I hold them in my hand – white Jockeys, the occasional black or gray. Classic, rounded, reserved shape. Faintly stained. These things aren’t the t...uth. Why should we always want to know the truth when we can enduringly indulge ourselves in our far more expansive imagination? These cotton delicacies mask the truth, they are the last mask for the truth. That’s why I find them so erotic. They are the last thing that must mold to her, that she must mold to. They are the last persistent blue flame. In the lobby, she rested her arm in the crook of my elbow. I felt as though I was ten years younger. I could feel her nervousness beside me, but the hostess nodded at our names and led us to a table near the kitchen. The restaurant was busy. Ours was nearly the last vacant table. I could see Kat looking over the other patrons, scanning for familiar faces.I took Katherine's hand across the table as she looked over the menu."Daddy," she said warningly."Adam," I corrected her, quietly. "We're more. More

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