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"Er- Mistress, can we talk privately somewhere?"Just then, a toilet stall became vacant and Naomi tugged me into it.She plopped me down on the seat, then hiked up her skirt and sat downfacing me, her smooth legs straddling mine, her silken-covered breastspressed up against my bare ones."Well, Miss-ter Crayle?" The way she said the name was a deliberatemockery of my true identity and gender. "Did you get what you came herefor?" Not yet." My voice was still soft and feminine from force of habit,and it seemed like too much trouble to change it. "I've got to getcloser to those singers, and especially to that bound girl they hadwith them. Is there any way we can talk to them?"Naomi pursed her lips, either in thought or trying to suppress a laugh."Mmm-maybe," she said. "That lead singer, Edie Smythe, seemed rathertaken with you. It's possible I could get her over to our table andwangle some sort of invitation backstage...." Do it," I said, "I've got to get in with them somehow." All right.". Of course, you’re always invited, but, we wouldn’t get much time to talk, alone.”“That sounds like a plan, Charlie. We don’t even have to make it every Thursday. We just don’t want to skip more than one or two in a row. You’re not just the best friend I’ve ever had, you’re my brother! I don’t ever want to let something like this happen again. I guess it seems silly that I can’t talk about this when someone else is around. It’s just that, sometimes I feel that I can only say things when it’s just the two of us. That’s probably because, even if I don’t say something right, you always give me a chance to explain myself.”“I know what you mean. I was going to suggest that we use our silent communication, but, I sometimes wonder if our ‘gift’ of telepathy isn’t also a curse. It seems like we’re always in a group conversation. I’m not always sure if a ‘flash’ is private or not!”“I know,” Greg said, “But, what can we do about it?”“Maybe we can somehow limit everyone’s ‘eavesdropping’. I also.
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But I made a mistake. I fell in love. He will be called Monster. Monster was from my home town, but he was older than me by a few years. I wasn’t noticed by him until he came into my work. I was wearing a white gypsy skirt and white lace tanktop when he walked in, took one look at me and claimed me as his. He and I began to hang out after school and work, his humor and kindness drawing me to him. His blue eyes shined seductively the afternoon he picked me up from work. I was wearing the same white gypsy skirt and tanktop that is my uniform, my silver bangles bouncing on my wrist as he came up the porch and hugged me. He asked me if I wanted to go somewhere with him. A surprise, he said. I agreed to go and he drove us for hours out of our small hometown. Monster parked by the beach and said that I couldn’t know where we were going so he blind folded me. I walked in darkness, clinging to the Monster’s arm. By now…I had loved him for a month, and never told him. I couldn’t tell him in.

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