But it don't matter. It's the vibes. It's the clientele. It's whatever you bring to the place. Like a diamond in the rough, sparkling sure, but with a...whole lot more facets waiting to sparkle. Potential."I had expected the warm warbling voice of the blonde bombshell circa 1955. Hers was not. But the harshness of her timbre and her Brooklyn squawk cut through her extraordinary beauty to give her face, her persona, a more comfortable normal human quality. I watched the layers of beauty shed to. The only point left was to know was for you to hang as a murderer or burned as a black witch. You are now waiting in your cell, with just as food to survive, for the inquisitors who will test you and seal your fate.You hear the lock of the cell and the door opens. Someone in a red cloak enters with a burning torch on his hand, his face hidden in the shadow of the hood. “Meet the inquisitor” said the jailer before closing the door. You know their reputation for pyre building and stare at the man. .. I would love to have dinner with you Ms. Cratterfield,” he said. His knees almost gave out on him.They walked out together, went into the parking garage and Myra got into her car. She leaned over and pulled up the lock on the passenger’s side. Garven opened his door and got in. She could tell how nervous he was. “You know Garven,” she said, “I’ve often wished that I had taken a little more time to know you away from piano lessons. But you were always so shy. Like you I guess, I had to take a. Mom continued her quest for sex knowledge thru me. We soon looked at porn on the internet together. Watching videos and live cams. Then one night we masterbated in front of each other. Watching my mom get herself off was so erotic. Then we came across a video about a gloryhole. Mom was so fascinated with this. She stated that she had wanted to be used by a stranger, one she could not see and he could not see her. Mom asked me if gloryholes were real and where she could go see one. I told her.