Were it to be made of brass instead of the fruit of the rubber tree it would have not been out of place adorning a robust Viking matron upon the stage...of the Metropolitan Opera; circled in uncountable concentric rings of stitching running inexorably to the pointed center of the cup. I always had to fight the urge to paint a red circle in the center of that target, but common sense won out every time.There were other wonders in that drawer. Garter belts, girdles and even corsets. They were much. I had slept well, no dreams, no lying awake thinking back over the fun Scott and I had. Just the blissful nothingness.It was mid-morning; Paul and dad would be at work. Mum would be pottering around doing the housework. Sue, who was between jobs, would be out either looking for work or helping with the house. What to do? I could lie in my cosy bed and let them do what needed doing, or I could get up and face my new life.Facing the world won out. Moping around wouldn't change anything. The loo. More

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