.. And flatulence. Lots and lots of flatulence. And thefeel of dry, scratchy hair against my rough cotton pillow, and on myface..."What the hell!?" I ...xclaim as I wake up and look around the unfamiliarroom- undoubtedly a boy's room, filled with posters of cars, and clothesthrown into a messy pile in the corner. I reach out a hand to find mybeside table, only to be greeted by a shock- my arm is covered in fine,wispy hairs, and my expensive burgundy-coloured manicure is gone, myunpolished nails. "Just- just consider it, ok?" she said, pushing the black ribbon intohis hands.He promised that he would, too numb to really notice what he did ordidn't say. She left the room, and he collapsed onto the couch,staring at the collar still cupped in his palm.---Martin shouldn't have had a problem. It was a beautiful, sunny day,he'd just finished orientation at his dream job, and even had a hotdate lined up later tonight. Everything was going swell.Carryout in the park was his own quiet way of. The only other thing that I can think ofthat you might do is to go talk to her pimp. Maybe youcan buy her back.”“Buy her back?” I asked myself. “These women are soldjust like a piece of meat at the butcher shop. What ifsomeone else bought Miriam and took her somewhere else?How would I ever find her again? I had heard that waswhat happened to that pretty high school girl who wasabducted in Aruba after her graduation party went awry.She had been fucked numerous times by. He had thick brown hair, which was about the only thing that he had in common with the lady just described in the previous paragraphs. And John was already going prematurely bald. But he had enough hair covering the rest of his body to more than make up for the noticeable lack-of-hair on the very top of his head.He wore brown horn-rimmed glasses, was a high-end computer analyst by profession, and most of the women who knew him considered him to be a nerdy type of guy. Definitely not the type of.