Starved Beast

She was startled, thinking that I'd stumbled there by chance. She tried to cover herself, expecting me to turn and depart as any French Gentleman would, but I was sixteen. I was Rustic. I wasn't a Gentleman and so when I didn't do as she expected she became upset. She jumped up and called out. She shrieked and cried to the nun at the top of the hill, and she stretched for her clothes.

But her Savior didn't come. Her Savior was my salaried accomplice. Her Savior was deaf. He was Judas, and so I nonchalantly tore the clothes from my traveler's hands and tossed them contemptuously away, throwing them to the air and I stood, tall, proud and manly, leering at her milky breasts and hair covered mound, at her white thighs and heaving shoulders.

Abruptly, she screamed again and begged me to leave. She said she had money and she reached amongst her clothes and she brought out a purse and she tipped out a large number of coins.

She held them as if from a disobedient child to a parent, pleading,