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Fred undresses her slowly and sure hands. He becomes a little peturbed
thinking about how many men have done the same with her. He looks around
the room and at the walls as he kisses her neck and fondles the other
parts of her body. Finally, Amy is moaning and reaching climax. "I can't do this," says Fred. "Ohhh, give it to me now." "I can't do this." "Huh?" Fred backs off and begins to get dressed. "My walls at home are full of the weapons of men I have slain. They are trophies to me, signs of my victory. To them, they are a dishonor, a sign of weakness and defeat. I have killed the sons of the men I have slain to prevent them from taking my trophies. They are my honor." "What are you talking about?" asks Amy. "My trophy will never hang on your wall. You will never conquer me, but maybe I will conquor you."
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