Usha 8211 A Sex Goddess 8211 Part 2
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LucianChapter 2 free porn video
Why do we think in absolutes so often, like good and bad, fire and water? Why, for instance, do we insist that there only should be men and women, and call that the natural order?
Isn’t that just a lack of imagination?
Lucian sat on a bench in the shadow of a big tree with a crown of flaming leaves – a sycamore, maybe? He loved the word, but he knew nothing about trees. It wasn’t an oak, surely – there were no acorns lying around.
He looked across the vast lawn to the school building.
“So you’ve been here for a while?” he asked the black-haired boy next to him.
After coming around from his exhausted fainting, Harper had taken him to Dr. Kurtz. “Just to be sure,” Coach insisted.
The doctor listened to his heart, and checked his blood pressure.
“You’re fine, honey,” she said, smiling. “Just hopelessly out of shape.”
Then she’d checked on his penis.
Lucian watched it rest on her gloved hand, pink on blue, feeling an embarrassing rush of blood starting to fill it out.
“You won’t need your jock strap anymore,” she said. “Unless you got attached to it?”
She chuckled, flashing her weak, ambiguous grin. He knew he blushed while pulling up his shorts. The slick nylon slid over the exposed head, increasing his erection.
Harper then took him into the labyrinth of the school’s belly, through corridors, dozens of doors and past halls until they arrived at what the boy called the library.
“To get your books and things,” he said.
The girl at the desk was thin and blond, a Barbie, he guessed. She wore an open dress shirt over a silk top and shorts – and ballet shoes, of course.
She could be any girl he’d seen before, and she smiled.
“You are Lucian, aren’t you?” she asked, offering her long, narrow hand. “I’m Aubrey, welcome.”
He grunted a reply, touching her fingers.
“We have your things here,” the girl went on, turning to a cardboard box on the desk. It had a sticker with his name on it. She picked it up and handed it to him.
“Good luck,” she wished. He smelled the school’s standard lotion on her.
“Ehm,” he said. “Shouldn’t I check?”
The girl shrugged. He put down the box and went through its content.
There were books on fashion, he saw, and a book with a large, beautifully made up eye on the cover. ‘Beauty 101’ it was titled.
“Are you sure these are for me?” he asked. “There must be a lot missing.”
The girl seemed puzzled. She leaned over to look into the box.
“Like what?” she asked. Lucian shifted through the books.
“Like math?” he asked. “Geography? Physics?” The girl’s smile returned.
“Ah yes,” she said. “We don’t have them.”
Lucian looked from the girl to the books. There was French and English. Music too. Etiquette and a book called Grace.
“I see ... I guess we get those on computer?” he asked. “iPads, maybe?”
She frowned, looking from Lucian to Harper, who shrugged.
“No,” she said. “We, ehm, we don’t have those classes.”
The boys already sat around the table in the small breakfast and lunch hall. They welcomed him with a lot of noise, calling him the Amazing Runner.
News spread fast.
There was a salad with crunchy bits, and a smoothie. There also was a lot of iced water – and pills. Dessert was fruit and yoghurt.
And now they were here, he and Harper, sitting on a bench across the big lawn – digesting. On the grass were groups of girls, lazing or studying, talking and laughing. On a distant lane he saw a number of joggers again, ponytails dancing.
“So you’ve been here for a while?” he asked the black-haired boy.
Harper smiled, turning his eyes to Lucian. They were dark and liquid, living in the shadow of his bangs.
“Been here for a year,” he said. “But they have this other school. Let’s call it middle school. I was there for two years. So were some of the others.”
“They?” Lucian asked. The boy shrugged.
“You know... , “ he said, letting the word dangle. Lucian watched the boy’s fingers fumble in his lap.
They were long and narrow.
“I know nothing,” Lucian answered. “I came here, what, three days ago, dumped by my mother, and I’m confused ever since. This school is weird man – silly clothes and ballet lessons and no math or physics. Are we the only boys?”
“No,” Harper said. “Lots of boys.” He shirked a bit closer and laid his left hand on Lucian’s.
Lucian removed his hand, causing the boy’s fingers to fall on his thigh. They started moving on the bare skin.
“I like you, Lucian,” Harper said. “Could we be friends?” Lucian looked from the hand on his leg to the boy’s face.
“Are you gay?” he asked. Harper didn’t respond, but his fingers drew a slow circle.
