He nearly trips over a little girl, sitting cross-legged on the floor, tears streaming down her face. Her hair is long and spider-web fine, matted and...knotted from burying her head in her arms. It's me, when I was younger, maybe five or six. I remember a scene I hadn't known I'd forgotten, of waiting for my father to come home from work. I remember now, pacing at the door, watching the hands of the wall clock speed carelessly by as I agonised over his arrival. One minute later than the time I'd. She worked her way down to my waist, undid my jaeans from the front and pulled them down my legs. I kicked of my sandals and stepped out of my jeans. I felt like a Greek god with her as my slave paying homage to my holy body. She continued to rub the cool cream into my skin, starting at my ankles and working up to my crotch. I just stood there absorbing all this pleasure, looking at her caressing and massaging by body. “These will be removed”, she said and tugged at my innerwear. I helped her. More

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