I'd seen his picture a hundred times, but never inperson. Still, he was unmistakably a Trow, the first I'd ever seenbeside Mom and me.He looked young,...eighteen or nineteen, but from Mom I knew he was inhis thirties. He was around six and a half feet - no, over two meterstall, with slate-gray skin and butch-cut gray hair. He reminded me of aliving pillar of rock. We waved. He waved back."Hey, girls!" he said cheerfully. "Happy Exodus!" Hey, baby," Mom said fondly, and gave him a hug."Hi," I. "You did fucking what?!" she screamed at Jim. "You've been playing withyourself in the shower....after I said you were never to do it againafter the last time I caught you? What was it? Was it the thought thatyou were about to get dressed all girlie that made you hard? Was it? Ehsissyboy? Was it the thought of slipping into delicate tights and shinylingerie? Was it the thought of mincing about in high heels and hotpantswhile you pretending to be a little pretty housewife, making dinner. More

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