Chapter One

An Incident In The Supermarket

It all started, innocently enough, in a local supermarket when two shopping trolleys crashed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! That was careless of me; here, let me pick up your supplies!”

Sappho was cruising the aisles when the collision occurred; she’d stopped to check a row when the top layer of her packages started rolling around her feet and, as she turned, she saw an elegant, ebony-coloured, fellow looking straight into her eyes.

“Look, I just wasn’t watching where I was going and I’d be happy to pay for your groceries into the bargain. Anyway, let’s get this stuff back in and we can take it from there.”

Sappho hadn’t responded; she just stood there, looking chic, calmly letting him talk himself out, and then, all of a sudden, she opened her lips, flashed her teeth and smiled; “Ok, you great big clumsy oaf, you can pack it and then you can pay for it!”

She carried on smiling, which helped her suitor to break into a grin, then he introduced himself; “Ma’am, I’m Jackson and I shop here every now and then. I’m hosting a dinner party tonight and need a few things.”

“Oh, you cook, too?”

“Well, Icancook but this is a special occasion so I’ve arranged for Caterers to do the job; all I’m doing is backing up my stores to make sure there’s something in there for tomorrow.”

“You know, I’m so pleased to hear that because the way you drive your trolley makes me wonder how you’d tackle anything in the kitchen!”

Sappho still hadn’t moved; she’d straightened-up, turned on the spot and was facing him, almost front-on, but her poise matched his. She was wearing a heavy cotton, loose-fitting white blouse, a few buttons open at the neck, the collar half turned-up at the back; the sleeves were billowing, buttoned at the cuff and the whole lot was tucked under a broad leather belt into a below-the-knee red pencil skirt.

She wore red, high-heeled shoes and flesh-coloured hold-ups accompanied by simple jewellery; a signet ring, hoop-earrings, a watch, bracelet and a thin gold chain around her neck. Sappho’s hair is auburn, heavy, shoulder-length and the delicate perfume surrounding her was already catching Jackson’s nostrils. As he scanned her face he picked out her subtle eye-make up, the ruby lipstick and knew he was on his way to heaven.

What he couldn’t know was that Sappho never wore underwear. Since her initiation she’d abandoned bras and panties and maintained a depilate