She smiled at me and looked me in the eye, a contact which I had difficulty returning. My face was on fire and I wished for a tub of ice water to dunk...my head in."Paul, I see from your work you're struggling a bit. I could help you with it after school, if you'd like. I don't know what your schedule is after school, but if you're free I'd be more than happy to drive you home. It's up to you, but I'd really like to help."I got myself together just a little and told her that'd be great, that what. By the time I was twelve or thirteen, I'd figured out what was going on.I vividly remember the night when Erin, my little sister, came bursting into my bedroom, whispering her shout, "Aaron? Aaron? should we call 911? It sounds like Dad's murdering Mom."I faked a haughty Continental laugh. "Mother is enjoying what the French call the little death. Meaning she likes being speared by Father. She's enjoying those same scintillating sensations as when you rub yourself between your legs."She'd. More

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