On completion of these visits the prisoners were seldom fully satisfied when they stuffed their sticky, deflating penises back into their grubby priso... fatigues; they had the same appetites as men everywhere and wanted sex daily if they could get it.In this rough world of imprisoned men where the inmates had only the slight chance of sex during visiting hours, I knew that when I was forced to dressed as a woman, I was enticing to these sexually deprived animals. The prisoners had only the. Though her big poufy jacket held any cleavage fromview or touch. I could feel myself get wet, which made me uneasy. Mybrain was now hers right? Why was I turned on by my girlfriend? I pushedher off gently, hugging myself as I did so. She smiled and carefullybent forward. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you." She kissed me on theforehead. I looked back up to her into her loving smile and couldn'thelp from smiling back."Your nose is running." I killed the moment."Hush." She blew her nose again at my. Thinking about Juniper Jones. How did I feel about her, exactly? I remembered one of my college courses in psychology -- it probably had been Psychology 101. An "approach-avoidance conflict," it was called, when Life handed you something to cope with that presented you with both highly positive and highly negative aspects.Like a lot of stuff in psychology, giving something a name didn't seem to help much in clarifying what one ought to consider doing next. The answer seemingly always ended up. His skin becomes smoother, his eyes look brighter, and he looks more alive. He starts to tear up. “Show me,” I tell him. “Please show me.” He gives me his hand and I close my eyes, watching the last seven hundred years play out from his point of view. I watch him fight in wars, say goodbye to people he loved, his years and years of searching for me. His pain, his hurt, and his small slivers of happiness sink into me and pierce me like they pierced him. “I’m sorry,” I whisper when it’s all.