‘Feel the lash marks. Feel my torment. Feel my vengeance.’ Jennifer was shocked at the vehemence in his voice and his sorrow. Gently she traced he... fingers across his shoulders, wondering at the scars that started at his hips or perhaps lower and covered his whole back. Peter gently lowered his sarong and her hands traced even more scars across his buttocks. Someone had flogged him many times – unmercifully. There was not a single inch of flesh from his buttocks to his shoulders that was free. This time she was fairly certain he looked directly at her while enunciating ‘our bodies’. It happened once again with “And the boy who loves you the wrong way is filthy”. Torn between confusion and wild hope, she decided to hang back after class, all her compunctions be damned.The jealousy that coursed through her veins when others (male or female, she didn’t care) were approaching him with questions while making her wait, reminded her of precisely how badly in for it she was. She played it. More

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