Drawing her up to eye level, I looked into her eyes. “You don’t have to do anything, to thank me for my efforts to get you home. I have to pass ne...rby your home, with you or without you, and a second set of eyes makes me more safe as well. Frankly, I’d feel just a little bit guilty if I thought that I manipulated you, or coerced you, into being intimate with me. I don’t often go out of my way to act like some sort of kind Christian, but, walking you home is simply one thing I can point to when. And so it went for the next few years; Mom's arse got wider and her thighs got fatter but she still wore those business suits with the short skirts, nylons and high-heels and far too much makeup. On the rare occasion that she spoke to me or we had anything like intimate contact (a birthday hug or pat on the head for passing an exam) she reeked of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. She was doing it tough; I knew that. Sometimes I would listen to her talking on the phone to my aunt; telling her. More

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