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Now we were getting somewhere I thought, sucking on a mystery flavored sucker. Was that pineapple I was tasting? Jeez, now I was the one getting distracted.“What happened next?” I asked pointedly.“Well, as soon as Sly saw me, he shooed away those little tarts himself,” she replied. “I guess I can’t blame a man as handsome as he is for attracting every little slut in town. Well, as handsome as he was. Oh, my poor Sly. I miss him so much. I just can’t believe he’s dead. He was so sweet and so good to me. He was the best damn lover I’ve ever had. Why his cock was…”“Miss Honeypot, if you could just answer the question and stick to the facts, please!” I interrupted, my irritation showing.“Well, you don’t have to be so callous! After all, the man I loved is dead now!” she cried out dramatically.“Yes, Miss Honeypot, and I am very sorry for your loss. Now, since it’s my job to find out who killed him, could you please tell me what happened next?”She sniffled a bit and regained her. "Our hostess strutted up to Cyn, whose shocked look made me fear we had made a grievous mistake, and with a Scouse accent that had the screech of an out of tune violin, she caught her eye and snapped, “Cat got your tongue, my posh little cunt?"Cyn looked at me, like a deer caught in the headlights, her haunted look betraying a need, but also a fear of that need.“Slut, you crave a taste of Candii, don't you? What will your girlfriend think of you?” our hostess said with a derisive sneer.The fear in Cyn’s eyes intensified and I got that I was one of the things making her scared. She feared my rejection. And despite her unusual but obvious longing for Candii’s offering, she was holding back, seeking, indeed needing, my permission.This was unexpected, but I quickly processed it. In her own way Cyn had come to love me. And so she was setting aside a lifetime’s sense of entitlement and giving me a veto over potentially, for her, the most interesting sexual experience London had to offer.I.
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