The truth was that I was a fag. I knew it and I knew that Randy knew it too, though he’d pound anyone that ever called me one. I knew that the kid...that beat up would never approach me again. Randy would see to it.“Who was it?” Randy asked again. I shook my head. I didn’t want Randy to beat anyone up on my account. I desired to be beat. I was a fag and fags deserved to be beat. It wasn’t just that I was a fag that made me despise myself it was that I lusted after my own brother.“Don’t. Sure, Icould have cruised Michigan Avenue and found something else. Myinstincts were nudging me; there was something about this dress andits connotations to the unfolding conspiracy that made it the perfectchoice. If this be my 'Maltese Falcon', let me wear it well...Oops! Perhaps a little too well. I was now bigger on top than Dianna. Ihad gone the whole route; salon, then the red calfskin corset andmatching thong, sheer black hose, the dress itself, and the jewels. Iwouldn't need the coat; it. More

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