Lucian jumped to his feet.
“Fuck you!” he cried out. “Leave me alone. I’m not a faggot!”
Harper’s face flushed; his eyes grew huge.
“I... , “ he said, bringing his fingertips to his mouth. Then he slid off the bench, stood for a second and ran off.
“That wasn’t very nice, Lucian,” a voice said. He turned around; Drew was standing behind him.
She must have been one of the girls he saw running.
The loose tank top she wore had dark sweaty blotches. Her chest heaved as she panted, her throat gleaming with sweat. Nipples poked into the sticky fabric.
She frowned, causing a vertical crease to appear between her eyebrows; there was no smile.
“He ... he touched me,” Lucian said, hating how the word rose into a whine. “I’m not a faggot!”
The smile returned to Drew’s face. She stepped forward and held his shoulders. Her hands were hot.
“Of course you’re not,” she said, her face quite close to his. “But what if you were? Who cares?”
Lucian shrugged in a halfhearted effort to shake off her hands. Her scent rose like steam from her soaked body. He tried to avoid her eyes.
“So you prefer girls?” she asked, her head tilting as her gaze searched for his.
“Of course,” he said. She chuckled.
“Ah yes ... because you’re not a faggot.”
She leaned in and kissed his cheek. The touch felt electric. Then her soft lips found his. He trembled.
“Come,” she breathed. “Let’s walk a bit.”
She took his hand and led him down a narrow path into a thicket of trees and bushes until they reached a small clearing. No one could see them there. The sunlight was filtered; it was like a little green and gold and copper copula.
“I bet they called you faggot all the time,” she said, standing in front of him – close. “Or sissy.” She sighed. “Ah well, bullies all over the world have such a small vocabulary.”
She smiled.
The place was quiet; the sounds from the lawn were distant.
Lucian felt a drop of sweat trickle down his temple. He had never been this close to a girl as pretty as Drew. Her scent, her voice and her slow smile caused tightness in his crotch. He looked down; there was a bulge in the shining satin of his shorts. Drew chuckled. He blushed.
“Let’s kiss,” she said.
Her lips were soft and yielding; they also were hot and moist and open. He closed his eyes; his face seemed to sink into hers, like being absorbed.
Her tongue entered, finding his. A moan vibrated inside his head. Then her body pressed into his; he was touched by every square inch of her flesh.
He’d never kissed like this.
Maybe he never really kissed. The world vanished. There were only mouths kissing and arms embracing, hands feeling.
One of her hands took his and led it up her slick belly. It slid under the loose damp fabric of her top to find her breast. It was quite modest, not even a real breast, really; just a patch of softness on her ribs. But it had a hard center – a stiff, erect nipple nudging the palm of his hand.
Another moan caused new vibrations.
Led by hers, his hand made slow circles over her nipple. She pushed her chest into his palm, moving against the pressure.
Then she pulled it over to her other breast.
Lucian tightened at the very core of his being; a hot, sweet cramp radiated from the center of his crotch, spreading over his body.
It was an erection and yet it felt different.
His orgasms had always been fast and hasty affairs – lonely races towards release. But this was slow and subtle, centering at his crotch, but spreading through his body, making his fingers tingle and the hair on his neck prick.
“Good, so good,” the girl’s voice breathed into his kiss. He felt a pang of pride.
Her hand pushed his down her body, finding the waistband of her loose running shorts. Her belly was flat and firm under soft skin; there was no hair on her mound – and there were no panties.
The skin felt slick, damp even, and very hot.
Then he found the nub, and as soon as he did, she stiffened in his embrace, crying out.
Lucian had fondled a girl only once before.
It had been a hurried and sweaty affair in a dark corner at school. The memory was a mixture of throat-clenching excitement and utter humiliation. He’d felt the girl’s little breasts through her top, and her pussy through her panties. She’d humped against his fingers. Then her cell phone beeped.
She’d pulled it out, looked on it and pushed him away.
“Thanks,” she’d mumbled, and she’d left him standing.
He hadn’t felt a nub in the girl’s crotch, back then, but he hadn’t been into her panties, had he? He knew about clits, though. He’d read they were usually tiny, but they could vary a lot, like nipples.
What he felt on Drew was big, he guessed – the size of maybe a finger’s first joint. It was wet and slippery. And, according to her reactions, it was very sensitive.
