I'd heedMy parents' advice to read all I could."You're not through," they said, "and you never shouldBe so until the day of your death.Read on, read o..., until your final breath."So I read whatever books I could findAny and everywhere, whatever the bind.It so happened one day that I had occasionTo spend a weekend with a friend, a writer by vocation.This writer, known by name of Gerald,Wrote for the local newspaper, the Daily Herald.An interesting man was he, and to my familyWas he a good friend,. The next few pictures were variations of her discomfort, him bighting her throat, chewing on her nipples, her labia, and her inner thighs each leaving hickies or teeth-marks. Some showing her face each, of those with a look of contentment rather than horror or pain. On the next three pages the man was whipping her, these had a look of pained enjoyment, and he noticed that she dropped her hand to her crutch as she looked at each of the pictures, a distant look of one that was enjoying a great. More

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