It’s...it’s a bloody tent .” “I’ve always slept in it,” I replied defensively. She was staring at it with horrified fascination. “It would strangle me,” she said. “It’s an offence against human rights, that’s what it is. Do you really enjoy sleeping in it?” “I always have.” It sounded silly even to my own ears the second time around. “Well,” she said, sitting on her bed, leaning back on her elbows with her legs apart, “why don’t you try doing without it?” It was one of those moments that change lives. To this day I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I’d merely turned towards the bathroom with the Mother Hubbard draped over my arm. Instead, I looked at her – really looked, for the first time since she had taken her clothes off. She was amazingly, achingly beautiful. Imagine her body, in the light of the one table lamp that was burning – like a marble statue, the light shining on the tops of her breasts, outlining the discs of her areolae, her nipples jutting like little bullets into the air. The plain of her belly, with the deep well of her navel a pit of shadow, more shadow covering the triangle between her slim, muscular housewives thighs. She raised a hand, and her fingers were like birds flying through the night. “We’ll be living together in this room, you know,” she said. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about if there is nothing left to hide.” I looked at her for what seemed a very long time but must have been only twenty or thirty seconds. There was a metallic taste in my mouth and my heart was hammering. I could fisting barely feel my lips moving, forming words. “All right,” my mouth said. I didn’t know until I’d said it that I was going to say it. I probably was going Deep throat to say something like “Well, maybe sometime else,” and walk off to change into the Mother Hubbard in the tiny bathroom. But at that instant I had a mental image of my mum, and the look in her eyes that always proclaimed “I gave birth to you, so you’re my property, and you’ll do what I tell you.” Part of me suddenly decided I didn’t have to anymore. My body – I can still remember it clearly – took over control from what remained of my conscious will. My arm straightened, and dropped the Mother Hubbard to the floor; I never wore it again, and a week later I threw kitchen it away. “Feels like you haven’t missed Deep throat a beat.” She tosses me back the ball. The GRAY KNIGHTS, of which the writer of this story is one: are the ‘cities of refuge’ for the inhabitants of the village that get into trouble with others there, and their safety is guaranteed for a maximum of two weeks, while tempers cooled down and arrangements for reconciliations could be arranged. He loved its strong aroma. I then began licking and sucking her from her clit to her ass. “Yup. It would hurt just as her nipples had hurt but the soreness was almost gone now. They need your body to reach The Divine and in return, they lift you to the euphoric heights needed for you to do the same. I only ever wore those at home, and would fill kitchen them with socks or something to make it look like I really had boobs. I groaned and squirmed on the bed. With fisting loving smiles on their faces, they leaned in, smothering my face with their luscious breasts. Later when I open it contains a wad of high denomination banks notes and a note housewives that reads, ‘You were magnificent for both of us.