All Under Control!
Author's Note: The following story contains certain adult themes, including sex, which may cause some people discomfort or offense. If you think you may be one of these people, then I recommend you do not read any further. I write for the pleasure of myself and those who enjoy what I can create, but I have no desire to push it on anyone else.
On the other hand, if you like it, please let me know! Write to me at ehy_1 at ya hoo dot com.
Every now and then, you see a woman who is just so stunningly perfectly lovely that it is impossible to believe that she could have occurred by the same process that produced your mother, your sister, you yourself, and all the other ordinary human beings you see. You know what I mean, don't you? The hair, perfectly cut, perfectly brushed, not a strand out of place. The face, smooth and unblemished, every gentle curve looking as if it must have been carefully hand-polished. The lips so well-shaped, so sharp-edged, so soft. Hands and fingers delicate and pale, not stained or dirty or wrinkled or veined like ordinary people's hands, like your hands. Breasts, and waist, and hips, and legs. well, I don't have to go on. You've seen one or two of these, I'm sure. From a distance, most likely. She was probably with someone -- no woman of such surpassing beauty is ever alone, it seems. You wondered about the man she was with: what he had that you didn't, that she would deign to allow him to enjoy her company. You see them on TV and in movies all the time, but they belong there, and you know that half of it is makeup and lighting. But when you encounter such a vision of perfection in the real world -- proof that such women truly exist -- the male mind is simply overawed at the sight.
The first time I saw Angela, my mind was overawed at the sight in just that way. I was at the Ground Round on Route 19, of all places, having a late dinner with some friends after some event or other; I don't remember exactly what. And there she was. No, not at my table, of course. She was at a table of four, with a man who, I thought, had to be her boyfriend, and another couple. Incredibly, her boyfriend was treating her pretty badly. He wasn't hurting her physically or doing anything obvious, but I could see from her face (which, I must admit, I spent quite a bit of that dinner admiring) that she was not happy. Although I couldn't overhear what they said, it seemed to me that her boyfriend was scorning her in front of their friends, or at least embarrassing her. How, I wondered, could any man jeopardize a relationship with such a lovely woman as she was, by such trivial derision?
There came a moment, while I was observing her, when she looked up toward me. I dropped my eyes to my plate, not wanting her to be embarrassed to find me staring at her. After perhaps thirty seconds, I looked up again. and found, to my surprise, that she was still looking at me. Across the restaurant, our gazes met: her deep blue-green irises and my plain brown eyes. I imagined in that moment that a bond of some kind had grown between us.
The moment passed, and I knew there was no such bond. She turned back to her boyfriend; I refocused on my friends' conversation, and life went on. It occurred to me, briefly, to walk over to the girl, introduce myself, and offer to take her away from the man who clearly bothered her so, but of course I did nothing of the kind.
It was not until some weeks later that I discovered I had been mistaken to discount so quickly the notion of a bond between me and the lovely girl of the restaurant. It was a Friday night, and I had just gotten out of work. I'd figured out some problems that had had me stumped for a few days, and had ended up working late now that I was on a roll. In fact, I'd only left because hunger was distracting me from getting work done, so I decided rather than going straight home to get some dinner.
It was after nine, so grabbing a bite at the mall's food court wasn't an option. Fortunately, there's an all- night sandwich shop down the street a little ways, so I walked over and ordered a cheese-steak sub. There was some idiot smoking in the dining room, so I decided to wait outside for my food to be ready.
I enjoyed the autumn air for a few minutes. There wasn't much else to do except watch the cars go by. There aren't many pedestrians in that part of town, especially at night. But on this night, I was surprised to see a woman in a short skirt crossing the highway nearby. There was a honk from an impatient motorist who'd had to take his foot off the accelerator as she passed in front of him, but the pedestrian made it safely to my side of the street. She began walking towards me and the Breadboard. The glare from the headlights of cars on the highway behind her kept me from getting a good look at her, and I wondered whether she would be pretty, once I was able to see her. Then I could see her well enough to recognize her as the lovely girl from the restaurant -- and that she was not heading for the door of the shop, but rather for me.
"Excuse me," she said tentatively. Her voice, like the rest of her, was soft and pretty and perfect. "I don't think we've met, but we've seen each other before, haven't we?"
