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Friday and finally all my meetings were over. I flew home that night. I hadn’t heard from Lo since the previous night when she enigmatically told me that she had dinner with Robert. I was eager to see her. I was hard-up and aching for release. On top of that, there was the tantalizing mystery of what happened on her “date” with Robert. Just to make matters worse, fate so ordained it that on my flight home I was seated next to a young, attractive college girl wearing a tight fitting miniskirt and a low cut blouse. Her breasts were full and, when placing her carryon in the storage compartment above, she stretched and revealed a delectable midriff and even some under-boob. When we sat down, she saw that I was reading Fast Girl, the book by Suzy Favor Hamilton about her life as a high-end Vegas escort and her sex addiction.
“What is that?” she asked, naively, but with a hint of being in-the-know.
“It’s a memoir,” I said tersely. Her interest made me nervous. Her looks made me more nervous. Her age made me simply petrified — in every sense of the term.
“I think I’ve heard of it. It’s about. . .” her brow wrinkled with the struggle of recall.
“A woman who leads a double-life as a devoted wife and mom and as a prostitute.”
“Oh,” she said, shocked at my candor. She quickly followed it up with a smile and…