As I grew older, I became curious about past lives and reincarnation and became an avid reader on the subject. So, when I met Cassondra a few years ago, she was one whom I felt I had known my whole life, and the longer I was around her I sensed with certainty that I had been in one or more of her lives. But the curious aspect was the fact that I seemed to know without question that she had been a prostitute.

The Pullman was jerked up from the corner.

"Oh, good God! What's this? I was happy living in my peaceful place in the attic. I didn't even mind the cobwebs. So now what? Nobody seems to want me unless there's a big trip coming up, and I'm getting too old for that. I'll likely be thrown around, shoved, and kicked, and will feel smothered until we stop if we're going by plane. I could be thrown atop a berth in a train car, which wouldn't be so bad. But I hope to God this won't be a road trip. I'll be dragged in and out, opened and closed a dozen times, getting no rest whatsoever, and I'll likely even land on some hard, sharp rocks covering some parking lot to a motel or at a campground. I really hate that."

As I began stroking, the moans came naturally as I raised my head up and back. The strokes felt so damned good — near cathartic — until I noticed the shower curtain move. I stopped my hand and looked more closely, hoping I had imagined the moving curtain. But then I saw masculine fingers grasp the fabric and plastic barrier to pull aside cautiously.