Possibly he would never see his wife again, sweet innocent pretty Agnes with her curly blonde hair, whose picture he carried in his cigarette case saf... from the damp. Agnes with her sweet smile, set off by a slightly misaligned tooth. Agnes with the warm thighs and soft breasts that she had allowed him to see on their wedding night. A thick thatch of dark hair on her belly, wisps of lighter curls under her arms. Oh, Agnes… They had known each other for only a short period, a brief courtship. People wouldn't see "Katsumi Hojo" on the spines of their favorite books; they'd see some cool moniker, like... well... I'd fantasized about it, but I never got that far.People didn't want to read my books. When I worked on getting published, those old-fashioned folks behind their big oak desks all said the same thing: you're too dry. You're too scientific. Worse yet... "can't you be a little more sexy?" That's the one that aggravated me the most. I wanted to keep my integrity. Being an author. Ashley stepped in what appeared to be the living room. She didn’t know at first because it was big. Bigger than their front room in their parents’ house. The carpet was clean and soft. It was in the shape of a rectangle. Ashley liked that the gray color of it, with each step her feet sank into the carpet because it was very plush. There was even a fire place in the far left corner. Ashley walked around it to get used to it. Then she saw the kitchen and walked over to examine it. It wasn’t the. “Nap time's over, baby.”I lay in silence, my gaze searching her face, particularly her gentle smile and smiling eyes, trembling as the memory of what had been done to me seeped slowly into my addled brain. Uncertainly I clutched at her hand with mine, grateful to feel the reassuring squeeze of her interlaced fingers.“Mrs. Vandermeer?”Confusion and more than a little fear wrapped steel claws around my heart as she watched over me. Perhaps sensing the gravity of the moment, her expression turned.
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