My knees bent—feet in the air. Legs spread wide. I grip my own ankles and curve like a triangle while she ties the spiderweb ropes in tiny, beautifu... knots to my wrists.Isn’t her voice too deep to be a woman’s? Or does it just seem that way because I want her to be a man?“Jude, what’s classic C.F.M.?”She lifts my hips off the bed, jerking me in one motion to my knees and forcing my ass high. I tighten my grip on my ankles as my chest takes more of my weight. I fight the urge to put my. My mother had been very much the product of the upper class Britishsystem. The only child of an extremely wealthy family descended from thenobility, she had been privately educated until she went up to Oxford,where she met and fell in love with my father, a former Cambridge rugbyblue who was born in the Salford slums. Not that you could have toldwhere he was from after Manchester Grammar, Cambridge and Harvardpolished him into the dashing young oil company executive my mother metand fell in. More

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