He rubbed and she humped. Then she said: “Lower.” Her hand pushed his hand lower while she spread her thighs.
“Put it in,” she panted. “Put your finger in.”
Drew leaned back onto his supporting arm, pushing her pelvis forward and spreading her legs wider. An opening yielded to his probing fingers. Two of them slipped inside. Her pussy was tight around his digits, but it seemed to inhale them.
His fingers slid into a hot tunnel with moist, satiny walls. Soon he was up to his knuckles into her vagina.
Drew started humping.
“Fuck me,” she breathed. “Fuck me deeper.” And her open mouth found his again in a greedy kiss.
In the tight space between them he felt her fingers fondling her own nipples and her clitoris; the backs of her hands bumped against his chest and belly. She arched and stiffened. Then she cried out.
Her spasms strangled his fingers.
She came and in her throes she slipped out of his embrace to fall on the ground. Her shorts were down her thighs. Her crotch shone with a whitish liquid that still welled up from the stubby nub. It leaked into the crack of her ass cheeks. He saw the opening where his fingers had been.
The nub looked purplish and at its center was a slit, producing the milky liquid.
Drew wasn’t a girl at all.
She groaned and scrambled to her feet, pulling up her shorts. She stood panting, looking at him and then turning her eyes away.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “So sorry.” And she ran off, becoming a rustle in the bushes.
He was alone.
Standing under the roof of leaves, his ears seemed to pop open. Sounds returned – the birds sang, he heard a distant airplane. His hand, still slick from the girl’s orgasm, moved over the satin crotch of his shorts, cupping his bulge.
It felt like holding a hot little animal.
When he squeezed, incredible sensations spread through his legs and belly. There was no hard cock to hold onto, just this soft swollen creature rolling and roiling inside his hand. And then it started – like a private earthquake, shaking in slow motion.
He trembled.
His knees gave in and he fell to the earth, his body feeling like a high-pressure cooker with no lid to pull off. His ears buzzed. A scream wanted out, but his throat blocked its way.
Lucian fell forward, his brow to the earth – musky, moist earth.
One hand kept squeezing; the other pushed a fist into his gasping mouth.
He exploded.
It was the slowest explosion ever, creeping into every niche and crevice of his body. It sang in his ears and pounded in his temples, going on and on – and on.
Sobbing he crouched on the fragrant earth. His body convulsed, his teeth bit his fist and his hot breath gushed around it.
Lucian had no idea how long his orgasm lasted – or if it was an orgasm at all.
It felt quite different from what he knew.
It gathered from the extremities of his body – his toes, his fingers, the hair in his neck – like a summer storm on a sweltering day, taking ages to gather before pouring and thundering down.
As he lay on his knees shaking, his mind needed minutes to clear. Still squeezing his cock, he heard squelching noises. The satin crotch of his shorts looked dark and soaked. Liquid leaked down his inner thighs – tears poured down his cheeks.
So the girl was not a girl. And if she wasn’t a girl, what did that make him ... kissing her, fingering her, coming hard?
Lucian rose to his feet.
His legs trembled. All he saw were sun-dappled leaves as he looked around. How could he walk across the open lawn, looking like this – disheveled, flushed, his crotch a big stain?
Falling to his knees again, he fought new tears.
He jerked off a homo and fucked him in the ass with his fingers. He stared down on his hand and brought it to his nose.
All he smelled was his own sperm, he guessed.
In his mind he repeated ‘homo – fucking – ass.’ The words added up to a sickening truth, and yet, he couldn’t tie it to Drew; he just couldn’t put her sweet smiling face on it.
Faggots were guys, weren’t they, maybe with limp wrists and hysterical voices, but they were never like Drew.
Drew might not be a girl, but she wasn’t a guy either, was she?
Lucian rubbed the tips of his fingers together.
There had been a knob in her crotch, a distinct nub. He had never felt a girl’s clitoris, but he was sure it hadn’t been that – and not a penis either.
He knew his own penis, didn’t he? And he’d seen others’ in school showers – small ones and intimidating thick and long ones. He’d felt his own penis grow and get hard in the grip of his jerking fist.
Drew’s had been soft; her whole crotch had been a soaking swamp; no hardness, no hair, no ... balls. No balls? He tried to retrace his chaotic memories.
No.
There had been this little slippery bump, poking up like a baby’s thumb from soft, swelling flesh. Feeling lower there had been slick skin, soft like a pillow until his fingers entered a tight hole, sliding in – no balls, no sac, nothing.
