‘More tea, Edward. That pot had gone cold.’ She does not look up at him, merely gestures to the pot, imperious. ‘Of course,’ he rushes forward...and collects the tray, china clinking precariously as he stands straight again. ‘Anything else, Ma’am?’ ‘No,’ her smile is a rose, sunshine, jam and cream. Edward watches her flip another page of the book she holds, the green jacket striped by her pale fingers, red nails. He imagines them dug, hard, too hard, into his back, his bare flesh smarting and. One Sunday, while I was setting with another group of boys my age in Youth Sunday School, the pastor came in. The Sunday School teacher had apparently known he was going to drop in. The pastor gave us boys a stern warning about the 'sin' of touching ourselves (meaning, masturbation). As young boys, the very mention of such a thing caused an automatic nervous reaction, because, as the pastor obviously suspected (and rightly so) we were doing precisely that (masturbating, in other words)!He. More

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