The first and strongest was her creator's love for her as the essence of woman, clear and bright and radiant in his mind. The second, nearly as strong, was his frustration and bitterness at the frailties of women around him, one who had hurt him deeply and recently, the wound showing fresh and pink in his mind. The dichotomy was almost too much for Galatea to bear. Nothing she had experienced so far had prepared her for contradiction, so she saw no contradiction. She ached to communicate with her creator and say, "Do not despair. I am here. And I am all that you seek." But, she could not speak, being marble and, as yet, her head being roughly carved with no lips.Soon enough, she had lips. Her creator came to her every day upon waking and stayed late into the night until collapsing in exhaustion. When he touched Galatea, she felt what he felt, but had no context for it. Mostly, she felt the smooth marble of her own skin under his rough, callused hands. Behind it, she felt a gnawing. Roger spent time in the men's room as well. I really hate playing with myself. I never realized that until Rogers's confession in the car. I never realized that I wanted Roger to masturbate me right there in the balcony.We sat there watching the young couple directly below us for a while. The guy had his tongue buried in the girl's mouth for the last fifteen minute. We could hear her moaning softly all the way up to where we sat. The boy had her blouse completely unbuttoned and her unfettered titties glowed with reflected light from the screen. She in turn had unfastened his jeans and was stroking his growing erection. Roger's hand had slipped over my shoulder and was caressing my nipple to life through the fabric of my dress. My own Hand had fallen to his lap to stroke his growing erection.Roger pushed our seat all the back and rolled toward me, closing his mouth over mine. My mouth opened or him and he plunged his tongue inside. Everywhere his tongue touched set off tiny explosions.
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