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The room was full of lemons, lemons everywhere. More lemons than I could count. They were on the bedside table, on the chairs, on the floor and on the bed; one hundred lemons, maybe more. Why? Why so many lemons?  This was the strangest bedroom I’d been in for a while.
She smiled at me and touched my neck with her cold hands, I kissed her gently, my hands exploring her neck and back. I was worried, I'd drunk a lot of wine; would I be too clumsy?  Would everything work? But she was enjoying my touches and making all the right noises and everything seemed to be working just fine. Her kisses were hot and wet, her skin was soft, her fingers gentle. We were complete strangers but we were getting to know each other very quickly. My hands explored her body, enjoying its newness. I was enjoying the noises she was making as I covered her body in gentle kisses. Her body smelled of the pub and Chanel number 5, the room smelled of lemons. Her eyes were nearly closed, her face was red, her breathing was heavy. Then, in a moment, it was over. She smiled at me and stroked my cheek, her eyes glowing. She looked so beautiful, so gentle.   
‘You should go,’ she said in a sleepy, smiley voice. 
‘I know,’ I said, I didn't want to leave the nice, warm bed, but I had work in the morning. 
I kissed her cheek then got up. I went to the bathroom, splashed some water on my face, put my jeans on and let myself out. I never asked her why there were so many lemons. 
But then two weeks later I saw her face on the front page of a newspaper next to the headline Black Widow Killer. I read the article. 

The story said this woman took men back to her house, had sex with them and then murdered them as soon as they’d finished. The police had found a room full of body parts. The lemons were there to hide the smell. I’d had a lucky escape. I did have one question though – why hadn’t she killed me too?

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