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If I had to guess, probably lacking." We chuckled at that self-scrutiny.Glory had come and went and came again, getting the gorgeous lady sitting across from me order of soup and a half sandwich, chicken salad on rye with French onion. The fact that she didn't seem at all phased by my staring prompted me to ask her."If I may, how come my staring isn't freaking you out?" She hadn't offered up her name and though I told her mine, I did not ask hers."Because I haven't had company with a meal in a long time and I am enjoying your company. Yes, you are staring, but I take that as a compliment and you haven't given me any bad vibes."Bad vibes, if only she knew what I was capable of. One question I had repeatedly asked myself even before she sat down with me was if I wanted to addict her to my seed. I knew I would be able to get her under my control, one way or another but I wasn't sure if that was the route I wanted to take, would I become immune to her beauty? The thought that I could. He had stripped off his shirt and coat, and pulled her in to him, sharing his heat. Ansel moved from under her and carefully, like a child, placed her on the ground. He covered her with his oilskin jacket, and began dressing. He didn't want her to be startled when she woke, he hoped his unexpected arousal would abate as well. He went to search for firewood, his thoughts were long and distant. Ansel had heard of women, they were something whispered about around a fire, maybe after a few drinks, when inhibitions were low. Sometimes a man, bold with drink, would brag about having seen one or even laid with one. Nobody ever believed such a braggart, now Ansel questioned his disbelief. There were stories of monasteries in the mountains, small civilizations that centered around sects of women. Women that nobody had ever seen, that never showed their faces, used as breeders. The only proof that they existed being the children that were handed out to be raised by their followers, or sold.
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