“Sorry Ma” he offered with an absolute genuine look of remorse in his dark brown eyes.Anna sat down on the end of her son’s bed, crossing her legs and reaching down to massage her nylon-ed feet as Michael reluctantly swivelled round in his chair to face her. “You gonna tell me what it was all about, Mike?” she asked without looking up. She suppressed a grin as she watched his feet twist from side to side, hearing a faint squeak from the chair and making a mental note to get her husband to oil it when he got home.After a number of seconds Michael answered albeit as a mumble, “It was just school stuff, Ma.”Anna re-crossed her leg and began to work the knots from her other foot, “Just school stuff?” she echoed, “Not sure that’s gonna cut it, Michael” she answered using his full name to denote the seriousness of the situation; “Definitely won’t be enough for your father!”She heard an audible gulp from her son before he replied, “Does Dad really have to know?” he asked.“The e-mails come. The clothes, jewelry, perfume; his guiding and applying makeup, painting my nails, combing my hair, his sexual transforming me were his playing with his Asian doll. He loved his doll, the doll he created and played with. That was his infatuation, not me. In all honesty, he never said he loved me. Why did I think he did? Because I loved being his Asian doll.He did change me. With the putty of my poor background, low self-esteem; my naivety, he re-constructed me into his fantasy. The clothes, jewelry, makeup, Porsche, trips to San Francisco; his Stanford internship, knowledge of anatomy, sex games, charm, intelligence, attention, swayed me because I wanted to be what he created, even if I was only his sex doll. I became addicted by his transformation, over and over seeking the initial rush of crossing his threshold.I was awed by Edward’s sophistication but know now it was only his money, not him which impressed me. It was his money which bought the perks of Stanford, Porsche, fine wine,.
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