A Veiled Tunisian Queen Humiliates Her Owner...

Was it my imagination or was it not quite so stygian?I reflected on the scene I'd just been part of. Susan and Angela were common factors. If it was VR, it was the most detailed VR I'd ever heard of, and how the hell did they manage to capture people's thoughts? I veered away from the dawning realisation that this was no VR scenario, but now the thought was planted it was impossible not to keep returning to it. Was I dead? I didn't feel dead. That seemed hilarious, what was death supposed to feel like? I struggled to remember anything, but all I had apart from the odd fact was the last two scenes. For some reason the details of the scenes seemed etched on my consciousness. But then when I concentrated on them they flowed away.Even so, I persevered, and found that I could eventually bring everything to mind. My name was Mark and I knew two girls: Susan and Angela. For some reason that I couldn't fathom, Angela's mother hated me. I thought of Angela, I remembered the way that the. " The boys can misunderstand what?" You know Vonnie, things." Things Dion?" Well yeah Vonnie, things."Suddenly I knew what Dion was getting at and almost as suddenly I realized that he had a valid concern.I am a forty-five year old woman with two grown and married daughters. My mother, my daughters, even my grandmother and aunts, along with myself, have never been ashamed of our bodies and we never worried about being scantily clad in front of the men in our family. I'm not talking nudity here; we just didn't spend a lot of time covering up around the house. My father, brothers, and an occasional uncle or two have seen me nude and it was no big thing. I grew up not being ashamed of my body and not thinking it wrong to see anyone else's. When I married at nineteen I lucked out and got a guy who was a free spirit and we eventually became nudists so I've never been overly concerned about clothes, especially in my own house.I lost Don to cancer when I was thirty-nine and I mourned him for.
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