Sam undid the top three buttons of his shirt, more than he needed to catch a breeze, and less than stripping, but it certainly made him look laid back, like he was settling in for a seduction rather than a torture session.

"Everything works. Everything is torture. The smile of a child, the sun rising, a glass of water." Sam slowly tilted his head to one side. He stepped forward again, unbuttoning his sleeves now and rolling them up toward his elbows. "It's all in the presentation. The way a smile dies, when the child watches his hero crumble. A cell window that never quite sees the sun, only its shadow. A glass of water just out of reach of a man buried in desert sand. Everyone is different, but most people break one of two ways: emotionally, or physically.

"You were tortured in life, and you're stronger because of it. Like me." His eyes flickered briefly toward the floor. "Right now you think you can fight it, but once, so did I, and look at me now. That's why it has to be like this. That's why it has to be me. You see, this is what happens to you, Eliot." He gestured toward himself as he spoke. "--And the sooner you surrender to it, accept that this is now your life, your existence, the less you'll have to suffer."

He lowered his hands, and asked, matter of factly: "Have you ever been fucked by a man, Eliot?"