Where had I been? This body, it didn't seem right to me. Could I have been someone else thirty years ago? But that didn't make sense. How could a pers...n turn into a different one? Still, it would neatly explain why I was unfamiliar in my body. I roused a bit from my speculations to see Elle still standing, calmly waiting for my answer."It, it just is."She kept looking at me, waiting for more, I suppose. I retreated back into my head to think some more on this. Why was I not hysterical at the. After all, sometimes love is when your neurosis mesh. But… What if being continually degraded is not okay with her? What if there is gut-deep resentment over her sexual exploitation that turns her love into revulsion? How does a woman feel about a husband who can only make love to her after she’s gagged on God-knows-who’s cock and had her vagina creamed into by some faceless guy or group of guys with questionable hygiene and worse breath? Returning to the bridge geometry metaphor, such ego. More

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