He had read an e-mail I sent asking a personal question on a topic so deep I can’t even mention in this story. ‘I read your e-mail. Why did you as... me that, Camille?’ His breathing seemed get louder and deeper – not in a sexual way, but as if he was getting upset. ‘Well Michael, I just thought I’d ask because the last time we talked I…,’ he interrupted me yelling into the phone. ‘Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Shut up!’ He started to cry, which had its domino effect on me as I, too began to cry. He. I knew there was no time for another round and told her to get dressed quickly. She realized only then, I was just interested in banging her – there was no love attached. It was too late. She had come now too far to turn around from this new world (womanhood) she had stepped into. Now I was her master and she, my sex slave for the next few months. Overtime, we had several sessions – sometimes on the sofa, ironing table, kitchen floor, while other times on the bed, toilet and places you can only. More

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