I was sure she did, and she said it in a way meaning that she needed more than a kiss. "And please, don't call me Mom again; it's Erika. Do you dance,...Toby?" she asked."Not well," I said.She offered to show me. "But there's no music," I argued."I'll hum a tune."She hummed and we waltzed. My heart pounded out a different tune. It was like Gene Krupa's tom-tom beat in "Sing, Sing, Sing." Her perfume was as intoxicating as her soft purring that masqueraded as music. It sent my arms wandering below. He held his head still for his dream goggles and ear-pieces to bewrapped round his head, followed by his latex bathing cap to keep hishair in, and his girly mask. The eye-holes and ear-holes were useless tohim with his eyes and ears blocked, but as Miss Feel zipped him up theback of his head he had breathing through his nostrils and the spacebetween his lips where he would be given his next drink via a suckingteat. His wig of darling chestnut ringlets came next, and he was readyto be bloused. More

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