159

"He wasn't wrong, you know," I told my pillow some ten hours later. A very naked Tabitha was straddling my own very naked self, her fingertips grazing sweetly across my back. It had begun as a massage, but true to form, she'd discerned that this gentle tickling was every bit as relaxing.

"That's one reading of the text," she answered. "Admittedly, it's more in line with the apparent intent of Shelley, but that doesn't mean it's the only one."

"I'm not talking about Shelley or Frankenstein or the damned creature and you know it." The sting in my voice was dulled by the filtration effect of my pillow.

"I know. Which is all the more reason he's wrong. You only feel like he's right because your profession predisposes you to agree with lines of reasoning supported in the so-called Great Books of the western canon."

"Really? Well thank you, Ms. Freud. Please, do go on, explain away the rest of my thoughts using your crack armchair psychology."

I could tell she was bending down when her