![]() 'I'm sorry.' He pulled her to him, kissed her tenderly, 'Believe me, Kirsten, I'm so sorry.' She would not be ashamed to let a man see her nude. Her figure was still passable, her breasts were still firm and had not sagged, just a few wrinkles on her stomach and a couple of stretch marks. Joan Doyle studied her nakedness in the full-length wardrobe mirror, experienced a glow of self-satisfaction. 'I hope not,' He reached under the seat, came out with a hammer, placed it in the glove-box, stail sticking out. 'Don't, you make me feel hungry.' She rejoined him in the front: 'Do you think we could try shouting yet?' But he wasn't likely to, there was no way he was going to know unless she told him and she would never admit to that even with her dying breath. A flood of guilt just confessing to herself thatwhatever would Keith think of her if he ever found out? The shame of it all. She felt guilty about the things she sometimes did to herself in the solitude and privacy of her own bed on those nights when the urge got too much for her. All the same, sometimes she despaired at the thought that in all probability she would never ever enjoy a physical relationship with a man again the thought could age one prematurely, turn you into a kind of maiden aunt. No, definitely no It would not be the same the second time round, far better to grow old with the memories she already had, just remember that one chunk of her life from twenty to thirty-two, the best years. There was plenty of time left to find herself a man, start all over again. She knew that she could be very attractive if she took the trouble to make herself up forty-four was no age, really. He'd be all right, he'd only gone down to the Davises and you could not really expect a man (she was repeatedly trying to convince herself these days that Keith was no longer a boy) to be home prompt from courting. For once Joan Doyle had not waited up for her son to come in. ![]()
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