He had a little, light-colored body hair, but not anything bushy -- just a patch on his chest, rings around his nipples, and a trail that disappeared into his boxers, which was the only thing either of them was wearing at this point. Tabitha couldn't put a finger on it, but he made her pussy itch to look at him; even that morning in the hospital, when she was in no shape to be touched anywhere, he'd caused her to be flustered -- something which had allowed him to overcome her natural reticence and get her signature on the release for the cops. Since then, she'd chased him shamelessly, using come-ons out of habit despite the fact that they embarrassed them both; while she really didn't want to treat him like a john, she just couldn't come up with any alternate method of getting his attention. God knew it'd been FOREVER since she'd been in a relationship where sticking it out there and being blatantly obvious hadn't been a winning tactic... Paul was different, though. He was about as. And he didn’t want the townsfolk hearing that he was a child rapist. A rapist was expected, even acceptable; the women had that in their lives most of the time anyway – a husband demanding his rights, a drunken brother going too far; and the men just thought that was what women were made for – having a cunt meant you were there to service a prick. He was in charge of their town; he hadn’t increased taxes (yet), so a few women in his bed was a small price to pay; but children would be a different matter. The fact that womanhood started when the father said it did was a different thing altogether. It wasn’t unknown for girls of twelve to be married; it also wasn’t unknown for girls of twelve to be mothers; it also wasn’t unknown for girls of twelve to die in childbirth. He had others to choose from.The meeting with the merchants was interesting. He explained that The General wanted to buy fodder, that the neighbouring city would be a wreck for at least a year, probably longer. It was.
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