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I returned home just in time to get a call from Mom. They were in Dallas for the next couple of days and gave me a way to reach them if Dad didn't get my page. She asked if everything was all right and if I had gotten a haircut yet. I didn't notice that she almost said styled. She had been on me about getting my hair cut for a month before they left, and I had promised I would while they were gone. How little I thought she knew, and how little I really knew.I returned to work on Friday to many compliments from the girls, and a few stares from John, the other pharmacist. My life progressed as a normal teenage girl. I had a few dates with boys and a couple with my only real friends at school, Jake and Tara. I even ended up having sex with Tara, but that's a whole other story.Suffice it to say that when I walked out of the salon/boutique I was a changed person; I became the real me. Even my therapist said she was surprised and amazed at my development. I finally admitted that I had been. Your celestial figure reclines in the tub, your cherubic lips parted in sigh. Candles glow with flames dancing. The candlelight casts your form in ethereal luster. You are my Botticelli Venus emerging from the canvas alive and breathing, the Madonna incarnate. My female spirit feels your femininity. The aura of your womanliness fills my aching female body with a familiar hunger drawing me like a magnet. My heart seeks the little death when our souls merge. Our marriage is to be consummated in this church of desire. Your pastel cheeks are angelic, as your emerald eyes gaze up at me. Your ochre curls cascade down your bird delicate shoulders. Your creamy hills are capped with rose buds. Threads of water trace lines across your mounds, glittering gold in the candle light. Your rosy cheeks are aflame with passion. The blush of love is painted across your scarlet body. My heart thumps a mad beat. Blood pulses through my web of arteries. My fingers tingle with life. My female flower.
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Kimiko was in there still, somewhere. The ill-shapen breasts rose and fell, almost imperceptible, true, but they still rose and fell. Where does the soul go from its sodden clay form when one is no longer alive but not yet dead? Was it still conscious in there? Was it simply unable to communicate through such decaying corpus? Did the soul struggle to be heard? Did Kimiko see Mai’s agony? She called her lover’s name, she shook those thin shoulders, suddenly crazed to rip the body open, part the breasts and ribs, the wild urge to find the soul of her soul mate, yet even in that tortured moment she knew that such violence would undo everything. Violence. Violence would be here soon. The dying woman took no notice of her. Mai ripped open Kimiko’s gown, pressed her cheek to her breast, felt the long nipple smothered against her cheek. She had once joked that nipple was the only food she ever needed. ‘No,’ Kimiko had laughed, looking up from between Mai’s wide open thighs, her nose and.

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