Why does her brain want to get away from this source of undoubted pleasure, albeit inflicted as opposed to nurtured onto her? As much as the pain from...his open, rapid, palm? Maybe more so.As if on cue, he utters:‘Don’t you fucking dare.’‘Don’t you fucking dare, you ingrate. You fucking ungrateful slut.’The softly threatening, dusky words he’d fed her earlier have gone.This is guttural, insistent communication.One-way.She picks up an apple, and considers it.She begs:‘Fingers…’‘Please?’‘I need. “The place wasn’t too busy and we we found a table right off. Far enough away from the music but close enough to the dance floor.”Julian touched my forearm.“It’s an ‘all-gender’ place, Dad, you know?”I nodded.“So it was no big deal if I danced with Harper first.”Another swallow. Once more I filled Julian’s glass.“I wasn’t trying to look like anything other than myself, I mean, this part of myself.”“And he did, Dad,” Harper put in. “He looked great.”Harper leaned over to kiss Julian.“Anyway,”. More

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