“I think she’d right,” Benny said. “Who asked you?” I shouted at him, getting to my feet. “Chris, calm down,” Jake ordered. “Listen to...them. They know what they’re talking about.” “And you do?” “Look,” Benny said. “All I said was that I think Francesca is right. You need to get help.” I snapped. Without realizing what I was about, I rushed at Benny, my hands wrapping around his neck. And I began to squeeze tighter and tighter and tighter until…everything went black. When I woke up, I was on the. My sister was happier, and it made the situation more tolerable than the truce had.Aspects of the bedtime routine I observed religiously changed when I began to consider challenging my mother's authority. The rubbing on the bed got slower, allowing me the time to build my first fantasy. The images changed to her touching me, bathing me, holding my center. The fantasy made 'The Itch' bigger, more pleasurable, more draining.Like with everything else, my mother was the heart of my burgeoning. More

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