Perfect StrangersWe met in the bathroom or so I thought.The moment I saw him in the girls' bathroom, I could tell he had guilt imprinted in every pore of his beautifully textured face.However, he had not expected me to walk past him without asking why he was there. Instead, I went along doing what I first went to the bathroom to do.After giving my bladder a break coming out of the stall, he was gone.I strolled comfortably to the sink. I was about to open the faucet when a faint chemical smell shot up my nostrils.When I woke up, I was wearing nothing but my baby blue bra and matching panties. My appendages were tied together; hands around my b
Cold HandsHe was holding my hand.I could still remember the first time he had done so. That time, I could tell by his trembling fingers that he was nervous. I could tell by his cold, clammy hands -- that he was nervous, and perhaps afraid.But not anymore.I could not tell anymore.As he was holding on to my hand, this minute, this second, I could no longer sense what he was feeling. His hands no longer shook, and was no longer wrapped in a welcoming layer of warm sweat. Or rather, this was not even holding hands at all, unless placing his palm against mine counts."Okay, what?" I gave in with a teary voice.He and I both knew for some reason, t