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He's a pathetic commonerwho's plainly besotted with me. Like that would ever happen. I'd soonermarry a monkey than get close enough to that smelly man to let him kissme."He felt guilty saying these things but they really helped him to blot outthe lingering clumsiness of action and voice that had come from his oldlife. Each time he said it he found his accent becoming more in line withLady Ann's and less like idiotic bumpkin talk. He went through hisreaffirmation several more times before going to sleep, reminding himselfnot only that he was Lady Ann, but that Burt Harper was someone entirelydifferent - someone who deserved nothing but scorn and disgust.11After starting to hate the looks of scorn she got from the stuck up toffsin that end of town, Ann ended up walking until she saw more men dressedlike she was. The buildings were shabbier, the streets dirtier, but shefound herself feeling more at home without the withering stares. The menhere didn't disrespect her. If anything she got. I knew then I was in the hand of my own daughter, and she was guiding me into the womanhood of her oldest friend, a girl I had practically raised. My mind raced through tending skinned knees, and complimenting new dresses, and years and years of haircuts, through visions of girlhood innocence, gangly early teen awkwardness, blossoming teen beauty and sensuality, and at last to the freshly matured womanly sexuality I was now presented with. She smiled, whispered, “I know, John,” and then we were one, kissing, sliding into/onto each other. Somewhere deep inside me, a spark found tinder, and became flame.In the distance, like an echo from far below, I heard Kelly whisper, “Oh… my God…”Sweet Amy was like a furnace inside, hot like my wife had been in her youth, tight, clinging, and wet. Her breasts rode against me, her nipples leaving wild circles of remembered contact as she rose, and fell, rose, and fell. Friction! Soft, all encompassing, delicious friction sent uncontrollable shivers.
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