Wasn't it? Would people feel sorry for me if they found out?I looked at Jill, plain, young, intense Jill, who was young enough to be my ... daughter. ...he part of my brain that was enjoying this immensely added "or niece."I decided I didn't care if people felt sorry for me or not. If I was a fuck toy ... so be it.But this was crazy! They couldn't just decide to divvy me up and share and share alike! And what made them think I'd go along with this crazy plan in the first place?Remember that part. It wasn’t longing. It was sad, and ... relieved. I guess she was happy I was alive.The hug ended, and she looked at me kind of searchingly.“I can’t believe you are alive,” she said, “After all this time.” It was polite. It was proper. It was formal.“Sometimes,” I said, “I have trouble believing that myself, but here I am.”“Come in,” she said.It was a fancy apartment. It looked like a one bedroom, one and a half bath “entertaining” apartment. It had a large living room, a formal dining room, and. More

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