" Whoa, whoa, whoa. What is it that my feeble, half-asleep, male brain has agreed to?" I tried to put in a disclaimer.She started to howl with laughte... at my comment, but then more seriously, "Bobby, I'd like a turn."Huh? She'd like a turn? Oohhhhhh. I get it now. She wants to take me up on my bedroom offer from the café. Not a problem for me. If I'm going to boink on her seventeen, almost eighteen-year old daughter, the least I can do is share a little. Mel already knows and thinks it's a. I was sittingfacing the mirror with a sense of disbelief.The girl in the mirror couldn't be me. Yet when I moved, she moved, Ibrushed my hair gently behind my ear and the girl in the mirror did thesame. How could my mother and sister do this to me?I was a boy; at least I thought I was. The image in the mirror told mesomething else; the image was that of a very pretty girl. My mother andsister had worked on my hair and eyebrows giving me a more feminine look.But it is my face I am looking at, my. More

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