I wonder why he’s not done. Maybe it’s because you’re here.”“Tim, what’s the matter, is there something else you’d like?”“I’m just...not quite feeling it tonight.” I said. Actually, I was a lot closer than she thought.“Oh, I know what to do. Dixie, show him your tits!”“Ye gods, I don’t know, mine aren’t like yours.”“That’s OK, he’s already seen mine. Just pull up your shirt.”Dixie was purple with embarrassment, but she did it. She was almost flat, but she had the prettiest stiff nipples. I. The ghost stories of infancy including Bloody Mary, remained inmy psyche but they lost their sharp edge. They only resurfaced in horrormovie nights, or home alone when I heard a sound downstairs, or incollege student games where with my new friends we played with thebathroom light extinguished after a shared bottle of vodka.As predicted the real-life Mary had blossomed into the ethereal creaturewe'd all foreseen. We still swapped Christmas cards, and on the rareoccasions I visited my parents'. More

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