He tried not to believe in Sunday at all. He tried to fool himself into thinking it was any other day of the week. But it was impossible. On a desert ...sland, stranded there for the rest of his life, he would always know what day was Sunday. The stench of it. The holy ferocity and superiourness of it would beat him into a ping-pong ball for ever. But he was 32. And he was trying to get the chords right. Chords. Not cords. Not cords you can use to hang on drapes or cords you can use as tassels. I cannot go back to Anthony’s room. I’ll end up raping the poor man!I finally collected myself, cleaned up my mess, washed my hands, and put my clothes back on. At least my pussy stopped leaking everywhere…for a little while anyways.I splashed my face with cool water and blotted myself off with paper towels. Looking in the mirror, no one should be able to tell what I had just done. But, if anyone asks why I’m flushed and sweaty, I’ll blame it on the heat.I went to the nurse’s station and. More

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