He removes his hand from my flesh. Now I draw in a sputtering, fearful breath. One foot now between my own, his right foot, kicking gently, spreading...me apart by degrees. My hands go to the wooden crossbeam before me, as though drawn my a puppeteer's strings. Only the rest of my body shakes now. I want so much to scream out, to ruin this all by pleading for it all to end. My hands on the wood, worn smooth as leather with age and use, (I feel as though placed in stocks). My buttocks shove. Raising an arm and examining herself, Geeta observed with satisfaction that there was not the slightest sign of stubble, and it might be weeks before she would need to apply the cream again, either to her armpits, or anywhere else, for that matter.Geeta looked closely in the mirror, searching for any sign of a wrinkle, of the first indication that she was beginning to age. She found nothing. Her skin was as perfect as it had been when she finished high school. Perhaps this was because she was. More

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