Ah, yes, the Norweagin Au Pair

Smiling evilly, Francis walked up to a young woman, her blonde hair bound in a single braid hanging to her waist, pushing a stroller, complete with baby and accessories.

“Hello,” Francis grinned eyeing the lithe blonde’s form-fitting black turtleneck. “Is this one yours?”

“What do you mean?” the young woman asked with a slight Norwegian accent.

“This child,” he smirked. “The baby. Is it your child?”

“Ach, no,” she smiled. “I am her au pair. Her mother is busy trying on clothes in the department store.”

“That’s nice,” Francis said. “This may seem a personal question, but how old are you?” Answer, he pushed with the Stone.

“Nineteen,” she smiled, flashing her white teeth.

“Ever been with a man?”

“How do you mean?”

“Are you a virgin?” Francis asked, wondering if she was a dunce or it was a language issue. She nodded, blushing.

“Are you here on a work visa?” he asked. Her blue eyes grew round, suddenly full of fear.

“N, no,” she quivered. “I, um, was brought to America illegally.”

“That’s not good,” Francis said solemnly.

“No,” she softly agreed, her eyes downcast. “It is so nice here. I, I do not want to leave.” Small tears began to leak from her eyes.

“There, there,” Francis said, patting her shoulder. “Don’t cry. You won’t have to leave, trust me.”

“I can?” she said, looking into his eyes.

“Sure,” he smiled. “You take care of me and I’ll take care of you; how bout it?”

“I take care of,” she paused. “That, that is, is ****.”

“Truly,” Francis affirmed with a grin. “But what choice is there really?”