Barbara Ann was not at all jealous that I was now Mistress Red’s slave boy and carpet muncher extraordinaire myself either. She was confident that I...loved her, and that was more than enough to stabilize her badly faltering world now.Me on the other hand still had issues I was trying to come to grips with. The whole macho “real men don’t eat kasha” thing was creating major conflicts in my badly bruised psyche. Mistress Red’s blunt handling of me didn’t help any either. For the time being, I was. She would sit just looking at the trees, her eyes alight with wonder, like a small child. And she would run, kicking at the drifts of fallen leaves, laughing and gasping as they crackled and crunched beneath her feet, barely noticing the misting rain, creating a halo as it settled on her hair. A line from a song drifted into my head: ‘You always loved this time of year’. Well, not quite. Actually, a lot of the time, she hated it. It meant the end of sunny days and warm endless evenings with the. More

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