Tangles

The dream was always the same. Amy wore a dress she could only describe as early June Cleaver, and her lingerie was straight out of the fifties as well – she had never in her life worn a garter belt for heavens sakes, or stockings. Even her heels weren’t really stilettos. She shook her head. She was in a small room with minimal furniture, a simple couch, the awful table and two chairs. Awful because she knew how he would use it.

Continue Reading

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s