While the rain falls, sentimental songs play on the ancient phonograph. The words are as foolish as the mannered voices singing them, but the word lov...e occurs frequently, and it has recently become a powerful word to me. So I gaze dreamily away while everyone else is laughing at the quaintness of the music, and they tease me about it. I long for older times when thirteen-year-old girls were thought marriageable women and could be dead in childbirth at fifteen. That short, intense life could be. When they were arrested; no one could find any records of their identities in any global database. No fingerprints, no DNA matches, no fcial recognition matches, no photos, nothing. Worse, the women seemed to have no memory of their own origins. The most basic questions about their identity could not be answered. The best they could do was give goofy, unlikely first names, such as 'Kiki', or 'Bunny'. If pressed, the captured women would say something like:"I'm a total whore for men with hard. Peterson is me! - I still blushI learned from her private messages that she modelled that chap Petersen to the image she had of meIndeed my apartment is a bit similar: shelves with books everywhere, many with erotica and sexuologyI have - like good old Peterson - a private collection of more explicit erotica in a special backroomI have there the old printed porn and even some spanking magazines and vintage books about the subjectI started to pay back my debt for this tribute and her lessons in. I had by that time, finished my third small and said, ‘ I am feeling like having another one, though I have finished my quota. ‘ She said, ‘ I am already over my limit, why not you?’ ‘But I am putting on weight, my hips and thighs are growing big.’ I answered. ‘Of course, not. Your heavy bum is very enticing.’, she said and patted my buttocks and that was a little longish. (‘Motei na. Tomar pachha bhari bolei eto lobhoniyo.’) I poured my fourth small and gave her another large. She protested.