"Your breakfast order, Sir!" she announced, settling it over my lap as I scooted up to put my back against the couch back. Behind her was a Goth chick...and one of the black girls, each carrying a pitcher. "How about a Bloody Mary?" Aunt Betty asked. Somebody turned on a real, honest to God lamp so I could see more than the light coming from the doorway afforded."Yeah, that would be nice -- but water, first." I studied the breakfast. Scrambled eggs (I liked mine over easy, but... ) done with. My skin is hot. Beads of sweat begin to form.Fingers fly with seemingly telepathic precision, hitting each tender, sensitive, nervous place just exactly right. I’m not even thinking about the stage. They truly are draining the tension from my body and mind. “You’re…” I start but must pause, “You’re amazing.”“I know,” they say, “But how good am I?”“Very good.”“Am I getting you close?”0:37As my silent gasping turns to mild hyperventilation, my breath becomes shrill. “Yes!” I whisper the. More

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