~Don't listen to him. Remember!~I tried to, flickering images of my friends and myself. In each of thememories, a ghostly-pale Goth girl with shining ...carlet eyes pointed to something kind I had all-but forgotten.#But why do you do these things? For yourself. You listen to their woesand say all the right things to make them go away. You're nice becauseit's expected of you, because you feel good for doing it. You're aselfish little man and nothing will ever change that.# The voicesounded. However, Susan didn't have anyone, though, at least no real, breathing lover of flesh and bone. She didn't have to worry for herself either. Although that was a clear wolf-whistle, by a group of bike-riding gangers to boot, she was confident. Her body was in shape with the martial arts training she had been through since her early years. She'd need nothing else to protect herself with, and her confidence and the way with words she had usually settled problems before they even started.Technology. ..I—” he stammered, not knowing how exactly to respond to her appraisal. “Yeah...I guess that’s what I’m asking,” he relented after a brief moment of silence.“Son, I sure would. Why wouldn’t I?” She leaned in over the table, looking at him intently. “You’ve got a decent physique, or at least an average build. You’re 5’10” yeah?” Scott nodded. “And, what are you, 200lbs?”“About that, yeah,” he responded.“See? Nothing to be ashamed of there. You’ve got good arm and leg muscles to show. Shortly after we had left the station, I turned to him, and in a very low voice, said, “James, I fear to admit this, but we were so hurried this morning that I forgot to put my bloomers on.”He stared at me and gasped, “You mean ... you ... on the train...”“What, James, you mistake me! What a scandalous thought. I simply wanted you to know,” I replied.He surreptitiously looked at my lap, then glanced away out the window. I kept up this delicious torture for the balance of our travel. Several.
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