They look at your chest . . . like that is the only thing you are worth. Every man looks at me with the same look . . . the one that you had. They a...l want to touch me. They all want to do things to me, or have me do unspeakable things to them. And . . and . . . ." What?"She whispered even lower. So low, in fact, that Doctor Smythe had to lean forward to hear." . . . . I-I'm starting to . . . like it." What's wrong with that?" It's unholy . . . unclean. I can't like it. It makes me so. He had never, ever, playedMarco Polo before; public swimming pools were simply cauldrons ofcruelty for a boy like him and he had frequently gone to theextreme of pretending to be sick to avoid swimming with largegroups of other children.Barbie, though, could swim like a dolphin and had taught him toswim even before he started school. Thinking of her made hisheart ache a bit, he missed his blonde, ditzy, cheerful, funnymother. "Stop it," he told himself, trying not to cry again. "I'msupposed to. More

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