There was an even earlier memory of pain. Not the first pain I endured, but the first pain I inflicted. I remembered standing over the crib of a babe....It was a girl, and her head was bald except for wisps of blonde. ‘Yavara,’ I had cooed, ‘it’s your big sister. It’s Leveria.’ Leveria—that was my name. And this woman next to me… was she Yavara? The memory came back into focus. I had a twig in my little hand. Baby Yavara was only months old. I smiled impishly, and dangled the twig into Yavara’s. Though I washed my face, I could jolly well feel that the water trickled through my hands and elbows onto my breasts and were soaking my blouse and bra. Mr. Mangeskar: Great….now your hands….slowly! I followed his instruction and now as I stretched my hands water was pouring directly on my mammaries and I was getting fully wet now. As I was looking down I could see my white brassiere getting very prominent through the blouse and I quickly tried to cover myself by angling my elbow. Mr.. More

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