She leaned forward slightly, across the wide table, her breasts pressing against the thin silk dress.

It was, in fact not real silk. However it was a first-rate copy and only the man with a trained eye would have spotted the fake, and Tim knew as much about genuine fabrics as the average man or woman knows about anglo saxon poetry.

“You know Tim that I’d like to come back. How do you English say, to your place?”

“Yeah”, he said, trying hard to look away from those barely concealed globes of delight.

“But there’s something I need to ask you”, she continued, her tongue circling her lips. “Are you protected?”.

“Sorry. I don’t follow?”, Tim said, his hand moving to take Chauntele’s, which rested on the delicately patterned tablecloth.

“Protection”, Chauntele said, lowering her gaze so as to examine the pattern on the tablecloth.

“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ve condoms back at my place”, he said, his eyes also discovering something fascinating in the design of the cloth.

“No, sweetie. Are you protected?”.

“Yeah. As I said, I have condoms back at my place. So its all good”, he said, lust contending with growing irritation in his breast.

Chauntele flipped open her smartphone, entered a password and showed the screen to Tim. “Tested negative for COVID-19 at Saint Matthew’s Testing Centre, on 31 August 2021”, the certificate read.

Tim sighed. it wasn’t going to be his lucky night …

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