EXTRACT FOR
In Fertile Ground
(Giselle Renarde)

"This is our bed," he says, laughing lightly. "Would you care to touch it?"



"May I?"



"Yes, of course, sweet girl."  He takes hold of my hand and presses it against the soft, dark fabric. "It's velvet."



"I've never felt anything so soft, except the mosses in the forest."



He hasn't released my wrist when he asks, "Do you like the mosses in the forest?"



"Yes," I say, though my throat runs dry. "I like them just after the rain, when they remain slightly wet."



"Much like your skin," he says as he traces his fingers up my arm. "Your mother did not dry you."



"I'm sorry."



He shakes his head and tells me, "Those were my instructions to her: bring your daughter to me wet."



I worry that perhaps I am not wet enough for his liking. But if he were to feel the freshly shaven place between my legs, he would find all the wetness he could ask for.