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(Sex at the Circus, continued...)

When you reach the threshold of the cage, you see Angelica inside. She’s wearing her stage costume of black leotard and skin-coloured tights. She looks beautiful. The leotard is like a starry sky, a constellation sweeping over her wiry, angular frame.

“Come on in,” she says. “I won’t bite. Much.”

You’re drawn to her, even though you feel that something isn’t right.

“What have you got behind your back?” you ask.

She pulls out a set of shiny, silver handcuffs.


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