I suppose I ought to be in a bar somewhere celebrating and letting everybody buy me drinks and congratulate me. Should have been, that is, last week. ... week to the day now. Six miserable days I’ve been here, in my dead dad’s vacation cabin in the mountains, sucking my own tit and talking to Daddy’s ghost who probably isn’t even here and wouldn’t give much of a shit if he were. If it were. Whatever, do ghosts still have genders?I can’t eat. Can’t sleep much either, and every time I do my dreams. The only rules are that there should be no physical contact more intimate than a handshake. Personally, I think it lends an air of class to come on a little posh, so I always refer to my clients as "madame". "I don't think you should really be doing that, madame," I said, on my second visit, when Dora came up behind me and began to gently stroke my right thigh while fondling my left buttock and nibbling my left ear lobe. "I don't think you really mind," she teased. "If you did you would tell. More

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