He reached down with both hands and caressed her big breasts, relishing the silkyness of her smooth skin, the warm liquid weight of her heavy breasts, and the hardness of her nipples. White sparks flowed from his hands as he fondled her. "Got the erection ready," he said to himself. "Now I just need the black power. Need to get angry at her."It was hard. Once empathy had started, it hard to get angry at her. As he looked down at this beautiful, voluptuous woman, he tried telling himself that she was a supervillain, that she hurt people. She kicked a man in the face and took his bike. She had lied to Joey to take him away from his family. She hunted and chased him, and shot him. She tried raping him. But were these acts of evil, or desperation? She was frightened, she was suffering, she was looking for a new life, new beginnings, and new love. She wouldn't have to do these again anymore. She wouldn't do them anymore.Would she?The white sparks bounced over her body. They were the white. Alawa and Reanna were close, too, watching little Harvey walk and explore, and we had big feasts every night our guests were with us.It was the first time ma had been away from the farm in a dozen years and the first time she had visited us in our valley. She was in awe of all we had built and achieved. She particularly liked to sit and watch the water wheel of the mill and marvel at how we used the forge to also heat water for washing and bathing.Pa and I helped Eric set about building a cabin beside the mill and forge, a plank affair with brick foundations and wooden walls, floor and roof.Ma and pa thought nothing of Eric and Eliza having two handmaidens – for the widow Reanna had moved in permanently, too – and I wasn’t sure of the sleeping arrangements (but Mataoka seemed sure that ma would be having no grandchildren from that marriage anyhow). I pondered how the Indians viewed the situation. Walla just shrugged when I tried, in a round about way, to ask him. All our faith was.
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