He was older now, matured, with coarse hair on his chin and chest. He’d grown tall, and his incarceration in the room with the gym equipment his father supplied had given him time to become strong and thick with muscle. The time of his lesson had arrived, but, as the bedroom door opened, he saw his father was not alone. Following close behind was a young woman. Her dark hair was worn straight and smooth so it fell down over her shoulders. She wore a red dress in material as silky as her hair, which clung to her curves. Her breasts appeared to be too high on her chest, the globes too round and pushed together—though he was sure this had been done on purpose to draw the eye. Her heels were so high he was amazed she could walk. Her dark eyes were thick with mascara, her lips shiny with gloss. Though, from the way she was dressed, he’d have thought her to be someone who knew her place in the world, her confidence didn’t shine. Instead, she hid behind his father, fiddling with the clingy material of her dress.
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