I picked my jaw up off the floor long enough to answer her with, I suppose, some semblance of calm. "Yes, last week at the Ground Round." There was an awkward pause, and it occurred to me to add, "It will be a long time before I forget seeing you."
"Thank you," she said, and smiled demurely. (At me!) Then she went on: "I don't really have anything to do right now. Do you?"
"Um. not really. I mean, I'm just waiting for my sandwich to be ready, and." Inspiration struck. "Would you like to join me for dinner?" Okay, so it wasn't much of an inspiration, but it had all the results I could have desired.
"I'm not hungry, but I'd love to join you," the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on said, smiling at me. "My name is Angela."
"I'm Chris," I introduced myself, proud of such small things as remembering my own name at that moment. I gestured toward the door. "Would you like to, um. there's somebody smoking."
"Smoke doesn't bother me," she said. So I opened the door for her and led her inside.
Now in the light of the Breadboard, I could see her clearly for the first time this night. And what a sight she was! Her hair was straight and dark red, and she wore it long enough to reach past her shoulders. She didn't have bangs, but a few stray strands shaded her brow and tended to curl against her cheeks until she brushed them back with a habitual sweep of her lovely hand. Tonight she wore a black knit dress that hugged her curves tightly. The dress's skirt was short enough to show quite a bit of well-shaped bare thigh and calf.
I led her to a table far from the smoker, and excused myself long enough to pick up my food.
"I hope you don't mind my asking," I said when I returned, "but who was the guy you were with when I first saw you?"
She frowned. "His name is Martin."
"He didn't seem to be treating you very well."
"No, he wasn't," she agreed somberly. "He thought it was. I mean." She looked down at the table and brushed her hair back nervously. "Well, actually I'd rather not talk about him."
"That's fine," I agreed. "I just wanted to make sure he wasn't your boyfriend or something."
"Oh, no. Well, I guess he was, but. not now. I'm not seeing anyone right now." And she looked up at me as she said it, as if to add, unless I'm seeing you.
I am no fool.
We engaged in pleasant conversation for quite some time. Actually I did most of the talking, but she seemed quite happy to listen. I told her about my job, and the friends I'd been eating with that night in the restaurant, and my family back in Chicago. She seemed to hang on every word I spoke. She told me she worked at the mall, and I gathered she enjoyed whatever she did but perhaps would have liked more time to herself. It occurred to me that I'd never seen her at the mall (for I certainly would have remembered if I had), but I assumed she worked in one of the women's stores that I never had reason to visit.
"Would you like a ride home?" I asked, long after I'd finished my sandwich.
She looked uncertain. "No, thank you. I have a friend who works near here. She usually."
"Hey, that's okay," I said, figuring she was nervous about letting a man she hardly knew near her home. Reasonable enough. But I did want to make sure I would see her again. "Maybe tomorrow night we can get together and do something. I could meet you at work-"
"No, I don't think that would be a good idea. My manager doesn't like me to talk to friends when I'm working. And he's already kind of annoyed with me, so I really don't want to make it any worse. But I could meet you here after I get out, if you like."
And so it was. The next night, I worked late again, and sure enough, Angela met me at the Breadboard. We went to see a romantic comedy that was playing at the local theater, and we both enjoyed ourselves. I again offered her a ride home, but she told me she'd left something at work and needed to pick it up, and she could get home on her own, so I left her at the mall. She didn't seem to want to be kissed, so I didn't, as much as I wanted to. I was not going to give this wonderful woman any reason to think any less of me.
We met again three times the next week, and on Friday night, I decided that if she wouldn't let me come to her place, I'd invite her to mine. At least there would be variety in her refusals. To my surprise, she agreed. She seemed nervous about it, but I tried to do everything I could to put her at ease.
"There's nothing to worry about," I said. "I promise, the minute you want to leave, just tell me, and I'll take you wherever you want to go. Or you can leave on your own if you prefer. The last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable with this."
"I know," Angie agreed. "It's not anything like that. I know you won't do anything to hurt me. It's just. well, the last time I did this was with Martin, and. that didn't work out. I hope it will with you, Chris, really I do, but it's so hard to." Her face, which had been tense, brightened. "Well, come on. Let's go."
She looked around my apartment in some surprise. (I'm not much of a decorator.) "It's nice," she said.
We made small talk on the couch for a while, but it didn't take long for it to wind down. I thought of turning on the TV, but I wanted to spend the evening with Angie, not the TV. Angie broke the silence before I could think of anything new to say.
