I tried imagining Moira at the aft rail like Kate, and Gary behind her. No. That didn't seem like her. Moira wouldn't want something so impersonal.Kat... had been getting fucked, I realized. I'd never understood the word like that before. Kate was getting fucked, but Moira would want to be loved. I wanted to be loved.My imagination raged, picturing the two of them – Gary and Moira – together. I could almost feel it. Tongues and caresses and – what would fucking feel like? No, what would loving. I regarded myself in the mirror with hands on my hips, and felt well satisfied with my appearance. When I got home that evening, I passed by my parents' bedroom and saw Dad looking at himself very critically in a full length mirror, clad only in his panties and some sort of lacy undershirt I'd never seen before. I went in and asked him what was wrong. He sighed and put his hands on his hips. "Son, I'm not quite as slim and trim as I used to be when I was your age. I'm thinking about. More

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