P. Bowie @page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } Chapter Four Jean-Claude's condominium was only two blocks from my apartment—convenient, huh? "I've seen you run by here almost every morning," he told me as he ushered me inside. "That is when I was first intrigued by the sight of you—in those little shorts!" He had picked up a remote from the coffee table and pointed it at his CD player. The sensuous sounds of a woodwind instrument filled the room. "So, you wanted me for my body, not my mind," I kidded him, looking around the spacious living room. I don't know what I'd expected his place to look like, antique furniture maybe, but it was decorated in a minimalist style, lots of space and clean lines. "Yes," he said, smiling. "And I still want your body." He unbuttoned my shirt and slipped his hands inside, caressing the sides of my torso. "Will you stay a while?" "Mmm, you bet. What's that music?" "Part of Brahms clarinet concerto. Do you like it?" I opened my mouth to say yes, when my cell phone jangled in my pocket.