But there had been sperm.
A cold ripple ran up his spine. What did he know anyway? He’d seen the sperm; it had looked and smelled like his own. His fingers had been sticky with it. It welled up from the slit in the knob’s head, flooding and ebbing like a pulse.
Lucian groaned.
The faces of elegant, ballet-shoed girls popped up in his mind; they were all smiling. He recalled Harper’s smoldering gaze under the ink-black bangs, feeling the boy’s fingers on his thigh, drawing circles. And he saw Charlie – the petite porcelain puppet.
Lucian knew he had to get away.
His clothes were gone from the room; the suitcase too.
In his closet he found piles of neatly folded satiny outfits, pretty panties and ballet shoes. On a rack hung a number of standard oversized dress shirts in whites and pastels. His old teddy bear sat perched on his pillow, its one remaining ear bound with a satin bow.
Lucian pulled off his sticky shorts.
He’d run across the lawn as fast as he could; there hadn’t been many people left. No one stopped him or even called out to him. The corridors were busier, but he ignored all passers-by until he stood panting in front of his own door.
Lucian walked into his bathroom and washed his crotch.
Studying his penis, he saw no changes but for the missing foreskin. His ball sac might be tighter, but his balls were there.
He wondered what to wear.
He could hardly see himself out there trying to hitch a ride in short shorts even if they weren’t pink, or in ballet shoes either. There was no money and nothing to eat. He sagged down on the bed when knuckles rapped on the door.
“Go away!” he yelled.
The door opened; it couldn’t be locked. The boy Harper stood against the light.
“Sorry for what I did,” he said in a low voice. “I didn’t know...” Then he took a step forward, tilting his head as he studied Lucian’s face. “Have you been crying?” he asked.
“Go away,” Lucian repeated, averting his eyes. But Harper didn’t leave.
Lucian felt a weight depressing the mattress next to him. An arm slid around his shoulder. He jumped to his feet.
“I said go away!”
Lucian stood panting – trembling.
Harper looked up at him from the bed, his eyes calm. He wore a tight lycra sports outfit. It made him look thin, but toned. His black hair was a mess. Why was it so hard to admit the boy was gorgeous and that his beauty touched him?
Lucian shook his head.
“They are all boys, aren’t they?” he asked.
The boy on the bed said nothing.
“Aren’t they?” Lucian repeated.
“Depends,” Harper said, shrugging. “You mean Kelly and Mu and Jo, Cassidy and Taylor and us, the Bobs?”
Lucian groaned.
“Don’t act stupid. I mean all of them,” he said, raising his voice. To his frustration the boy shrugged again.
“I guess so,” he said.
Lucian took a step closer, trembling from the need to shake the boy.
“You guess so?”
Harper leaned back, looking afraid.
“I don’t know what to call them!” he blurted out. “They look like girls, I mean the Barbs, don’t they?”
Lucian sank to his haunches in front of Harper, his hands resting on the bed at both sides of the boy’s sleek, strong legs.
“Drew is not a girl,” he said, slowly. “She has a penis and no vagina. I saw it.”
Harper slumped, looking away.
“You knew,” Lucian said, rising.
Harper looked up; his black eyes liquid.
“Yes,” he said. “Drew is not a girl; but she isn’t a boy either, is she? You must have seen that too.”
Lucian recalled the tiny nub and the lack of balls, the softness. But he didn’t want to talk about that.
“Are the others like her?” he asked. Harper was silent. “The other Barbs?” Lucian insisted.
“I only know of a few,” Harper offered, almost whispering. “Just one more, really – Nico, and Drew of course.”
Lucian recalled the Asian girl waiting at the table, yesterday – the way he’d watched her ass. He sat down next to the boy. The bed squeaked.
“What are they, Harper?” he asked. “Are they born that way? Is it an accident maybe? Or were they... ?” He could not finish the thought.
“I don’t know,” Harper said. “You should ask them.”
He rose from the mattress.
“But I came to pick you up and take you to Mamselle,” he said. “We have to run.”
Lucian stalled; then he followed.
The room Harper took him to didn’t look like a room at all.
It was huge and tiled from floor to ceiling. There were no windows, just a horizontal glass slit that let the daylight in. It ran all around, high up where ceiling and walls met.
