I looked up and it was the farmer's wife. She was standing there with a coil of rope in her hand. Although she was older, perhaps about 50, I had long...admired her tight body and pretty face. Now here she was standing over me. She had caught me watching her daughter and jacking off in the hay loft when I should have been working."Um, I thought I was alone." I said."I know what you thought, but I can't let this stand."With that she walked towards me. I noticed how her hat covered her black hair. It was a smörgåsbord of occult objects, and they all had a very obvious motif: the key aspects of each were made of human body parts. And, in the center of it all, was a very creepy book, a big, fat, thick book that demanded she read it. Except, the cover was obviously made of skin, probably human skin, and if she opened it, she was likely to summon the Apocalypse.The book put everything else into context. This was the hunters’ stuff, the shaman’s stuff, and Antoinette had taken it from the. He ordered something. She wasn't in control of her faculties enough to know exactly what but it involved chocolate and whipped cream. As they waited he talked her back into herself, still leaving his finger where it was. When she was cognizant again, he instructed her to ask where the restroom was when the waiter came back. She already knew, they were at the front near the hostess station. She hadn't even gotten the whole word "why" out when he answered with his usual "you'll see." The dessert. And so it goes. Our bodies squirm to break away and squirm to stay attached. My legs are stronger and the urge to play with my brothers and sisters in intoxicating. We bite and push, roll and lunge. We begin to know that we are separate from each other and yet need each other. Our bodies are fluffed with soft fur. We each can see the other now and can put an image with the scent. There is an opening fin our den of warmth in which our mother comes and goes. It is bright with light and looks.
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