I hate Pete Townsend. But I didn’t bother pulling away as he brushed his hand against the back of my thighs, just below the hem of my skirt. It nev...r did any good.“What floor?” A tall young man asked, the last to enter the elevator. He was looking directly at me. “22, please,” I responded in a tight voice. Several of the other riders spoke after me, but I was too distracted by the movement of Pete’s hand under my skirt. He cupped my right cheek, his fingertips searching into the cleft of my. . Oh well, I guess I still was one but I hadalmost forgotten that. She cautioned me not to forget that I wasstill a boy and how important it was that I keep that bit ofreality a secret. A boy could really get angry if he thought Iwas trying to fool him. She was correct, of course, and therealization of that began to make me a little nervous.We ate a light dinner and it was time to start getting dressedfor my "date". I still didn't like the use of that word toomuch. I preferred to think of this. More

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