Ophelia was an attractive young black woman with a lighter complexion. She sported corn rows, a button-down shirt, and jeans. Simple, comfortable, j...st right. Her guitarist was a white guy with shoulder-length hair and an expensive looking acoustic-electric. Ophelia stepped up to the microphone. “Thank you all for coming; we are A-Minor, I’m Ophelia, he’s Tyler; just so you know, we are looking for a drummer. We hope you enjoy our music.” They played for about half an hour; the music was. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten weak since I last saw you! I mean you’re on the rowing team!” She giggled and helped him push the last of them in. He caught her as she headed for the driver’s door. “Weak, huh? You think I have gotten weak?” Tadeo spun her around and kissed her, pressing his chest against the gentle swell of her young flesh. He imagined how those small, perfect breasts would feel in his hands when he finally got to touch them on their wedding night. He reminded himself that he would. Mr. Cortales was already down to his skivvies. "You can't enjoy a sweat lodge if you've got clothes on." Then he crawled into the lodge followed by Sly. I shrugged and stripped out of my clothes. The other guys followed suit. I wasn't sure if Lionel was even going to fit in the little lodge but eventually we were all crammed inside and it didn't take long to start sweating."This is good, Harry," Sly said. "They will be so focused on how uncomfortable they are they won't hear a thing we say.". The left one looks better. I can flex my knee. At least I am not paralyzed. That's for sure. My bottom and lower back are on fire. I am trying to move my arms. The right one is not responding. My fingers are numb. I am not sure if I have internal injuries. My stomach is not painful. That's good. There are moist blotches beside me. I touch them. Then, I examine the tips of my fingers. To my relief, they are not smeared with blood. The wetness is maybe water or urine, but definitely not blood. I.
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