"I would very much like to kiss you."
I stared at her.
She held up her delicate hand. "There's something you really should know about me. I think you'll be okay with it once you find out. At least, I hope you will."
I reached out my own hand and grasped hers. "What is it?"
She looked around as if hoping the right words would appear somewhere in my living room, then gave up. "I don't think I can explain right now. Just. if anything unusual happens, kiss me again."
"I don't understand," I said, but she was leaning toward me. I bent forward myself and took her body in my arms as she pressed her lips against mine. Her hand freed itself from mine and caressed my chest as we kissed for the first time. At first, her kiss was everything I had hoped it would be: sweet and soft and loving. I could feel her pert breasts against my chest, through the cotton fabrics of her dress and my shirt. My hands could feel the smoothness of her back through her clothing, and I hoped that she would soon allow me to remove it and feel her bare skin on mine.
But after only a very short time, something changed. Angela started to draw back, just a little, and she opened her eyes. I felt her grow tense -- and then I realized she was not simply stiff with tension, but that she herself was actually changing before my eyes. Her lips, which had been soft and yielding against mine, hardened. I saw her face change in ways I did not at first understand, but seconds later the change was complete. I was no longer kissing a lovely woman -- I was kissing a mannequin!
I drew back in surprise. Angela -- the mannequin -- did not move. Her right hand stayed poised in mid-air. Her eyes, now painted plastic, remained fixedly open rather than following my movement.
"Angela?" I looked in vain for any sign of a response, but there was none. I reached out and touched the mannequin's face. It was firm and rigid, just as one would expect from a plastic model of a woman. Her coloration, which only a moment before had looked so alive and natural, was now merely pink paint, with reddish highlights on her cheeks and dark pink lips. It was still almost as warm as Angela's skin had been a moment ago, but I could feel it growing cooler. Even her hair now felt unnaturally stiff as I brushed it away from her cheeks.
What had happened? I wondered. It was ridiculous to believe that the perfectly normal girl I had begun to kiss had suddenly been transformed into a mannequin. Things like that simply don't happen. But it was unquestionably true that there I was, staring into the painted eyes of a lifeless figure which, except for being artificial, looked exactly like Angela. There could be no doubt that it was a mannequin, either -- there was none of the softness of a woman's skin about it when I stroked its cheek with my hand. I looked down at its upraised hand, and saw a black ring around the wrist -- the join where the hand could be removed from the arm. I was reluctant to try disassembling it -- her? -- just then, but I examined the ring with my hand to make sure it was really there. Sure enough, it was -- I could even slide my fingernail into the crack.
Then I remembered Angela's last words to me before her transformation: "If anything unusual happens, kiss me again." She had known this would happen -- or at least, that something would. In my world, suddenly transforming into a mannequin qualifies as "unusual."
Now hundreds of thoughts came tumbling through my mind, trying to figure out what Angela was, and why this had happened. But chief among them was that Angela might still be there in that body, helpless, waiting for another kiss to release her. If she had trusted me enough to kiss me, knowing what would happen, then the least I could do was to show her trust had not been misplaced. With no further hesitation, I leaned toward the mannequin's lips, and kissed it gently.
Or at least, that was my intention. A second after my lips touched the cooling plastic, I saw the mannequin's face begin to change again. This time the change seemed slower than it had been when she first turned into a mannequin. Angela's lips softened and began to move, and a soft sound came from her throat. Seconds later, she was fully human again, and she reached around me and held my lips firmly against hers. We kissed deeply and long.
"Oh, thank you!" Angela cried when at last we broke apart.
"For-for everything! For not taking advantage of me when I was helpless. For kissing me again. For trusting me. Oh, Chris, I love you!" She threw herself into my arms again, but dodged my mouth.
"If I kiss you again, Angie, are you going to freeze up again?" I asked. "Or is that a once-per-date sort of thing?"
"I'm afraid I would," she said sadly from behind my right ear. "Now that I know you'll change me back again I wouldn't mind, but I think we should probably talk first. I imagine you probably want to know more about me."
"That thought had occurred to me, yes," I agreed. "I've never had a girl turn into a mannequin when I kissed her before. Then again, I've never kissed a girl as beautiful as you before. I'd hate to think that happens to all beautiful girls!"
