She had fully accepted her tutelage, and was urging him to teach her more. He got over to the bed and sat next to her. He could smell her, a crude but...delightful musk of sweat, pheromones and female secretes. He rested his eyes on her firm buttocks, which bore a slightly rosy hue of her hot blood coursing through her young body. It was as if she felt his lingering gaze, or maybe she saw his eyes wander trough the dusk of the room, but she asked him gently; - What’s the next. Until age 13 her hair, which must have been made of golden fibers spun by Rumpelstiltskin himself, was constantly flapping behind her, tangling into knots like a sparrow’s nest. She was always chasing something. Her baby brother, their family tabby cat that acted more like a dog, the football as she dominated boys twice her size all across the pitch. And whether she realized or not, I was always there chasing her, though mostly in a metaphorical sense. The summer she was 13, in 1932, just a. More

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