Absently, I groped at a pimple on the side of my face."Steven, don't do that. Leave your face alone." She flicked her ashes again. Then she gave an ex...sperated little laugh and shook her head. "Oh, listen to me nag. I'm sorry, Steven, don't let me nag at you like that. But this is so unlike you." I know," I said, shifting uneasily in my seat."Are you lying to me about those glasses? Was that one of those tiny, itsy-bitsy, teeny white lies?" Yes." Please don't do that." Her eyes looked past me. For two hours I had watched mother pour over her drawing, naked tits brushing occasionally against the tablecloth. I felt like chewing on a book cover to keep my teeth from grinding. My own picture was filled with rape scenes of stick people. One particular figure was screwed again and again, always between her circles for tits. I drew crazily, but I had to be careful I didn't draw over my dangling black sleeves. My illustration was a rare pastime I could use to offload my growing sexual. More

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