Don’t!” I could see her shadow in the door frame. She’d stopped. And the next second she was back at that doorway.“I know what you did, Eric. ...’m not stupid.”‘--Anymore,’ I felt like adding, but didn’t at risk of her racing down them steps to mom.“You’re sick.”I had to say something. I had to defend myself – somehow – or she was going to be a little bitch about it and scream to the high hills about this whole thing.“You do it too. You play with yourself too,” I softened the terminology for her. On the back it said:"Simone, Thanks for the clothes. Love, Serge."It was the first time anyone had addressed me in writing as "Simone", thefeminised version of my name that I now go by, and I felt somehowviolated. Jane had been the person to take my anal virginity and Serge,who I thought was my friend, had taken advantage of the fact that I wassleeping and stolen my clothes.I lay there for a moment as I wondered what to do. Without any clothes, Ifelt like I was a prisoner in Jane's flat and. More

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