He doesn’t speak much but his voice is deep and slightly rough, his hair is wild, dark and curly – his eyes, always blue or gray or green, bore in...o my sole and read every thought. He scoops me up as though I weigh nothing and holds me so close. Where he carries me depends on my mood. If I’m still angry at this point, still hurt with what and where I am, then we are somewhere confined – a dungeon room, a jail cell, a locked bedroom. I fight with him and he hurts me – hurts me so good. I am. Wenn ichgekonnt h?tte, h?tte ich geschimpft wie ein Rohrspatz. Es dauerte eineEwigkeit, bis ich mit dem Ergebnis halbwegs zufrieden war. Andauerndbehinderte mich die Kette. Diesen Abstand zwischen beiden H?nden warmehr als gew?hnungsbed?rftig. Danach konnte ich mich St?ck f?r St?ckden Fl?chen auf den Fu?boden widmen. In der knienden Haltung lief derSpeichel aus den Mundwinkeln. Wer sich den Knebel wegdachte, musstedenken ich habe Tollwut. Am Anfang suchte ich mir noch etwas Papier zumabwischen.. More

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