Bianca had always wanted to do it while hanging from the clothesline. It’s not that she was kinky; more experimental, more versatile. It was one of those silly things that occasionally popped into her head. Wouldn’t it be fun to flap in the breeze with the shirts and underpants and tea-towels, and do it!
But who with, for goodness sake? And what of the backs of her knees? Wouldn’t the wire bite into her skin?
At last, the opportunity presented itself. She had met a resourceful man, covered in tats, riddled with piercings, ever-so-slightly balding. He was willing, he said, to try anything once. This was her moment.
But first, Bianca must ask her doctor about the backs of her knees. The doctor forbade it. It wasn’t, he said, an advisable thing for an octogenarian to be doing.