The forbidden bay, the bay with low, carpeted benches and pockmarked walls. Her mind raced as she tried to process, without success, what was happenin.... Paul turned to her, settling his strong hands, hardened by years of shooting, onto her waist. “Ash…” his voice trailing off, replaced by his actions. Spinning her around, he rapidly, almost frantically began undoing her jeans, sliding them off over her wide hips, kicking them aside, exposing the black lace panties beneath. She heard his low. This, this entire situation I found myself in, went so smoothly, so polished that an automated string of events took over. I looked at him. For the first time, we made eye contact for more than a fraction of a second. The eye contact remained when I crossed my arms in front of me, grabbed hold of both sides of my shirt, and pulled it over my head. We stood still for what seemed like an eternity. Mr. Monet wanted to say something, but I acted more quickly. I reached behind my back and unhooked. More

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