ride, looking for some secluded place to park … a place where they could be alone.
Fiercely he wished he were a girl, so that Joy could never have him. In the next breath he prayed, "Oh God, why wasn't I a girl. I'd never complain again if I was a girl …"
He kicked off the sheet and sprang from his tumbled bed. He wore pajama pants but no coat, and was apparently warm, for under his nose were drops of perspiration. He ran across the room, stood in front of a mirrored door. "I haven't changed," he said, facing it. "I still look the same … my face and chest do." His hand moved over his chest, pressed against his warm flesh. He brushed back curls from his forehead, pressed them in place. Lazily, he looked at his reflection and his movements were slow and easy as if with the drug of vanity. He noticed the red spot on his cheek. "Son-of-a-bitch," he murmured. "It is true … it did happen."
With a sharp jerk he untied his pajamas. They fell breaking about his ankles like hungry ocean waves. He stepped out of them and stood naked before the mirror. "It's still there," he said. "I wish it weren't." He pulled at the coiling growth. What he saw only dissipated the clarity of reality. He tightened the smooth and developed muscles of his buttocks, watched his thighs grow firm and hard. Looked at himself a long time, trying to discover some invisible part upon his flesh.
"I wish I were built like Bob," he cried. "I'm too white. I've got to get a tan … Damn … life's so complicated." How could life ever be happy for him?
He went to the bathroom and stepped under the shower. The tingling sensation of the water hitting his body felt good. He turned on more hot water, his skin reddened, and he uttered a cry and bit his lips. This wouldn't give him bronze skin. How silly could you be? He looked down at his body again, rubbed a delicately scented soap over it, looked at the growth-like shadows around his groin. He hadn't changed. In fact, he seemed to have grown.
Oh, Bob … Bob, he thought, and the blood in his veins hardened and grew warm. He tightened his palm, and out of the pounding motions, came; I shouldn't do this … I'll feel tired afterwards … I'll … he closed his eyes and wished he had never begun this evil
