He reached for a nice looking red pepper and just as he did another hand reached for the same pepper!"Pardon m-" he said as he turned to see the owner...of the hand. It was Princess Arabella!"I'm sorry, Your Highness!" he said, immediately kneeling as was the custom."No please, it was my fault. Rise, good sir!"David slowly rose to his feet and that's when he got a good look at the Princess. Princess Arabella was a slim twenty-year-old, roughly five-foot-five-inches tall, with fair skin as smooth. Good points, I thought.But an article I'd read in one of the women's magazines while I was inhospital had caught my interest. It was titled 'Are We There Yet?' andit made me think of my feminist friend, Julia. The article was all abouthow, with the turn of the millennium just around the corner, one of thecentral promises of feminism, namely job equality, was still an elusivegoal. Women were still finding themselves hitting glass ceilings in theworkplace, and they were only earning something. Id become close friends with a girl who had so many friends but she had trouble getting guy friends and when she did get boyfriends it never lasted long and i felt so bad for her. one night we were drinking and went to her house. i loved her and treated her like my sister, but tonight she was sticking unusually close to me..soon we were kissing and later we started taking each others clothes off.. she soon saw that i was wearing my panties and saw that i was embarrassed in front of her.. she. His tears falling. And my heart is breaking. “Please Jenny. I don’t know how to go another day without you,” he sobs. My hand itches to touch his face and wipe his tears away. I curl my hand into fists and fight the itch. My nails poke into my palm and my tears fall. “Please…” he begs and rests his head on my knees. He is sobbing and I want to comfort him. There’s a war in my head. Comfort him, pleads my heart.Don’t do it, says my head. My heart and my head fight, and my heart wins. I.