Her heart was whirling like a bat on a summer’s night but she didn’t want it to stop, she didn’t want to calm down.Unfamiliar hands gently pushe... her knees apart. Slowly, they came to her. Fingers along the inside of her thighs, a warm palm on her stomach, a twitchy tongue on one nipple, a tugging mouth on the other. No one spoke, she heard breathing, wordless, expression. From behind her, the room filled with the heroin chic strains of the Velvet Underground, the hypnotic rhythm orchestrating. In about five minutes I heard the roar of an engine, and sureenough it was Cheryl. She opened the motor home, and I was told to goinside and take a seat. Cheryl was going to get her bike put away. WhenI entered the motor home, I immediately saw that it was made up of twoparts. The front appeared to be a beauty salon and the rear some kindof clothing boutique. I took a peek at the clothes and saw that theywere almost all leather outfits of every kind, and all forms oflingerie. Definitely not a. More

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