”“Simon?”“My opposite. Like me but completely different. He believes only in himself, and expects all others to only believe in him.”“He thinks he’s a god?”“He wishes he were. We cannot move mountains, only people’s minds. And even then not as completely as he wishes. We make suggestions. Compulsions really. But they can be fought or even ignored if otherwise convinced. They would not be in this situation, taking back land from the unbelievers. It would be a religious cause, and the righteousness would destroy any who didn’t worship Jesus. You are right, my love. Things will become terrible for not just the Moors and the Jews, but anyone who challenge the sanctimonious assholes who take power.”“I understand why you have not told me of this Simon. You have protected me from fear. How long before I must flee?”“Not long enough. We live in the last accepting place for the Moors, but it will topple, from within and then from without eventually.”“Then help me forget in the best way. "Well, well," she said with a mischievous grin. "You've missed your calling." My face turned red with embarrassment as Ingrid settled into an armchair and crossed her long legs, looking me over from head to toe. She was wearing a flimsy pair of my see-through, low-cut panties and a silk camisole that revealed her pretty pink nipples. "Miss!" she grunted in a business-man voice, snapping her fingers. "What does a guy have to do to get a drink around here?" I turned and walked slowly to the kitchen, knowing her eyes were following the seams on the backs of my nylons. When I set the drink on the table next to her, she purred like an alley cat, running her hand up the back of my leg, from my calf to my rump, pushing up my skirt. I slapped her hand away and she laughed, pulling me onto her lap and sliding her hand up my thigh. "You're a feisty little bitch," she growled, still using her manly voice. "Maybe you need a good spanking!" I giggled and squirmed in her arms as her hand inched.
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