Mr. Nice Guy – that was me. It’s true, I was young and confused back then, and didn’t realize a womanly ploy when it was staring me in the face....I knew that then in the boat I had only succeeded in giving her a foot massage and venturing up her legs with my hands as far as her knees. She pretended to sleep the whole while, and I’d even summoned enough courage to give her big toe a kiss and a nibble when some asshole in a speedboat flew by and almost flipped us over. There was no way Ruth could. ..Where did I go from here? What was male about the person saw in themirror in front of me? The only thing that was still male about me, apartfrom the basic equipment making a tent in my panties, was my hair. Myhair had always been my way of expressing my rebellion against authority.I had worn it long in the all boys school I had attended where everyoneelse wore it short. I had had a Mohican shortly after starting work inthe bank.As I sat in my reverie Catherine was working my way into a. More

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