‘Amber told you my mother was an artist right?’ It was Mason’s turn to look confused. ‘Yeah…’ she blinked as realisation dawned on her, �...Your mother is Patrice Gallagher?’ ‘I thought you knew,’ he laughed, ‘I mean isn’t that why you sat there for so long?’ She shook her head and gave a half laugh with him. ‘Amber said she told you my mother was an artist,’ he said again. ‘No, just and artist and you said your mother dabbled in art. She certainly didn’t tell me who she was, and you made it sound. I only stay in the house and will notexperience how people treat women in different situations. BesidesHeather I could not socialize with other women and have that bonding.I loved knowing and experiencing things only women know. In my mind Iwas part of the sisterhood. Knowing the feel of hose on shaved legs,the feeling of being able to take those same hose off at night, theroutine of having to take your make up off at night, wash andmoisturize. The feel of heels and the joy of taking them off.. Now I knew Marge’s red hair was real, because there were streaks of gray running through it. Not many, just enough to show that it was natural. Her hair color was not the only real thing about her. I could tell that her heavy breasts were real by the slight sag, even with the industrial strength bra.She was carrying maybe thirty pounds of extra weight. It was the kind of weight life in general added to a woman in her middle ages. It was evenly distributed fortunately for her. Marge was close to. " Donnie wouldn't do that." Jennifer protested. "Maybe some close friends, but not all over school ... he wouldn't do that." You don't know that," her mother countered. "Boys like to brag, you know. He might even put them on the internet." No way he'd ever do anything like that," Jennifer argued. "He likes me too much to do something that would hurt me." Really? He let his friends ... uh, play ... with you." We talked about that though ... He let that happen only because I was having fun ... He.