I leaned just a inch closer towards her, ostensibly for a better view of the screen. "My next move could be quite dangerous," I mused. To which she lo...ered her voice and replied, "I guess you won't know until you make it." My hand hovered over her lap, my fingers making small movements in the air mimicking the possible moves I could make next. I could feel her warmth in the air under my hand.I lowered my hand but instead of the mouse-pad I moved it to the hem of her dress, slowly slipping it up. My mother had 5 girls ranging from 4-10 when I was born.Dad's a VP at a large bank, and goes on business trips 4-5 times a year from a few days to weeks, so I never had a steady father figure at home. While I was still in diapers my sisters would dress me like a girl or one of their dolls. As I got older everyone thought I was a girl.They would put frilly under pants on me, one of their dresses and a bonnet. Wheel me around the block like I was their baby sister. The women would say how. Tears stung my eyes, but I was tired of crying. I decided to take a walk and find someplace to eat.Having never been to New Orleans before, I'd researched this trip for months, poring over maps and pictures on the Internet and guidebooks. I figured I'd be able to find my way around. Actually being there was different though, so, armed with a small map and guidebook in my purse, I set off.Strolling down Decatur Street, I let the sights and sounds of the Big Easy envelope me. The very air there. "No, I'm just feeling a bit ill right now. Can you drive around a bit? A long trip would not be bad. With the windows open, for some air?"He nods, looking at me sympathetically. I'm not sure he buys my sickness line, but regardless, he does what I request.The city is a cacophony of colored sparkles against a background of concrete gray, and it soothes me in ways that the thrum of the limo engine only touch on. I've always loved the glory of urbanity: the buildings, the way the sound of car.