Her feet and legs were covered in tight, black, thigh high boots. Good Italian leather, shined carefully. A thin zipper was tucked into the inner seam...of each boot. Before he could stop, he imagined kneeling in front of her, his head close to her skirt, breathing in the mixed scent of her perfume, sweat, and the leather skirt and boots.He discretely locked the door and flipped over the sign so it read “Closed” from the outside. He lowered the blinds and turned off the overhead lights. Only the. Her face flashed into my mind. She was dressed for an outing, waiting at the front door for my father to pick her up and take her out. There was a tendril of memory, floating at the back of my mind, of a babysitter and my unhappiness at having this particular sitter stay with me.The still picture of my mother was engraved into my memory, because, instead of my father come to pick her up, there were two police officers and a clergyman. There words were far too soft for my little ears, and the. More

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