She deliberately closed the door and set the lock. Her teary eyes sought the comfort and guidance of the pictures by the door. It was a collage of pho...ographs of her fiancé. Her beloved Dickie smiled back at her. One picture showed him in his dress uniform and another kneeling by his armoured vehicle in the Iraqi desert. In the centre was an elegant note of condolence with the broad signature of Phillip Mountbatten, Colonel in Chief, Queen's Royal Hussars. She fought back the tears, as she. “And that is an obvious consideration.”“I find it amazing you can talk coherently while we do this,” Michelle giggled, contracting her muscles. “My brain always feels like it’s about to short circuit!”“And yet, you’re talking coherently!” I teased.“Would you do something for me?” she asked.“Sure, what?”“Roll us over and fuck me hard until I scream,” she sighed.I did, and she did. Twice.February 6, 1994, Chicago, Illinois“How long have you been awake?” Michelle asked after she silenced the alarm. “Corinth,” I said. “That’s some drive,” he said. “I think I’ll need a nap first.”The bearded guy laughed again. “Looks like we got ourselves a cabin boy, Jake.”“For an hour or so,” Jake said. He turned and walked back down the path beside the waterfall.We followed wordlessly.The cabin was secluded, old but the windows were spotless. Inside, there were cases of beer, a stereo console like my mom and dad used to have, and the biggest bed I’d ever seen. The mattresses were so thick, the top of. Me: So aunt bought you so many dresses?Mom: What… No… No… Just two nighties. She didn’t know if I was going to like it or not.Me: Well, you seem to. Also, you look amazing in this.Mom: OK, stop now. Haha. Actually, you’re right. It’s really comfortable to wear. I’m thinking of buying more.Me: You should. Not just nighties. Even other clothes. Sarees and other modern clothes.Mom: I don’t know about that. What if I don’t look good in that.Me: Not possible, mom. You’ll look good in whatever. We.