I can just see Fauxcahontas reciting the first person script you wrote. There she is, pacing back and forth in a Sweat Lodge filled with other women. Her face still trembles with ‘rage’ at the very thought that a ‘working class’ man who would deign to touch her ‘THERE!’. But that’s not the worst part. Oh no.
The very worstess-worse part of the story is that it never even happened except in her manure lined imagination.
Fauxcahontas....LMFAO!!