The stretcher where I was put lay on the ground, and I could feel lumps and stones sticking through the fabric, pinching my skin."Good morning, sleepy...head."I looked around, surprised by the familiar voice. It was the beautiful man. He himself lied on a bed — not on the ground as me — and his arm was in a sling. He looked pained; I think he had broken his collarbone or something."Yes, you're not alone in here." How did you end up here?" I asked him.He tried to sit up in the bed, but the only. I would never understand people's slavery to image, yet my fascination with the human subject brought me back to this place over and over, and it was, after all, where I met this little waif of a girl, midnight hair and raven black eyes, curled in an overstuffed chair with a ponderous volume of De Sade's works perched in her lap.De Sade aside, she and I had hit it off, and the subject of BDSM easily rolled into our conversation. That conversation ended, after three hours, with a trip to my. More

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