I made it through the AIDS era. I was not entirely unscathed. I had two abortions. Those tiny skeletons are buried in another part of the closet. One ... refuse to open, one I refuse to remember. The bones of their fathers are buried in there as well. One father I didn’t know. The only time we spoke was at his arraignment. He was my rapist, though, I consider him nothing more than just another lover. I was with him longer that night than most of my one night stands. It shames me to know that. "Dina rose gracefully to her feet, and twirling with lithe movements, took the pitcher of orange juice left at our table, poured it into a glass, knelt again with a little pirouette, took the glass and touching it briefly to her sex, her breasts and then kissing the glass, turned the glass to face her master and handed it up to him on upraised arms, saying, "This slave would ask that her master accept this juice as a sign that she finds favor in her masters eyes." The whole thing was done. More

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