The Birthday
Proserpina
Soon, I turned nineteen. There had been moments when I had wanted to shyly mention that to Lucien. But each time, he seemed impatient to get away quickly once his powerful s****l urges had been satisfied. My poor, proud heart could not stop him. My body could only hold him captive for a few hours...
Later in my life, while I was living in the hills of Bhutan, I often asked myself why I had continued to live with him for so long—almost for a year and a half.
It was a chance reading of an article in a magazine that a friend had kindly lent me when I was in the mountains that opened my eyes to the reality I had refused to see in my youthful madness.
The author, a well-renowned psychologist, explained how every girl and every woman has a secret fascination for the
