" There were leather buckles at each corner, and I passively let him fasten first one wrist, then the other to the uppermost portion of it. My breasts..., unrestrained beneath my light blouse, ballooned slightly as they pressed into the rough wood of the thing. There was a cross-brace at the level of my face, and I turned my head and rested my cheek against it, watching, waiting. He knelt to remove my sandals before fastening my ankles to the lower portion, spreading my legs so that my feet no. She was the only white teacher in the school the kids took seriously... 'cause she had this way ... I don't know how she did it ... but this way of always being in charge, even around the gang-bangers. She knew how to make you feel really small ... just by looking at you in her special way ... and she had these sarcastic comments ... and the kids were afraid of her ... but I really liked her..."Ruthie paused ... trying to think about how she could put her disjointed memories together to express. It was funny to Susie and she wanted to laugh inwardly because she knew that Larry had almost never eaten her pussy before during the early months of their marriage and it was only now that he'd returned and saw how sexy she was with Tom that he wanted to bring her off and taste her hot spunky pussy too. Susie didn't dare laugh out loud or ask Larry what had gotten into him; she didn't want to spoil the hot lusty sexiness of all that the three of them were enjoying and sharing together. Susie. Maybe she did. But I think those two beautiful women she tells about were the Ship and Little One. I don't think those women were just a product of an oxygen-starved brain as it was dying."Hope's problem is the intensity of her memories from that night. At least, that's what I understand from what she tells me. The sight of Art triggers those memories and they become almost real in their impact. What if the intensity were less, hmmm? Generally, when something bad happens to us, the memory of it.