On the floor is his crushed heart. Richard sits back down and takes the pile of photos out of the case and places them on the table. Yes, that’s Joa.... Her head is turned to the man and herlips are on his but her eyes are on whoever is taking the picture. The man is a mirror image of Joan. Without thinking he turns the photo over and looks at the next. It is an old Polaroid of the same man standing next to a door without a shirt. Turning to the next he sees the same man in a close up of his. The camera focused on the white hands for a moment as they slid from the black woman’s lower back to her firm, toned ass. She moaned out loud and shifted her legs, spreading them to give her masseuse better access. ‘The better to touch you with,’ the masseuse purred back. The camera stayed stationary but it was perfectly clear that the masseuse was working an entirely different set of muscles than the last massage Lynn had. The white woman’s forearm started flexing and the corded muscles. More

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