And it was growing, with each touch, with each thought, with each sensation, the ache was growing. She needed a release, desperately. She was becoming...more emblazoned with each passing moment. Running a hand over her own breast, down her stomach. Pushing her mound against her case. At Euston station she gave up. She took one long look at the source of her torture and left the train, swallowed by the throng of people mulling about their business, completely oblivious of her discomfort. Slowly,. I ran my hands -so small now--overthe white porcelain of the basin. It was smooth and cool. A rack holdingtwo toothbrushes, one blue and one red, rested just to the right of thefaucets. A towel with orange stripes hung neatly on its rack next to thebath. Everything was as I remembered. The only difference was themirror. My diminished height forced me to stand on tiptoe to see intoit. I flipped over the small metal wastebasket, mom insisted we have, butnever used, and stood on it. Now I could. More

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