Perhaps some things did make more sense in thiscontext. From a young age, I was always fascinated by my mother'sthings. The silkiness of her dresses. ...he stretch and hold of her oldfashioned girdle. The colors and scents of her cosmetics, and theshine and glitter of her jewelry. By the time I was 8, I would takeany opportunity when she was out to put on one of her outfits, andmake up my face. I always took precautions, and was never caught,despite a few close calls. By my early teens, I really. I harvested a nice load of fiddleheads for dinner tonight. Lightly steamed and slathered with butter, they taste a lot like asparagus. I also collected a new herb tonight. My field guide identifies it as “Switch Sorrel”. It’s an unassuming multi-branch plant that looks kind of like a clover with serrated leaves. It is edible, with a mild flavor that will work well in our salad tonight. The guide also says the Native Americans used it as an aphrodisiac. I don’t believe any of that aphrodisiac. Felt like I was never kissed before.... As soon as he felt all my resistance is gone he releases my arms, slowly placing one hand on my back, like he knew I could fell. And that hand on my back feels so good, strong, big, man's hand, like he is holding all my weight on his palm. But that other hand is moving downwards....! Slowly but persistent he goes over my waist, hips, then under my dress. His loud moan, almost a growl, tells me he likes my stockings and turns me on even more. Gently, he. I started to pull things out of the fridge for her when I looked over to the table and noticed she was starting to cry. Whats wrong baby? I walked over and sat next to her… What a fucking bitch, you know? at this point Ive learned to just agree with what Daisy is going on about. Who the fuck does that?…Shes just a big fucking bitch…we should get back at her! I was so confused. Who was she talking about? Ok sweetie…what do you think we should do? her eyes were starting to close…I might not have.