Something to be learned about completeness cannot be taught, sharing the limitation of one-handedness, mangled versions of ourselves take part in the scene between us. It isn't really M. speaking from a large leather chair, crossing her legs, telling the story of no panties, how she never wears any, but breathes slowly in a corset for a friend. I'm not her though I'm also not me.
Footsteps go by outside.
M. shows me her legs in a severe pair of high heels. But M. wants tips on the best nylons to wear, the tightest corsets, etc.