I slept every chance I got. When I woke, the covers were twisted in a rope and the sheet was damp with my sweat. But the Fiend would be holding me. For a couple of days, I would wake sneezing, unable to stop, my nose and eyes streaming. While I was sopping up my face with an old t-shirt, the Fiend would clamber out of the bed, my vision too full of mucus to properly appreciate the rear nude view as he sauntered to the bathroom. He would return with a hand towel, cool and wet with a weak solution of bicarbonate of soda, and wash me.
Sa r'ji�o oss�vel meninonceiv �o poshik m�'�nch uscantebatahla o�r musiu o�r muiko.
Copyright � 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005 by gcs
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