None of it seemed to be coming fromwithin, but was modeled, mimicked really, from some vague and ever-changing notion she had of the ideal father, of ...what a "real" man woulddo.As a father, as a man, she felt like a total fake.Okay, so maybe Phoebe was realizing that Marcia had been miscast in therole of a father. Maybe she could forgive Marcia her shortcomings. Still,it left Marcia tasting the bitterness of once again having failed someoneshe loved. And again, she considered the tragedy of not. The smile on James’ face was hopeful. He pulled his cell, rose, and walked off toward the miniature patio of our little house. He put his cell away and returned. “They’ll be here tomorrow,” he said. “Okay,” I said. “We have a spare bedroom. You two can stay here tonight,” said Rozelle. “No need you going into town to get a room.” I nodded my agreement with her offer. “Okay, well that’d be good,” said James. “Yes, daddy, that would be the best,” said Jenna. **** “Well, Whaddya think?” I. Giving a small, nervous smile, I replaced the book of my interest and walked around to introduce myself. The moment I rounded the corner, I was once again shook speechless. The man before me was just as handsome as his colorful eyes, so delectable that I would love a taste.Before I could even say a thing, he whispered, “Darling, would you care to try something wild and exciting with me? We are in the romantic genre section after all.”Gulping, all I could do was nod my consent. He was too. My tattoos on my shoulders and the backs of my hands—that was all I wore. My hair had been styled in a "page boy," whatever that is. For the record, my hair was brown. Unless you were close enough and looked at my crotch you might not notice that I was a boy. Primary sexual characteristics are not all that noticeable in the young and my unisex haircut did make me look feminine. Looking at myself in a mirror or on a video display, my little boy package just wasn't obvious. Calling me "she" was.