She looked over her should to see herhusband weeping and her daughter trying their best to console. "Paul.Ginger. Come have a seat with us. We need...to talk." Let's go, honey," Paul said to his 48-year old, male daughter. Thetightness of the jeans was foreign to Paul, and he cringed internally ashe felt his underwear run up his... nevermind. Ginger was having theopposite problem. She felt like a caveman, with her scratchy beard, hairon her arms and legs, and limbs that were much more. I inhale. I exhale. We talk.Talk turns to business. To needs and wants. He wants and I need. But not here, in the cab. Not for what he wants. Not for what I need. He steps out and walks around to my open door. I had made to leave but stopped, my eyes unfocused and my legs unsteady. He leads me down. But no romance, not in this. He leads me to the back of his lorry. He stands, his back to the large metal doors, leaning in. I crouch. I fumble, he helps and his trousers are open. His hands on my. More

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