It took a while to lose them, those men who had seen Tami’s roadside doings and then kept following the black Cadillac, hoping for more. McMasters got off an exit, then drove around some back roads, then got on the interstate, fortunately not getting lost. “I’m hungry,” Wanda said, putting the remote control down and stretching with insolent laziness. McMasters was hungry too. Time to eat. “Tami, you hungry?” he said, looking over to the squirming, dirty girl in her vibra

“G - got - to - be - k - kidding - mmee - ohhh!” The blonde guy (prospect no. 3) was so obviously phony in his attempt at bad ballad singing that Tami’s appraisal was echoed by the TL’s. “You got that right, mi amor,” Rosaria said, looking sideways at the TV as she plunged her tongue deep into the pink cave between the lower lips that she was spreading with her fingers. “He’s better than number 1 though,” Myra said, sitting next to Rosaria, bending forward to suck one of t

Minutes taken 10/1/09. “Next order of business, Ms. Kleinfelter’s proposal for a modification to the Tunemasters Uniform.” “My proposal,” she said, untying the accordion folder and fishing out a stack of papers, “is to modify the lower half of the majorette uniform. This is called the ‘Petra Red String’, though of course it will be in the school colors, white on the right side and black on the left.” The papers, drawings of the proposal, were

Prudence has brought the posters, Kathy the markers. The four girls are having a snack in the dining room when Mr. and Mrs. Fairweather come downstairs, all dressed up, already in their coats. They are as tall as their daughter and, like her, carry themselves like African royalty. Mrs. Fairweather wears an ornate headdress which seems to almost touch the ceiling. “That whole family makes me feel inferior,” Prudence admitted once, and she was not alone. “I see you are wel

It was an exhibition hall which somehow sprouted up out here in the Gobi desert, perhaps as the centerpiece of a planned city which never got built. Some limousines parked around, and a helicopter pad. It was not that large inside, about the size of a high school gym, with five rows of stands around the periphery and a wraparound balcony. It was well-lit, big windows above bringing in the bright though bleak surroundings, a chilly and windy landscape even in summer. Sir G

The sobbing girl sniffled and shook her head, her messed up blond hair stiff with dried tears. “I’m -- not going out there again. Not w - without clothes.” She looked up at the empty closets, doors open. It seemed cruel to have closets in this place because no girl had any clothes to put in them. The washing machines downstairs were a waste too. And that was not the end of their lack of privacy. This suite was just four beds in one big room along with desks and compute