The woman didn't recall how she got to her cubicle. She suddenly found herself sitting there looking at the putty colored walls, the brown desk surface, the dull gray chair. Her mind was in the train, feeling the searching fingers, the bite, the whispered word.<br/><br/>Her voice. A promise.<br/><br/><i><span style="font-family:Dancing Script"><span style="font-size: 22px">Tomorrow...</span></span></i><br/><br/>Someone handed her a folder, a manilla folder containing data to be analyzed and ordered....<i>the hand on her sex, squeezing.</i>Her breath had hitched, her heart stopped. She felt her nipples grow hard again at the memory. Aching to be touched, aching to be tasted, tugged and rubbed. Her hand strayed to the bite, her fingers tracing the red marking which she now hid under her colorful scarf not so much from shame or embarrassment but rather from a sense of possessiveness. This story belonged to her and her alone, it wasn't meant to be shared.<br/><br/>Who was this girl, and how was she so different? What made her do this, had she done this before?<br/><br/>The woman tried her best to refocus on her work, but her mind returned to the memories of breasts and buttocks, of hands, and belly buttons. She wanted to scream but didn't know why, maybe because everyone was going along as though nothing had changed.<br/><br/>At five the doors to the big grey building disgorged and the woman stepped out, but instead of heading to the bus stop she turned and walked to the stores a few  blocks north. She bought a few things from the chainstore, a few clothing items and then headed to the groceries. There she perused her usual frozen food isle but then turned away and headed towards the produce isle. Her hands went towards pears, some cheese, a small crusty baguette and a small bottle of wine. As she passed the florist in the store she picked up another small potted plant, her African violet at home was probably lonely, she mused.<br/><br/>It was dark and quite late by the time she reached home. She turned on the light and first placed the new plant by the African violet. The smooth leaves of the new one looking so different next to the furry leaves of the violet. Like her and the girl? What was she doing? But could she stop? Did she want to stop? She knew she didn't, something in her had awakened, something that had been dormant since she had been a very young girl.<br/><br/>The woman unpacked her purchases, she had spent more today than she had in a long time. She took her new garments to the closet and put them away neatly before heading back to the kitchen where she unpacked her dinner. She used to love this dinner, why had she stopped enjoying it? Why had she stopped enjoying...everything? She took out a cutting board and a knife and stared at it and then put the knife away before placing the cheese, the pear, the baguette, and a small paring knife on it. The woman took those to the little table by the window. The oak table top looked so bare.... the woman went and rummaged for a table cloth and placed it on the table before putting the cutting board with her dinner back on it again and sitting down, staring at the spread. But something was still missing... she jumped up and after some rummaging around found it. She had looked for a candle but only found a tea-light and a booklet of matches. It would do.<br/><br/>That night she went to bed but couldn't sleep.<br/><br/><i>Tomorrow...</i><br/><br/>Her hand went between her legs and she touched herself, tentatively at first and then more greedily, but before she found her release, she removed her hand. She knew what she wanted, what she craved, and it wasn't her hand there, it wasn't release from her own hand which would set her free.<br/><br/>---<br/><br/>The woman looked at herself in the mirror. She wore a soft swirling skirt in a muted lavender, she didn't want to stand out too much, didn't want people to notice her and the bird of paradise behind her, didn't want to have them see their own private dance. Her nylon hose was gone, replaced with stockings and garter, she felt deliciously naughty, so daring and outrageous. Soon she would enter the train carriage again, seek out their alcove, seek out the bird of paradise.