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. always waiting... and wanting. I gasp and let out a sharp cry as I feel the first touch of something, more shock than pain. My mind processes the ...eeling, the sensation, and I realize it is a light touch, feathery, sleek. It could, indeed, be a feather... or fringe of a blanket... perhaps his hair. I can only imagine, not determine, as the touches and teases continue. The feathery feeling is gone now, replaced with something cold and wet... an ice cube? a popscicle? his fingers, dipped. "What're you doin'?" Mark said pulling again on his arm his speechslurred by sleep."Getting you ready?"Following the line of his arm he saw his casted wrist still covered witha pink spandex sleeve encircled by several circuits of white rope withmore strands disappearing behind the corner of the couch where Nancy'shands were working. In seconds she reached for his other arm and pulledit toward the opposite corner of the couch. She was strong and with oneof his arms already trapped he could not. More

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