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Associating with others had eroded my confidence. My impression was that other kids regarded me as a little weird; I had a fatalistic attitude toward people and events. I was pessimistic and bored -- I'm certain I must have been a gloomy-gus to be avoided. Repression and criticism from Mom and relatives didn't help. By age ten, I was on a psychological downer.I began to expect that life would either take people away from me, or me from them. Stepper and Uncle Robert was a case in point; Mom and all the dead of the war were others. When the Korean War started, my older cousin Josephine Louise's dad, my Uncle Lawrence, was called back to active service. He paid us a farewell visit in the early Fall. He smiled and saluted me when he left our house, bound for Fort Hood, Texas. By December he was killed in action.My future step-dad had little interest in my activities. His name was Anthony. Mom called him Tony. He was a dark haired, virile, handsome man. I disliked him somewhat; he had a. She’s afraid of me. My memories flood back to me. I regain control. I come back from the eternal now, and live once again in the universe of past and future. “Prestira, how do you feel?” Titus asked. “…Alive.” I said back to him after some consideration, still dazed. I looked down at myself. My skin was only slightly paler than it had been before, and my hair was still black. That was where the similarities ended, for the body beneath me was unrecognizable. My petite breasts had swelled to pressing domes, my modest backside bulged into alluring globes, and the gap between my thighs had narrowed to nothing. Lithe muscle rolled beneath my silken flesh, shadows belying striations and cords when I moved my hand. My clothes were tatters on the floor, but I felt no shame in my nudity. Why would an apex predator of such terrible grace and beauty worry about something as benign as modesty? “I can see that.” Titus chuckled, “It’s quite the rush, isn’t it?” I glanced at my prey, and felt a.
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