No one would make you feel uncomfortable." "Ryan," her mother said in a voice that was both soothing yet distant, "we wish we could go to everything you and the boys do, but that's just not possible." "Right." Ryan dropped her head. She was angry but tired and didn't want to talk anymore. "Look, Mom, I have to go. I'll talk to you tomorrow." She waited—just barely—until her mother said good-bye, then clicked the phone shut. Why do I do this to myself, she wondered as she stood resting on the crutches. She stared at the wall as though the answer might appear in the eggshell paint. It was useless and she knew it. Hadn't years of the same thing taught her anything? Hadn't she learned over the past twenty-three years what the answer would be? She stared at the phone in her hand. Apparently not. "You'd come if I had a dick and was hitting some stupid ball." She glared at the phone. When she heard a noise behind her, she started and turned to see Brody stifling a laugh. Ryan gaped; she had. A cool breeze caressed his bare thighs.The tightness of the bra was an echo of the tightness that grabbed hiscrotch. He looked down, watching the fake nipples appear and disappearthrough the filmy, soft material of his dress as it fluttered with hisnervous breathing.The white dress was short and thin, fitting tightly around the alientits and his hips, where the high hem flared out. It made him feel aboutas naked as any dress could."We'll be with you," the blond girl on his left whispered, holding hiselbow.She'd said sorry and she'd said it again. And then she'd said she lovedhim.He believed her and that had been easy. It felt just natural to loveher, and believe her. He remembered her standing at the back of thegroup of boys that had welcomed him and showed him around, ages ago -the little doll of Meissen porcelain; fatally shy and deadly vulnerable.He looked her in the eyes. Then he leaned in and kissed her lips.She squealed, stepping back."No!" she cried out, laughing. "Don't spoil.
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