Brad knew it had been wounded, but not how. There wasn’t much to say about it, so he didn’t say anything. “Well they’re up ahead somewhere,”...said Brad. “And so are my men. They shouldn’t have left the flock either. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t like it one bit.” Brad looked at Frank. “Where’s your father? You aren’t out here alone, are you?”What Frank wanted to say was that his father was wasting time back at the ranch, but he didn’t want to air any dirty laundry in front of. And yet the man was old, at least 50! It was unfair; no, no, he could not pass by like the ... the ... Bad Samaritan? He had not paid enough attention to religious education at school or home or church.“I say, you chaps. Why not pick on someone your own size?” This was a foolish, schoolboy comment, the kind he had said to McClintock or Foodle when they bullied an ‘oikling’ (the school term for a first year). He realised then that they could not even pick on him, they were several chest sizes. Sevus? Srevas? He rarely plundered her, and when he did he forced her to drink Polyjuice potion first. She had no idea whose form her body took on those occasions, but whoever she was she tasted like strawberries. It was a salve to her psyche to be someone else for a change. He was a gentle lover, though-- almost tender-- and that spoiled it for her; he didn't use her mercilessly enough, and always seemed disgusted with himself after he finished.For "merciless" she preferred Lucius.He never. I had my arms around her waist, and we stood there, just for a few seconds. I could feel the tension growing as she invited me in.We sat there talking for an hour about her husband, and how drink has replaced love, and how she doesn't feel wanted. She offered me a drink, and came back from the kitchen a short while later with a large JD and coke, and bought herself in a large glass of red wine. She sat next to me, told me how she loved talking to me, and began stroking my hair.She finished her.
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