Angela giggled. She disengaged herself from my arms, and sat back against the arm of the couch. Looking at her now, so soft and alive, I could hardly believe she had been a motionless dummy a moment earlier.
"Of course it doesn't," she said. "It only happens to me because I really am a mannequin." I looked at her dubiously. (Then I looked lower, at her wrists. No black rings.)
"Forgive me for saying so, but you don't look like one right now."
"Well, I know. There was a man once, who made me alive. His name was Royven. I don't know how he did it. But there was some kind of accident, and I think he disappeared. Or at least, I never saw him again. I was left in my natural form when that happened, and I couldn't bring myself back to life until someone kissed me. And now whenever someone kisses me while I'm alive, I lose the ability to move until they kiss me again."
I shook my head. "This is incredible," I said. "I mean, it was incredible enough just meeting you, as beautiful as you are." Then I thought about that again for a moment. I remembered thinking, when I first saw her that she was too beautiful to be real. That no woman so perfect could be an ordinary woman, who had once a tiny infant, then a clumsy little girl who skinned her knees and got sick and had a period. Now it seemed my first impression of Angela had been precisely correct. She had not simply come about through the blind chance of genetics. Someone -- some skilled artist -- had in actual fact designed her, shaped her, colored her so perfectly.
And now she loved me.
"Angela," I said, "mannequin or human, it makes no difference to me. You are lovely and wonderful and perfect, and I love you. And I intend to kiss you again."
"I love you too," she said, taking my hand and leaning toward me. We began to kiss, and no sooner had we begun than she froze again, this time with her eyes almost closed and her lips parted in a dreamy smile. I pressed my cheek against her smooth plastic cheek, enjoying the feel of her. My left hand was captured in her right, which had grasped it tightly before she froze and now held it so that I couldn't extricate it. Not that I wanted to. I was content to remain there with Angela.
But I wasn't sure how much she would enjoy this while she was frozen, so I leaned down again. This time I pushed her hair back and kissed the base of her neck. Evidently that was sufficient to allow her to live again, for her hand began to soften around mine, and after a short time she was again human.
"Mmm," she murmured, rubbing herself against me.
"Angie," I asked, "what is it like for you, when you're a mannequin?"
"It depends," she answered. "When you're here, it's very pleasant."
"No, I mean it. How much do you know what's going on? Can you feel it when I touch you?"
"Yes, I can feel your touch," she said. "I'm usually just as aware of things as I am now. I can feel and hear, and I can see as long as my eyes are open -- which I usually try to make sure they are, since it's kind of frightening not to be able to see anything. Of course, I can only see what's right in front of me, since I can't move my eyes around at all to follow things."
"Don't you get bored, just standing around all day doing nothing?"
"No, not really. That's what I was made for, after all. If there's nothing happening, I tend to lose track of time, but I don't mind that."
"How do you feel about not being able to do anything, though? I mean, you're pretty helpless when you're a mannequin, aren't you?"
"Most of the time I don't mind it. That's just the way I am, I guess."
"Don't people ever do things that you want to tell them to stop?"
"Well, sometimes it bothers me when somebody handles me badly -- you know, if they drop me or put my clothes on wrong. Or if they try to feel me up when I didn't invite them to. Sometimes visual merchandisers do that. And sometimes some random person does it. I guess they get a kick out of it. Even that used to be okay, before I could move on my own sometimes, because it feels nice to be touched sometimes, and I couldn't pick and choose. but now that I can meet someone like you, and talk to you, I don't even like that much. But really, I've never had the power to do anything about it, ever since I was made, so I'm used to it. Most of the time." We were still holding each other, but we'd stopped fondling each other to talk. Now Angela's hands started moving against me again. "But I don't want to think about that," she said.
"What do you want to think about?" I asked, playfully.
"You," she answered sincerely. "Just you. Oh. if we should happen to kiss again."
She looked deeply into my eyes. "If you'd like to see more of what I look like when I'm a mannequin, you don't need to kiss me again so quickly. I won't mind if you want to leave me frozen for a while. Or if you undress me."
I stood up, pulling her to her feet behind me, and put my arms around her. "I think I would like that," I whispered in her ear.
She giggled. "That tickles!"
I blew on her ear again, and was rewarded with another burst of giggles. In the middle of it, I kissed the skin beneath her ear. The giggling stuttered to a halt as Angela once again became a motionless plastic statue. I pulled my head back to see her, frozen in mid-giggle. I traced the rigid laugh lines around her mouth, thinking how unusual it was to see a giggling mannequin. I almost kissed her lips lightly, but stopped myself just in time. I wanted to take Angela up on her offer.
