Again, what kind of psychopath who drinks Coca-Cola in baby bottles describes his actions in a conversation? You're convinced he thinks you can't hear what he says.
You decided not to accept the Doctor, you argued that you were too honorable for one, In reality...you didn't really trust anyone, especially men who offered you free services, money is the reason we exist, the second most popular thing than money(and the other less important reason we exist) is sex, one you don't have and the other you are not willing to offer yet.
The room smelled like dust and emptiness, contrasting with the sickly caramel-sweet smell that the small accident left you with.
"Excuse my forwardness but you have very smooth skin, like silk, if I may say so"
The blue-eyed man said.
When someone is touching you for supposedly medical reasons that is the last thing you want to hear.
The "silk" skin wasn't even that special, but you had taken care of it in your time...with cream and all that shit, yet, when getting here you could only wash your face with soap (if you were lucky and Abador gave you some), the artificial effects of the wonderful world of the chemical cosmetics were not completely gone yet, leaving you above average in a matter of how visible your pores were.
"...Thank you"
You said, dry. The cold water felt like shooting on your skin. He looked at you, you looked at him, and after a few seconds of silence, you decided to speak.
"You are...uh...a good-looking man, yeah, sure,"
Every word made you look at a different side of the room, not completely believing it, yet the man didn't seem to notice or decided to ignore it.
A faint deep red coloration formed on his cheeks, or cheekbones? The most masculine way to say it.
