A hand landed on her shoulder. Professor Lyle, her thesis advisor. He smelled of stale coffee and pencil shavings.
“Freya. Stand up and turn around.”
She straightened. He was already walking away, crumpling his sandwich bag into a ball. freeuse freya parker
“You’re Freeuse Freya,” he said. Not a question. A hand landed on her shoulder
Freya set down her glass and turned, bending at the waist until her palms rested on the cool stainless steel. Her mother’s hand slid up the back of her thigh, a quick, utilitarian touch. Checking for what, Freya no longer wondered. Cleanliness? Readiness? It didn’t matter. The rule was the rule: any family member, any guest of the family, any designated adult in the household hierarchy, could use her body for any momentary, non-injurious purpose. No explanation required. No refusal permitted. “Freya