What happens in New York...
The Girl called this afternoon to say thanks for the memories and all that. Tonight she returns to London exhausted and happy. We agreed next time she’ll come at the beginning or end of the month so she can check out some of the more risque parties our fine city has to offer. (Flirt was fun, of course, but jet lag isn’t conducive to dancing on tables with your top off.)
Right now I wish I had a double-secret anonymous sex blog so I could write at length about the double-secret things I witnessed and heard. Alas, various salacious tidbits are to remain shrouded in mystery.
Your secrets are safe with me, Girl. I won’t, for instance, tell my readers about your doing lines off the chisled rear-ends of two male strippers, nor will I prattle on about your shoplifting spree in SoHo. Woudn’t want that sort of thing to get out, would we?
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