Pulp Nocturne 1930 February 16, 2014

November 24, 2014

As We Last Left widgetRachael slowly and laboriously swings her legs so that that they are dangling over the right side of her bed. The full length of her colorful oriental gown now becoming apparent as she pulls the sheets away after she sets the pistol on her pillow. The gown extends down to just above Rachel’s ankles which are now crossed right over left and swinging back and forth as if she were a little girl at a playground. If Gaelin was hoping for something a little more revealing then only an ankle fetish would save him from disappointment. Who knew what kinds of bandaging Rachel still sported under her attire anyway? Womanizer or other, Gaelin probably wasn’t in too much of a voyeuristic mood right now. Today, Gaelin was interested in Rachel for other reasons…

Turning her face to meet his, Rachel hesitates but, then speaks. “As a child, I began interest in the subject matter of…” Rachel hesitates again and then continues, “I don’t want to belabor you with all the details at his moment, so for the time being I’ll get straight to the point. I’m a talented sensitive that started out under contract just like you Gaelin. Over time I’ve proven my mettle and have been adopted into the organization. Depending upon whom you consult some may call me a psychic, and others may even call me a witch. I prefer to call myself…mmm, a mentalist. Years of rigorous mental and even physical training has developed in me talents and abilities far beyond those of normal women-or men for that matter.” Rachel leans back with her arms extended behind her for support like some kind of structural support members. Almost simultaneously, her legs swing up-still locked together-as if counterbalancing her weight. “With all that’s been going on ever since I’ve arrived in the states, I’ve fallen off of my mental research. In the last two days I’ve been concentrating on regaining the mental discipline needed for healing myself. Even as I speak to you mister Gaelin, I’m recovering at a prodigious rate,” she continues in her pleasant English accent. Gaelin can’t articulate how but, now that she’s mentioned it, it may seem to him that Rachel’s a slight bit more healthy than when he walked in.  Rachel slowly gets to her feet and palms the ornate walking stick near her bed. At this point the gown has covered her ankles and only the tips of stylish slippers are revealed by the long gown. Hints of bandaging now more apparent under her gown, try in vain to interrupt Rachel’s attractive feminine curves. The next few steps she takes are nowhere near as feminine as her curves suggest they should be however. Slowly Rachel steps closer to Gaelin and stops in front of him, both hands fisting the top of the walking stick as she slightly leans forward with about a quarter of her weight supported by it.  “Does that satisfy your curiosity my good man?”



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