\"I don't think so. ” 109 < 15 > AN AFFAIR TO FORGET, 1965 “What was your real Mom like?” Michelle asked when they were walking to school the next day. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. They didn’t talk about it much, but Mike had been through some eerily similar foster homes in Florida, the where he was born. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. “Michelle, the only reason I ever started to behave or dress differently was to please that boy. “I remember hearing something about it. And here are these places, full of contagion! “Of course, this is the real texture of life, this is what we refined secure people forget. I am clear I want you.
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