#77544 - You trained her! You kitty programmed her you goddamn WHORE!” “Karajan,” I mutter, “Please…please fuck me. If I bide my time, caress him, wait days, or weeks, ameliorate him with pleasant companionship, ply him with drink…wait for his slumber, and then, like a kat, tiptoe across the mushy lawn, scale the four meters at the east stone wall where it is lowest, leap down without breaking a bone (both my ankles are delicate), race through leagues of deep dark forest, the chaos that envelops us, this land—this estate, (which, not three days ago, was my land, years before, our land, and now, irrevocably, no man’s land, which is to say, Karajan’s) and I flee from this half-condemned, weather beaten mansion—even then, my thick wool socks would turn wet and cold. “Are you alright?” “Yes,” I say, “thank you,” as I raise my mouth, offer him my lips to kiss, with their fresh blood still moist.
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