It would be over with, with both of them. Was it then worth it? Worth fucking Joy at least once? That was the one question I hadn't come to terms with...as yet. But I was also painfully aware, left alone with her the way I would be, that temptation and question would no doubt be answered.At least Joy had put something on when we entered the kitchen area. Though I wasn't sure what she'd put on made things any easier for me. In an odd way, she looked even sexier partially dressed than totally nude.. What kind of help did she expect to find? What was the help for? The only rational, if somewhat questionable, idea I could come up with was some form of therapy, but for who? For what? For me? For the scars on my back? No, that didn’t make sense. She hadn’t mentioned anything about needing therapy when we talked. She didn’t seem to have any problems that needed therapy either.I looked at the house again. It was small with only two little, curtain covered windows to the right of the front door.. More

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