The ultimate weapon against violation has turned me into an oil painting, the lowest caste, an associate of Elliot Ness. Memories are all I have. The last rush made me glow like unwashed steel. The feast before that made me cold enough to burn. But somewhere deep in the darkness of my mind is the communion that gave me instinct, passion, longing, release. His sweat, slick and slippery, gliding under my palms. His breath filling my lungs. Thunder and sparks between living cells. The sky glowing blue-white as I taste starlight. He knows I remember. The walls are too close. �Long nets of white cloud my memory�

Copyrighted � 2003 Silver Thistle Publishing.