a fourth new story ... 'the room next door'

Gillian came into the room.  She had her light blue shirt open, and I could see her belly button and side breasts.  The dog padded after her, following an invisible trail.  Gillian had on a pair of white lace knickers.  ‘Sleep well?’, she asked.  I moved to get up, and my chair scraped across the wood-board floor.  We met in the middle of the room.  I placed my hands on her shoulders.  And she looked down at the dog, sniffing around our feet.  ‘Yes’, ‘OK’, I said, and brought the crown of her head to my lips and kissed it.  She took my wrists gently, but firmly, and lowered my arms, pressed her dark head of hair into my chest.  She shuddered, then sniffled.  The dog whined.  I put both of my hands on the top part of her back, just underneath her shoulder blades.  ‘Have you fed him?’, I asked.  I meant the dog.  ‘Yesh’, Gillian said, head still buried in my chest.  I was wearing a thick woolen Guernsey.  It was cold, even for October.  The cold made Gillian shiver.  ‘Put some clothes on’, I said.  The dog was now nosing around the tatty, kapok mattress where I had slept, nosing around my dirty, old sleeping bag, the zip-fly broken long ago.  Gillian turned her head to one side and put her cheek against my chest, ‘I’m cold’, she said.  ‘It’s cold for October’, I said.  ‘The log fire – did it burn out?’, she said.  I said it did, but I wasn’t awake all night because of it; what with Gillian in the room next door, with her loyal-stupid dog.