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I was standing in the small room, in front of a curtained window. Paul’s hot breath on the back of my neck was doing little to dispel the tension that was tying me in knots, even though that’s exactly what we were here for. The room was pretty dreary really; just this curtained window and a padded massage table behind us against the wall. Tired paint on the walls, scruffed tiled floor and ceiling, as if men before us had been walking the ceiling and dragged across the floor, which, for all I knew, was exactly what had caused the scruffing. A set of loudspeakers above and at the corner of the curtained window. Paul’s arms came around me, and he started to unbutton my shirt and pull the tail out of my jeans even before he pulled on the curtain cord.
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