"Stop, Allen! Stop!"She was as tense as a spring. When his fingers washed the cleanser around her clitoris, she began to feel the hotness coming to he... cheeks, the uncontrollable desire gripping her. The room began to bend in toward her, Allen's laughing shape wavered before her eyes. Her mind reeled."Stop! Stop," she panted, trying to fight the teasing, hungry need he was stimulating in her."You like that, don't you, bitch?" Allen shoved his fingers in brutally. "You like that." No," she. Next the dress. It was a blue floral dress. Very open and free. Then a grey cardigan. She frowned and looked at it on me "I didn't realize how good that dress and cardigan go together!" She clapped her hands.I rolled my eyes. "Yeah whatever."I put on some Converse sneakers and she helped put on a blonde wig. It felt different having hair laying across my shoulders. "Fuck!" I thought to myself, "What did I get myself into?"To complete the outfit she put a mood necklace around my neck.She jumped. "I'm young, but I don't need the extra money that comes from private commissions versus traditional openings, so I can and will take the long view. Please excuse me for speaking to Ruth as if you weren't here." I turned to Ruth. "Mr. Pound says he's shown the work of Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, Helen Frankenthaler, Andy Wharhol, and Jasper Johns. Is this true?" Yes," Ruth said.I turned to Pound. "I'll show my work with you." I took his elbow. "Excuse us, Ruth," I said as I guided Joseph Pound. Work wasn’t easy as well. Her rudimentary English was a constant stumbling block to her progress. Yet, some of the men within her company would take the trouble to teach her the ropes, thinking it charity. However that wasn’t the case, at least not always.Some of the men were really into her. Take for example, Jason, one of her colleagues, who constantly watched over her shoulder. Sometimes he would bring her along for lunch, chatting about his wife, kids. Sometimes he would drop her off from.
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