"Here, let me give you a hand." She slipped off my jacket and shoes."Hmm. You still look a little uncomfortable. Why don't we remove somemore of these...nasty clothes?"I tried to protest but couldn't convert my thoughts to words. I watchedas she unbuttoned my shirt and unzipped my pants. She then removed bothgarments. She looked down at me and smiled. "You won't be needing theseanymore. With time you will wonder how you ever wore them in the firstplace. How can cotton and polyester compare to. I've learned not to waste the rare opportunitieswhen he's talkative. Besides, I'm feeling vulnerable. The dream was a nastyone."Do you dream?" I ask quietly. "Aboutthe things you've–we've–done?" Sometimes. But there are worsethings to dream about, Ange-girl." Like watching your family die beforeyour eyes, unable to save them. He doesn't say it, and I won't, but thewords hang there. That was what had driven Frank to this two years before.Two years ago...I had been living in a crummy apartment,. More

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