The patterns were becoming clearer in my mind. As Martha sat across from me and ate her salad I found myself staring at her, at Martha, at mother, fat...er, teacher, staring less as Steven but more as Speedy the dependent, obedient boy. At Martha, the anima, at Carl Jung's Terrible Mother; at her devastating erotic power. At... She said, "Why are you staring at me like that?"I blinked. "Sorry." You have such a look on your face." She chewed and then wiped her lips. "So what kept you busy today?. They should at least protect your modesty until you can get some panties on at home,” I told her.She punched me in the arm and said, “The hell I will go back to wearing panties. You are going to tell me where to get more of these. No matter what style of panties I have bought, they always get bunched up in my crack. I hate having to pick them out when I can. In the coveralls, I must unzip them to pick them free. Unless I’m bleeding, I usually go without.”My phone buzzed with a store in Toledo. More

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