In the shower she washed and ran her hand over her mound. She felt good. It was all so illicit; so out of the ordinary. She could forget that she was ... wife and mother. It was late afternoon, she had time on her hands and she was in a hotel room with a man waiting in the bar for her. She could feel bristles on her mound; it had been a couple of days since she had last shaved. She spotted his razor resting by the wash basin. “Would he mind her using it?” she wondered. She stepped out of the. "No photographer was able to see or photograph what the Bishop saw standing behind the crowd as he concluded his remarks: a row of nine Priests, shoulder to shoulder in black suits. Their faces were ghastly white. Black sockets gaped where eyes should be. At first he'd vaguely wondered why they were there. He recognized each as 'problem priests' that he'd been forced to transfer out of the city. When he looked more closely he saw that these were not human faces. They were ghastly, horrible. More

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