The only movement out of him was his rhythmic breathing. Perfect. I quietly walked upstairs to the kitchen and pulled out a pair of scissors and a fla...hlight. Back downstairs, I kneeled at the couch and slowly lifted up his blanket. Even in the dim moon light I could clearly see the plaid blue pattern in his pajama shorts and the wrinkles and folds of the fabric. I pinched a piece of fabric right between his beautiful asscheeks, lifted it up, and snipped off a piece about two centimeters long. She said earnestly, "You need your own room, hon. You need your... own... room." She emphasized the last three words. She pulled back and looked at me. "My lord! How old are you now, about forty-five?" Umpteen," I answered blandly.She laughed. "Does it really feel that way?" And you?" I asked as she sat in the chair before me."Umpteen," she answered, with a wry chuckle "Closer to twenty, really. Speedy, you look wonderful. You're getting so cute. And you're growin' up so fast. I thought you'd. More

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