my speed dial. It was for a psychiatrist I sometimes referred clients to when I was working on an incompetency plea. When his receptionist picked up, I covered my mouth and whispered as loud as I dared, fearing I might wake Aunt Margie (or Dagmar), “Clinic? Yeah, this is Marty Brenner. I need to speak to Dr. Milton, please. It’s urgent!”After a few seconds: “Hello? Dr. Milton? Um, this is Marty Brenner, and I’m calling from my Aunt Margie’s house ... Yeah, Margaret Brenner. I reached over and squeezed her hand. She stared at me, not joy, not fear, not anger, but curiosity. I felt electricity. I wanted her – sexually. I responded: ‘Don’t worry. He will come.’ Then I asked her about her life. She talked about her childhood and how she was mostly very comfortable being alone. She said that she liked to read and liked long walks alone in the woods. She found great serenity just sitting quietly by herself. ‘Even now I love to just go and sit by the pond.’ She explained. Instead of going the way we were dressed, we went into the bathroom and gave each other what our grandparents called a spit bath, which is to put warm water in the sink, then use a washrag with soap and just wash like under the armpits, elbows, chest and belly, down to the groin, and then rinse and dry. Whatever it is called, or what others call it, that is what we did with me washing Maryann, and she washed me. With our spit bath done, we put on clean clothes with me putting on a pull over.
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