INDIAN MARCH 22 (32)

I felt like every emotion, every possible way of expressing or experiencing fear and uncertainty I’d ever felt fired at once. It almost consumed me. I’m going to bleed to death. I’m going to die. Here. Tonight. Now.My heart was beating so fast and so hard, I could hear it. I could feel it in my chest moving, pulsing, rapidly. I yelled into the cloth, “What did I do to deserve to die?” It came out as “wphhdphddmphnfie.”The strange voice said, “Stop. Settle down. Breathe. Deeply. I’m not going to kill you. Quite the opposite. I’m going to tell you how to live. How to stay alive. Do you want to live, young lady? You can nod.” I nodded.“Why do you put yourself in danger? Why do you take chances by being provocative, alone, defenseless?”I shook my head. What was the big deal? Then, as they spoke, I thought, seriously, about what they were saying. I paid attention, letting the fear take a back seat while they talked.“You are wearing a thin sleeveless shirt tied under your perky and quite. She covered herself again, and spun around, facing away. Now she was lying on her back, her head looking up at me from below, her hair hanging in my crotch. The softness of her locks tickled me, even though my pants. Of course I was extra sensitive by this point; I probably would have felt a gnat land, if one were dumb enough to choose my hard-on as a landing pad.She looked up at me from the table. She brought her arms together and her tits rose up, begging to be held. I remembered Bruno. I bent down and whispered in her ear "You are beautiful. I especially like your tits. And your face." I wanted to add, "and your pussy," but of course I hadn't actually seen it. And you never know. She could have a really ugly pussy. I'm sure there's at least one somewhere. I haven't found it yet, but I'm still looking.She smiled. She'd heard it before. Then I said, "What's your name?"She lifted her head a little, as if to get closer to my ear, and said "Margaret." Huh?" I gulped."Margaret," she.
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