I don't do farm animals. Can't stand hay in your leathers? Or wool in my teeth.

He screamed for all he had lost...screamed for the half male he was...screamed for Jane...screamed for who his parents were and what he wished for his sister...screamed for what he had forced his best friend to do...He screamed, and screamed until there was no breath, no consciousness, no nothing. No past or present. Not even himself anymore. And in the midst of the chaos, in the strangest way, he became free.

Great rationalizations. All of which her adrenal gland middle-fingered and then carried right on.

Her perfume or soap or whatever it was reminded him of sandalwood and something else. Oh, right...orgasms.

Life is such a glorious trauma, is it not?

As much as we have free choice, absolute destiny is immutable. What is meant to happen does, through one measure or another.

What was said about him, what the females needed to believe about him, was just oral masturbation for mouths that needed to be otherwise occupied.