HOW DARE YOU?That was the last she ever said, Alan tackled her off the stairs that led to the attic, broke her neck on her way down, and he realized w...at he did once he saw her, lying dead and his daughter’s muzzled cries interrupted his thoughts, he did not have time to waste, he closed in on her still virgin daughter, penis erected, throbbing as he will be abusing her, tough she was not wet nor excited, he penetrated her in one move, not caring for her safety nor her feelings, roughly. "I think you've grown," I told her as we rested after our second sweaty congress, one of her lush dugs lying near my mouth and her soggy mound rubbing my thigh."You big faker. You didn' even 'member me, an' I bin thinkin' bout you for some time. Never had nobody like you, a'fore or since. Think yours is the biggest size they makes." How long you been working here?" I asked, stroking her, massaging her the way she liked with barely a finger tip in her."Couple of months," she said. "Camp. They treat us like children and even worse, especially the women, they treat like slaves. They wish to plunge their pale swords even into my wives. I would negotiate, even trade females of my tribe they find most attractive and I find least amenable to our ways." The last sentence clearly focuses on Chiklet. "And yet the very thought of a straight trade, woman for woman, actually seems to horrify them. And yet this woman, the chief's sister at that, can't get enough of you." The chief chuckles. It is the don’t in don’t shove. It is the hole in the stuffed shirt through which the sawdust slowly trickles; it is the dent in the high hat. Democracy is the recurrent suspicion that more than half of the people are right more than half of the time. It is the feeling of privacy in the voting booths, the feeling of communion in the libraries, the feeling of vitality everywhere. Democracy is a letter to the editor. Democracy is the score at the beginning of the ninth. It is an idea which hasn’t.