She was wearing a short blue dress with a matching knit cardigan over it. I slipped the cardigan off her shoulders and let it fall down her arms, revealing the join lines where her arms could be detached from her body. I wasn't sure how you did that, and I decided not to try yet. However, I found that with her arms bent forward as they were, I could not remove the cardigan. Furthermore, she'd had her arms loosely around me when she'd frozen, which made getting out from between them myself a bit of a challenge. However, I found I could rotate them at the shoulder. By tilting them up a bit I was able to get out from between them, and by rotating them all the way around to behind her, I could then slide the cardigan off her.
Her dress was all a single piece; the sort that seems to simply hang over a girl from two tiny straps over her shoulders. I reached down to the bottom of the dress (which only came about halfway down her thighs) and slid my hands up her curves, gathering the fabric as I went. I was surprised to find no underwear at all beneath the dress -- just lovely Angela. With a bit of care, I was able to slip the dress over her head and arms, only ruffling her hair a little. Then I lowered her arms again to a more natural-looking position.
Now Angela was naked except for her shoes, and she stood helplessly before me in all her plastic glory. I stepped back to admire her. Her most distinctive features, aside from her immobility, were the dark lines marking the joins between her wrists and arms, her arms and torso, her legs and hips, her hips and waist, and her head and body. I was somewhat disappointed to note that there was nothing but smooth plastic between her legs -- no hair, no pussy, nothing. But other than that, she might almost have been human. Her shoulders were smooth and beautiful, and I could trace with my hands the sculpted ripples and bumps that mimicked human collarbones and throat. I slowly worked my hands down her torso, trying to caress every square inch of plastic skin, wondering how Angela felt trapped inside her helpless body. Her breasts were large and full, her dark nipples standing tall in arousal, but as hard as wood, rather than soft and malleable. Lower down, slight ripples of ribs seemed to have been molded into her, and lower still, a cute navel. Continuing, I reached her groin. I gently rubbed it with my fingers, wondering whether it would stimulate her as it would a live woman. Then I continued down her sleek polished legs.
I stood again, and took her right shoulder once again in my hands, but this time traced my way down her arm, past her bent elbow, to her hand. Her fingers were parted slightly, and gently curved (originally to fit around me). Her nails were very short; since they were simply molded into her fingers, they did not extend even as far as the end of her fingers -- which I had noticed before, when I had thought her a real woman. They were not polished, but of the same pale pink color as the rest of her skin. The insides of her fingers were perfectly smooth, except at the knuckles. She didn't even have fingerprints.
Finally, I returned to her face, which I had left for last to spare myself the temptation of kissing her again before I was ready to allow her freedom again. I rubbed my fingers against her throat, running them out along the bottom of her jaw and up her chin to her lips, fixed in a frozen giggle that would remain until I allowed it to pass. Her lips were slightly parted, but there was no opening between them -- just glossy black pigment. The curved indentation in the skin above her lips, like her lips themselves, was sharp, well-defined. Like her mouth, her nostrils were not real openings, but simply indentations in the bottom of her small straight nose. Her eyes were open wide, showing off her beautiful blue-green irises floating in perfect whiteness. She had only a few eyelashes, just enough to give an impression of lashes, and now that I was examining them up close I could see how fake they looked -- although their falseness in no way detracted from her overall loveliness, any more than did her eyebrows, which were simply painted on a ridge over each eye.
Content with the prize I had discovered, I took Angela's plastic face between my open palms, and swept her hair back, revealing her ears. I spoke directly to her face:
"I love you, Angela," I declared.
Then I leaned in to kiss her. and thought of something. "Hold on." I said to her. "I'll be right back."
I left Angela frozen where she stood, while I went into my bedroom. Three days' worth of dirty laundry littered the floor, my bed was a crumpled mess. I tossed the laundry into the hamper, shoved shoes into the closet and closed the closet door, and straightened the sheets and blanket on my bed, leaving them turned down.
