"What is your name?"My name?I gape for a moment. None of the other 'customers' or 'clients' have ever asked me that before. It doesn't matter to them....I am merely a collection of holes to fuck…mouth, pussy, or ass…not a person. The way this man speaks to me now, though, I can tell he expects an answer. I can tell he views me as a thinking, self-aware being.But I'm afraid too. Is it a trap? Dare I tell him my name? I know the men who work here have given me a number. I try giving him that. First she would go to the Outlet Mall, visiting the stores American Eagle and Aeropostale, two of her many favourite stores. When she finished shopping, she drove over to Starbucks, sitting in one of the outside tables. She took a sip of her smoothie, looking around. Then she caught one boys eyes, familiarity running through her. She recognized that cute face, those chocolate eyes, the soft blonde hair…Michael. Her ex-boyfriend, Michael. Whom, in fact- she still had feelings for. He began to. More

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