Roxie read the name tag over the pocket on his uniform blouse: M. Thibodeau. He had sergeant’s stripes on his khaki sleeves.“Name?” he grunted a... last.“Roxanne Pringle,” Roxie sighed.“Age?”She told him. He went through the whole list: address, occupation, everything. When Roxie told him that she was from Appleton, New York he looked up for a second.“Never heard of it,” he grunted.“Not many have,” Roxie said, “just those who are from there, I guess. But, you know, if you drive through it, there. So Barb went out and Russ and I remenised, we had already planned for me to bunk down in the spare room so that I didnt have to drive home and could enjoy a few beers. The night was fun but unfortunatly my old mate Russ was a bit down after his relationship breakup and had a few beers too many. He evenetually did that drunk thing where you just stand up and say "I'm going to bed" and left me sitting there in his lounge with too much to drink in me to drive but not tired enough to hit the spare. I stood behind her, staring back through the mirror at her questioning gaze. I brought my hands up to lay upon her slender shoulders; the straps of her brassiere contrasting with the smooth creamy skin.Slowly my warm moist lips went to the nape of her neck, her skin feeling cool. I kissed her very lightly yet felt her quiver. Her aroma was as I remembered, that lingering perfume mixed with her expensive organic bath soap. It had excited me then; just as it did now.I pressed my cheek gently. She saw him. He was the product of the Hospitals generosity, a young dark haired man with wild, darting eyes and pale skin. His fast, nervous gate hinted at the mental disability that won him his employment. He was high functioning, but clearly disabled, a child in a mans body. She was surprised they allowed him this kind of access unattended. Sympathy washed over her. He moved towards her hips with a confidence that made her suspect that last night was not the first time he had stolen a.
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