We talked about our families,our fears, and our hopes for the future. We seemed to be becoming intimatefriends. I couldn't get it out of my mind that ...his was the man who saved mylife. Every time he looked into my eyes I could feel the butterflies in mytummy and the wetness between my legs. I told him about my father's letter.I told him how much it had freaked me out. I said that I had never been ableto muster enough courage to go to the cabin for fear that I might rememberwhat really happened. My name is Rose, Rose Black, but no one calls me that at home. At home I am the little slut, the bitch, the whore, occasionally just the girl. That is what Ian calls me at least, my mum doesnt really call me much at all. I should tell you a bit about myself, I am fifteen years old, white, with long dark brown hair. I am about 55, slim and beautiful with a heart shaped face and firm young tits, pretty large for my age if not actually big. In the kitchen, my darling mothers voice echoed through. More

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