I glimpsed the orchard again, the light was fading and golden, but I couldn’t go there.He didn’t use the flame on me, but took it to a rusting lock on the drain cover instead. ?It’s a deep one, hell of a way down,? he said.They jabbed me with the further syringes and I immediately felt my heart race and the rush of my consciousness locking even more firmly in the real world. My senses became heightened; I could smell something dead in the drain, and taste the steel and copper of blood in my mouth with a terrible strength. The pain was highlighted too of course. So I felt it as fully as is probably humanly possible when she cut the first finger off with the bolt cutters.Blackness. Next finger. A broken one. I was stabbed in the soul by each loss. My breathing was one long scream, just a hollow hiss due to strained vocal cords. Panic had become my norm. Agony. No God would help me with death.She picked up my fingers and tossed them into the drain. ?Maybe you can eat them when they rot. ... out of sight, and out of mind.However, as LaShaunda, I was no longer just a mirage, but a living,breathing, truly functional black woman, with her own history andidentity.I cuddled with James for a few minutes, lost in thought. I was stillabsolutely dripping with cum."James," I said, "Can I go wash off," sure, sure," he moaned.I went to the restroom and douched myself until I was totally free ofjuices, and I flushed the toilet towels down the latrine. I finallyfelt fresh and "like myself" again in my artificial pussy.I went back to the bedroom and cuddled with James, and I realized thenhow grateful I was that I had avoided the worst and most painful aspectsof being an African-American woman.... Discrimination, social-invisibility, getting disrespected, gangs, no employment prospects,etc.... I was so lucky that I had James here to give me and my girls allthe best of this wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime experience, but none ofthe worst. We got to dress, be pretty, dance, and be.
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