Yetgradually the reality of my situation started to become all tooapparent.Where were the keys? Where had I put them?I was absolutely sure that I had ...laced them in the bag! Maybe I putthem... With a sudden flurry and a faint ray of hope, I did a quicksearch of all the pockets in the jacket.Nothing...Oh my God! What am I going to do?Bitterly I remembered the bag falling off the bed and the contentsspilling out while I had looked for a pen and note pad to take mum'scontact details.SHIT!The keys. ? It is pure fiction; no more and no less.I am forced to write this story under a pseudonym because, for some reason I simply cannot fathom, large, politically powerful segments of society seem to strongly disapprove of both the writing and the reading of this type of erotic literature.? Part of this stems from a belief that depicting sexual abuse in fiction somehow constitutes an endorsement of it in reality, particularly if the reader is meant to enjoy the depiction.? This, of course, is. More

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