“I know all that. I know. But it’s so hard—and I can’t sleep, and I see his face, smell his breath, feel his hands, his weight, taste his. . .....” Georgetta waited as Laurie wept through five more tissues.“Laurie,” said Georgetta. “You haven’t told me something important.”“Um,” said Laurie. “What?”“The race of the man. His skin color. What was the race of the man who did this to you?”Laurie flushed. “I don’t—I mean—I don’t know what difference that makes . . . .?”Georgetta smiled. We find a comfy beanbag!!!!!(Isn’t it nice to work in comfort to the narrative!?)(I’m so nice!)You sit on the beanbag and you comment on its comfort and then I pull up a pillow for my knees because I know you think comfort is so hot and so I’m hotter when comfortable. I wiggle your pants off and spread your legs a little.You say “oof it’s a little cold in here can we shut the window??” I get up and shut the window and give you a little blanket.I slide my hand over your soft penis and it grows. More

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