There was a woman. There was a boy. Laid her hands on him. Adult hands. Repeated. Guilty. Pleasures. An untruth. A lie. To be used. To control. To make him return. Hands everywhere. Boy’s clothes. Unbuttoned. Fingers. Thumbs. Unzipped. Not yet a man. No longer a child. What pleasure. Photographs. Evidence. Out of reach. To be used. Then. An invite. Saturday in May. Follow me. But keep your distance. Street. Cul De Sac. Road. New houses. Red brick juries. Follow me. But keep your distance. A woman. A boy. An agricultural lane. Bracken. Both sides. Elevation. Half way. An entrance. Left side. Gypsies. Follow me. But keep you distance. Bracken breaks into fields. Both sides. A fork. Two roads. There was a woman. There was a boy. Laid her hands on him. Secret place. Hidden by bracken. Fields. Rope. Her back pocket. Not today. Twinge of extra excitement. Next time.
You have a talent to tease with so few words, to build suspense and leave the reader hanging at the end.