It was a public bathroom, obviously, with showerheads on two walls, maybe twenty of them. One other wall was covered by a row of open closets. Lucian saw rungs and hangers.
The last wall had wide ledges carrying neatly folded towels and piles of satiny garment.
Everything was white – the tiles, the textiles and the closets.
The red-haired boy, Kelly, was already there, naked, his skin a riot of freckles. He greeted Harper with a cry, embracing him in a bear hug. His skinny limbs were everywhere. His groping hands helped Harper to strip.
They wrestled, grunting and groaning.
The redhead’s pale body made a striking contrast with the dark boy’s olive skin. They were both thin and hairless but they sure were boys, penises and balls swinging as they wrestled.
Their groans and screams echoed off the tiled walls.
“Come,” Harper said, panting as he pushed Kelly away. “Let’s get showered.”
The classroom didn’t look like a classroom either.
When they sauntered in, only clad in short white robes, Lucian saw a row of mirrors along three of the walls. Below them were ledges carrying all kinds of pots and bottles and things. He saw brushes and sponges.
The air was a riot of sweet scents.
In the open space at the center of the room were barber’s chairs. Next to one of them stood a tiny woman and a tall, blond girl – smiling.
“You are Lucian,” the small woman said.
She pronounced his name ‘Lucièn,’ putting the emphasis on the last syllable.
“Lúcian,” he corrected.
She ignored him, turning to the blond girl while raising her eyebrows, questioning.
“Hair,” the girl said. “And the usual intro.”
The woman’s dark button eyes were all over him.
“Pas mal,” she said. “Not bad.”
She took quick, silent steps toward him. Her blanched skin seemed spotless, her round face void of any wrinkles. She might be thirty or she might be sixty. A small, bony hand reached for his hair, touching the curls.
“Si mignon,” she whispered. “How cute.”
Her eyes squeezed into slits as a smile touched her cherry-red lips. Then she stepped aside and pointed at the chair.
“Assied-toi, chéri. Please be seated.”
Lucian looked from her to Harper, who shrugged. The boy pointed at his own hair.
“You’ll get a haircut,” he said. “A bob like us, the usual.”
Lucian leaned back, closing his eyes as hot water hit his scalp. Fingers ran through his hair, getting tangled up in its curls.
“I’m Mackenzie. Everyone calls me Mac.” He supposed the voice belonged to the hands washing his hair.
“Lucian,” he mumbled. The fingers massaged his skull; it felt good.
“So thick and curly,” the girl said. “You have lovely hair.”
He didn’t respond, having heard the compliment often before, usually accompanied by the line ‘like a girl’s.’ Keeping his eyes shut he sank deeper into the chair’s cool leather. One by one his muscles relaxed; all sounds seemed to drown in the gurgling water.
The hands started massaging the shampoo in, before once again rinsing it out with a spray of hot, soothing water.
Perfume hung around him like a cloud, stirring an uneasy mixture of arousal and embarrassment. He knew the feeling; it hit him whenever he relaxed enough to stop minding. It caused a tingling of the skin, and a tightening of the crotch, always followed by a rush of shame.
He sighed.
Then a sticky, warm fluid engulfed the fingers of his right hand. It startled him. He looked and saw the blond top of another girl’s head. She knelt at his side, her fingers rubbing the stuff over and around his nails.
A freckled face looked up at him, smiling to show braced front teeth.
“Hello, Lucian,” she said with a lisp. “I’m Honor; I do your nails.” She started filing. He just mumbled, as a towel sank over his head and hands started drying his hair.
This was all wrong, he knew. He should pull himself free and run.
“Call her Honey,” the other girl said. “We all do.” The girl with the brace looked up, smiling.
Scissors snapped at his hair; a girl filed the nails of his fingers and toes. Then a blower sent hot wind through his hair; a hand lifted it, pushing it left and right. He should feel irritated, embarrassed, alarmed – but he didn’t. He just felt woozy from being handled, taken care of with so much attention.
It was all, just, well, too much.
Then hands tugged at the sash on his robe. He tried to stop them, but was too late. Cool air caressed his exposed body.
“You can’t,” he said, but it was a whisper, drowned in gasps from the girls.
“Il est beau, non?”
It was the voice of the petite woman. He felt fingertips run over his skin. “Doux et blanc – soft and pale, hardly any hair at all.”
As the hand reached the skin over his penis, Lucian pulled free and jumped off the chair. His hands covered his crotch; he trembled.
