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He leaped from the bed, his vocal emissions still shaking the room and ice went flying everywhere. Tommy’s wild eyes darted about the room before settling on Elliot and he took a menacing step toward him before a cross-eyed look of pain froze on his face and he snatched up dry sections of his bed sheets and wrapped that around him instead. Elliot watched as he just sort of collapsed on the floor and moaned piteously. ‘Well,’ Elliot walked over to the door, giving Thomas a wide berth. ‘I’ll be going then,’ he said politely, ‘hope you have me over again soon.’ Thomas listened as he heard Elliot go into the living room–the little shit was actually snickering–and then the front door open and close. How the fuck had that asshole gotten in anyway? He tried to go back to his calm state but his damp crotch kept making his eyes slide away from the ceiling. He looked at the clock. It was after ten. He’d been staring at the ceiling all night. What now? Christ, he hated this restlessness. He. Needless to say, it had been an absolute wonderland during my early childhood, seeding my dreams and igniting my most volatile desires. In the course of years, the Back Room had become my stage, the theatre on which I enacted my most secret fantasies. Did Mum suspect? Possibly; there was very little she didn't know about me. Halting by the wall of mirrors, I scrutinised my reflection critically, putting a slim hand to the back of my neck. Removing a sequined elastic binder, I allowed my thick, blond hair to cascade past my shoulders. The image in the mirror immediately began to alter. With my hair sweeping down in a shimmering arabesque, I looked small and fragile; a pretty teenaged girl in oversized blue denim. A shiver swirled through my tummy like a dash of ice water. Quivering with delight, I threw off my t-shirt and jeans, tossing aside the meaningless vestments of my male identity. Turning back to the mirrors, I adjusted my hair to cover my slim shoulders, almost dizzy with.
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