I finally realize he’s gotten quiet. I look up to his smiling eyes, blushing hotly. He obviously had seen me staring. ‘Oh god, I’m sorry. I’ve had an unusually long dry spell in the man department but that don’t make me lusting after you like a sex addict right. I’ll just leave now.’ I hastily say, slipping from the booth. ‘Please don’t go. Your appreciation of my looks is most definitely welcome. Its been forever since I could be myself with a lady. They all want me to be someone I’m not, ya know?’ his hand reaches out and gently tugs. Pulling me into the space next to him. I lift my eyes to look into his, still quite embarrassed. ‘Why would someone want a fictional character when they could have you, a real man?’ I wonder aloud. Instead of releasing my hand, he raises it to his perfect mouth, placing soft little kisses along my knuckles. ‘No one sees the man I am, just the men I pretend to be.’ a hint of sadness in his voice. ‘Well, if its any consolation, I see you for who you. I was never afraid to go to Mom with any question or anyproblem, no matter how silly or embarrassing I thought it was - even ones ofa sexual nature - and I had a few of those. I was pretty curious and Momwas always straight with me.Mum has always been a freelance journalist, preferring to work from home,specialising in social anthropology. She has always done pretty well, so wenever really struggled too much for anything after dad left. I had to waitfor most things, but I got them and I think that mum's philosophy was goodfor me and taught me how to wait for the good things in life - like my owncomputer. We lived in a good, quiet neighborhood and this only added to thepalatability of mum's frequent overnight trips away, for research andinterviews. These weren't a problem when dad was around, but mum alwaysfelt guilty about them after he left. I kept telling her that it was OK, Iwas responsible, our house had good locks and besides - I was ten - oreleven - or twelve - or thirteen. She.
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