I went back to Angela, and stood in front of her so she could see me. Fortunately for what I had planned, her eyes had frozen looking almost straight ahead, just a little bit downward, so she should be able to see most of my body. "I've gotten to see what you look like without your clothes on," I said to her, "so it's only right you get to see me without mine." I then began to undress myself. I slipped off my shoes first, then removed my shirt. I unbuckled my belt, and unstrung it from its loops, then dropped it on the floor. I unfastened my pants, and slid them down my legs and off, revealing the bulging tent in my underwear. (Angela's erect nipples, if not the look frozen on her face, showed she was just as excited. I hoped she was becoming even more aroused now, even though she was unable to show it.)
Before taking the last steps of removing my socks and underwear, I stepped closer to Angela and picked her up, leaning her on her back in my arms. She was very light, much lighter than I had expected -- much lighter than a woman -- and naturally she remained perfectly rigid as I lifted her, only her hair falling down behind her like a dark red tail. I carried her into the bedroom, and laid her gently on the bed. Then, I removed her shoes and socks, and my own last garments. Now we were both naked. as I had hoped, but not expected, we would become, when I had invited her over.
Finally, I lay down next to Angela's immobile body, resting my head on one hand and fondling her hard breasts. She felt cool against my skin. "Now it's your turn to do as you like," I told her softly, as I leaned over and kissed her firmly on the lips.
There was just a hint of a long-stifled giggle, quickly overwhelmed by a much more heartfelt moan of pleasure. As Angela's body melted back into human flexibility, she seemed to be pushing herself to the limit to move as soon as she possibly could, to pull herself against me. I had intended to watch her change, trying to see exactly how it happened, but her ardor distracted me, and I found myself drawn into a long, extremely passionate kiss. Somehow she ended up on top of me, still so light that I felt I could toss her across the room. did I not so badly want her exactly where she was.
"Oh, Chris," she said once we broke for air, "I love you so much. I wish we could."
"What?" But in moving against her, I realized what she meant. Almost automatically, my hips had been moving against her, trying to find her opening, and she had been cooperating fully. But at that moment I realized that even now that she was alive, there was nothing but smooth plastic between Angela's lovely legs.
"Royven." Angela said, slowly, haltingly. "I told you there was an accident. It happened while he was trying to transform the very last part of me, and he didn't finish. But I want it so badly..."
"It's okay," I said to her, stroking her cheek with my hand. "I'm sure we can find something else to do." I moved my hand down between her legs, and discovered that she did indeed feel pleasure there.
In the course of the next few hours, we discovered quite a few ways to pleasure one another. For a while, I tried to resist kissing her, to let her keep her freedom as much as I could. But I soon realized that she truly didn't mind being immobile, and after that I felt free to kiss her whenever I felt like it, changing her from flesh to plastic and back again over and over again, for I truly enjoyed her both ways. And we found quite a few things Angela could do with her lips that evidently didn't qualify as kisses. and a few that did.
Eventually, I woke to find a chilly mannequin curled against me, spoon-fashion, a dreamy smile on her frozen lips. "I thought you were alive when I fell asleep," I said, surprised. I kissed her bare shoulder to release her, and watched as the mannequin slowly came to life before my eyes. Her transformation was a wonder to behold, even now in the calm delight that follows a night with a wonderful girl.
"I was," she said, "but you kissed me in your sleep. It's okay. I really don't mind not moving, as long as I'm with you."
I kissed my fingers and touched them to her lips. That was one of the things we'd discovered didn't cause her to transform. She smiled, understanding my meaning. I put my arms around her and hugged her to me, helping her body warm itself up to normal human body temperature. (She didn't seem aware of her own temperature, but I definitely was.)
"Angela, love," I said hesitantly. "I do love you. I love you so much that it doesn't matter to me that you're a mannequin. But there's a lot I don't understand. I mean, things like this just don't happen. Mannequins don't turn into real girls and walk around and fall in love with guys like me. I really do want to know what's going on, if you're willing to tell me."
Angela hesitated a moment before speaking. "I don't understand everything myself," she said. "Actually there's a lot I don't know. All I know about the world is what I learned standing in store windows, and a little bit more. But I would love to tell you everything I do know. Part of why I went looking for you was to have someone I could share my story with. Someone who would listen, and care, and not take advantage of me when he knew what I was."
"You are my true love," I told her, knowing it was true. "Everything else is beside the point. Please tell me your story."
I rearranged the pillows so I could sit up comfortably, and cradled Angela in my arm as she began to speak.
"My earliest memory is of light..."
To be continued...
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