She came on to me that day, in the ladies' washroom. She whisked my hair, I didn't utter a word. She helped me wash, I kept mute still. She nibbled on my nipples, through the wet bikini still clung to my skin. I, in awe, mouth agap, watching, wondering, a thousand and one thoughts going through my head... She fell on her knees, pleading: She was sorry. "Oh well, sorry for what? I don't get it. It's all complicated"
Then... The door flung open, a masculine figure. Just then, she fell on the floor. She was the victim. "Excuse me, I don't still get it!" He pounced on me. "How dare you touch my wife!" He was fuming with anger. Then it all dawned on me.
Rewind: She was being suspected all along. She lied that she wasn't but a woman was all over her; pestering or forcing to be with her.
Fast forward: To her husband, I was that "woman". He was bitter, I was the bad egg and she, the "victim". What an irony!

__Suzy

Cc: Ishilove, Obinnau