But she didn’t have the fire, ambition and pluck that separated the merely good from the great. Her crippling fear of professional failure, nurtured...since childhood by the impossible expectations of a domineering mother, held her back every time.“Hey.” She looked up as I entered. “Find everything you needed?”“Yep.” I looked at the credits scrolling up the screen. “Good movie?”“Not her best work.”“You took off the compress.”“It’s really a lot better.”So was she. Her cycle of self-flagellation. We lay together, hands idly stroking and touching, soft kisses making us smile at each other. We talked, silly girl-talk, telling each other how beautiful they were, how good they tasted, and how good it was to be with them. "What kind of vibe do you have?" Karen asked eventually, "or do you have different ones for different times?" Vibes?" I questioned, "you mean like in bad vibes, good vibes, the feeling you get from somebody?" No, Silly," she laughed, "I mean like sex toys, you know?. More

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