My hands on the wood, worn smooth as leather with age and use, (I feel as though placed in stocks). My buttocks shove themselves backward - I have no...method of control, no illusion of resistance. My ankles are now digging their sides into the hard wood underneath the s**ttering of hay. They are planted, firmly, some three feet apart. My ears hear my lips shuddering together, the mouth inside trying to make words. My back arches. I am now straight and stock still, my head an even plane from. "After six months, she went back to her doctor for a recheck. She sure didn't FEEL like she was dying. She felt better than she had in her entire life. She had done everything on her list and had returned to work. Her original position had been reassigned so she transfered to the downtown office - which is why none of the girls had known about the last 6 months.So now she sat in Dr. Robbs' office, waiting for the results of her tests. Her blogging buddy had only one more suggestion. She wasn't. More

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