But was I? I lay awake nights, staring at the ceiling, feeling the self-doubts.I think that's why you get so many women in therapy later in life. The ...reams they'd had as a young girl come back to visit, and they vaguely realize that what they'd made of their life wasn't what they'd wanted. In short, they weren't happy, and they spent a lot of money never quite realizing that.I liked to think I was honest enough with myself to ask the question: what would make me happy? Of course I had to. But Pamela's ivory legs and graceful hips came filtering into his mind as if he were witched or maybe something worse. It had been two years since the party in the village, where a white buddy had wanted to lay a chick on him. A girl who wigged over black men, his friend had said.Hanson looked down at the mud he was stirring up with his feet and noticed that his cock wasn't drooping any more, but starting to swing upward a little, thickening near the head. The foreskin had slipped back over his. More

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