Her hand felt the same as I remembered, small and soft. I tried to hide my sigh when she let go.The guest room had been transformed into an office/workroom. On one side were the computer, printer and a file cabinet. On the other side were a drafting table, rolled up blueprints and more file cabinets."I only need your social security number. I remember everything else," Jen said as she booted the computer. "First, you'll need to sign an employment agreement. I'll print that out..." she stopped talking when she saw me looking at the space where the bed had been."That was a long time ago, Benny," she said, using the name she called me back when we were juniors in high school and came to this room for the first time, nervous as hell, wanting to take advantage of having the house to ourselves."Yes, it was," I agreed, noticing the printer running.I hurriedly read the employment agreement, signed it, wrote down my social security number and backed toward the hallway, ready to leave the. Well&hellip,its not as bad as mine&hellip, Ebima chuckled his masculine chuckle and walked over to the bed. He laid Chris on it, as though he was made of porcelain. He stood back up and in the light coming from everywhere and nowhere in the room, Chris finally got an eyeful. Ebima had to be at least 7, the shortest he would say was 68. His hands and feet were as large as dinner plates, his fingers a bit too long for his hands. Ebima had no shirt on, so Chris had no obstructions in the way of the swell of the demons chest, and the subtle muscles encasing his arms. There was a line of white hair that swept from Ebimas chest, over his tight stomach, into his pants, the dark feet sticking out the bottoms of his pants were long, and thin. Ebima worked at something behind his head, and the white hair Chris assumed was cut short, tumbled down, over the demons shoulders and trickled just inches past his waist. Ebima eyes bored in to Chris and the boy noticed a slight up tilt to them. Ebima.
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