His hands were useless; they looked very pretty with the long pink nails and soft skin but were still fundamentally useless. But this was only one of ...any wounds.He was near totally chemically castrated; the bones in his feet had been broken, and reconstructed to work in a ridiculously exaggerated arc. Through near starvation and increasingly tighter corsets his waistline had been whittled down to something beyond wasp like. Flapping his hands in a frustrated manner he swung his legs from the. Turning around I was again struck by the sheersize of the man. Even on my toes I did not reach his cheek, the one Ikissed like some love sick teenager, argh. His jeans were worn butclean. Freshly polished work boots, the kind with leather fringe belowthe laces on his feet. His shirt was blue and obviously brand new,apparent from the packaging fold marks. The idea that he may have boughta new shirt just to meet me, made me feel tingly again. What a sweetgesture. Sweet gesture, what is. More

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