“Don’t!” he said. “Just don’t.” His voice sounded higher than he intended. Closing the short robe around him he made for the exit – pushing aside the girl Mackenzie.
The door was locked. He turned around.
“Open it!” he yelled. “Let me out.”
The girls looked at him in silence; so did the boys who were in the back of the room. The petite lady shrugged.
“Don’t be a fool, Lucian,” she said, her accent almost gone. Her small hand patted the chair’s armrest.
“Come and sit. We obviously need to talk.”
Lucian didn’t budge. His hand pushed down the door’s handle – to no avail.
“I don’t want this,” he said, glad that his voice sounded almost normal. “None of ... of this.” He made an encompassing gesture indicating the room.
The woman smiled. God, he got sick of the omnipresent smiling. She turned to Harper.
“Show him... ‘Arpèr, please?” she asked.
Harper flicked the dark bangs out of his eyes. He rose and, walking forward, opening his robe. It fell to the floor.
“You too,” the woman said, addressing Kelly as she snapped her fingers.
Kelly rose too, dropping his robe. The two stood together, arms crossed at their backs, showing their naked bodies, one slick and olive, the other spangled with a myriad of freckles.
Harper’s penis was dark and quite long. Kelly’s was pink and stubby.
The petite woman turned back to Lucian.
“You see what I see?” she asked. He didn’t respond. His hand still held the door’s handle.
“I see two boys,” the woman went on, walking over to Harper on her soundless slippers. She let her tiny hand run over his shoulder and down his arm. “And they aren’t ugly, not even clumsy or bony like many boys their age.
They are beautiful.”
She stretched the last word, emphasizing the last syllable. It allowed her accent to crawl back in. Flashing a smile to Lucian she said:
“And you don’t want this?”
Lucian watched her hand touch Harper’s hip. The boy looked straight ahead.
“You make them into girls. I don’t want to become a girl!”
The words left him like a hoarse, raspy groan, curling up into a whine. The silence it created lasted for two seconds before it was filled with a chuckle.
“Ah oui!” the woman said, turning the word into a hissing sigh. “Who’d ever want to be a girl?” Her hand reached for Harper’s crotch, cradling his soft penis and balls. “Do you, ‘Arpèr?” she asked him. “Do you want to become a girl?”
The boy never looked down.
“Of course not, Mamselle,” he said.
Mamselle kept her eyes on the dark, rather plump penis. Her thumb started caressing its exposed head. Then she smiled up at the boy, whose face blushed deeply.
“Don’t be ashamed of its size, it’ll get better,” she said, nodding. “Undress please, Mackenzie,” she went on, pronouncing it Mackahnsíe. “You too, ‘Onór.”
There was a soft rustle of clothes when both girls obliged. They stood straight, hands on their backs like the boys. Their feet stood in a silk puddle of discarded clothes.
Mackenzie was a head taller than the other blonde; she was also more tanned, except for little pale triangles over her nipples. Her chest curved softly, but there were no breasts. And in a triangle frame of whiteness over her crotch Lucian saw a stubby knob against bare, hairless skin.
The girl Honor was all-pale and petite. Her nipples were pale too, surrounded by areolas of pink – and in the cradle of her thighs rested a soft little penis.
They might not be boys, but they certainly couldn’t be girls. They had the hair of angels and the faces of cherubs, but the crotches of a boy child.
Lucian’s fingers tightened around the handle.
“I’m not... this,” he insisted nodding to the naked couple, but there was a hesitation in his voice – a question mark?
“No,” the woman said, losing her thin-lipped smile. “But you will be.”
“I ... won’t.” Lucian heard his hesitation. “Ever,” he added.
Mamselle nodded. Then she turned to the naked foursome.
“Please leave us for a bit, mes enfants,” she asked, handing Harper the key. They picked up their robes and hurried off. Harper touched Lucian’s hand as he went for the handle to open the door.
Lucian withdrew as if stung.
“Sit down, please, Lucien,” the small woman asked when they were alone, giving his name a French ring. “We really need to talk.”
The longer he stood, the sillier he felt. The door was unlocked now, he could leave. The woman seemed to read his mind.
“Yes,” she said, walking closer. “You can run, chéri. No doubt you’re good at that – done it a lot. But what is the point? Where would you run? Or even more precise: what is it really that you run from?”
Dottie
- 15.06.2021
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