Forty
Of course Mrs. Winthrop had to arrange for a female guard. The final ignominy as, with p***s healed, I am to be banished... escorted naked to the main gate.
The sneering uniformed woman, a retired New York City police officer, grabs hold of my nose chain. She is gruff, having no compunction concerning a servile male, and having little empathy in failing to realize how sensitive the many nerves in the nose are to even the gentlest of tugs.
“Let’s go big boy,” her throaty voice rasps in unhooking my chain.
Our march begins and I step from my cage for the last time. Out the bedroom door, down the stairs, Mrs. Winthrop is somewhere unknown, her absence conducive with having nothing more to say to me.
Past the pool area, I hear the innocent laughter of what sounds like a young girl.
