On the side there was another door which led to a larger room. "I found it".She thought.

She was a bit emotional at that point. Finally, she felt she had arrived to a special place. It was the largest room in the house, with large windows above the street below. There was a presence in that room that invited her to walk in, to feel at home. She felt the seductive power of that invitation, her legs weakened, she felt a chill around her. The house was alive, it was not a corpse.

It was obvious that at one time at least part of the walls were covered with that expensive wall paper that one found in victorian houses in England. Of course, a house like this had been the property of very wealthy people.

Maybe the owners lost their fortune or their wealth was nationalized during the revolution and fled, abandoning the house. She was certain that there was a lot of history around this house.

Her body was trembling, as if in the embrace of a seductive lover, her clothes bothered her. She wanted to rip them off her body, but she was too controlled. She removed her sweater.

It was better than she imagined. She always thought that she would feel the power of the house on her. She loved the emptiness of the place, it was a turn- on for her. It was often like that. An empty, old room was always a turn-on for her, she didn't know why. If the walls were grimy and the rooms were dark, it was better. There was something about the emptiness, the cold, the grime, the filth that attracted her.

She felt at home and she didn't know why, she wished it was night, but she did not dare to go into that place at night. "I might at one point...", she told herself.

She looked around to see where she could put her sweater, she saw some nails on a wall. She hung her sweater from one of them.

She walked to the window, afraid to look out.   She felt her body buzzing with anticipation.  Her desires were flowing, urging her to be taken by the room.

Outside the room was the real world, the familiar sounds of cars and people passing by.  She could clearly hear the everyday sounds of the minibuses, the method of public transportation in this city, with their announcers, mostly children, who scream out the stops they make from the windows of the small, often packed, vans.

This was a country where children were forced to work to help ends meet.   Often exploited, they were part of the family's economy. She loved this city, but she hated that there was so much poverty.  But somehow people were happier than the people in the big European cities. Life was easier, less tense, less empty.  Perhaps suffering gave more meaning to the day.

Red Feline turned away from the window, away from the real world and returned to the cold, eery, fantastic world she was entering.

The feeling was not empty of meaning. In fact, it was accompanied by images, clear unexplainable images.

Images that followed her through life, that grew in complexity, that were her source of excitement and fear.

She lowered her dress to expose her breast, she felt her own softness, her hand was tender and she knew what she wanted to touch and how. It was nice to be touched, but it was frustrating when the person doing the touching didn't know how.

Of course she knew there were different needs at play. They guy wanted to use her tits. She wanted them to be caressed.