David was having a hard time concentrating. Had his sexual experience with Janice, his former teacher, not been so utterly unsatisfying, he would blame the feeling on a post-orgasm bliss. Since he had nowhere near approached an orgasm, however, he laid the blame soundly on Doctor Gilmore.
Once Janice had fallen asleep, David quickly adjusted his skirt and top, and quietly walked out of the room, wanting nothing more than to go home. That's when the confusion started. For a brief moment, David could have sworn he was home. He passed photos on the walls of a family, each member seeming so very familiar to him. Was that his father? His mother? Why was his teacher in each picture?
He shook his head, attempting to clear the cobwebs. Of course it wasn't! Janice had insisted that they go to her house, not his, for their sexual encounter. How would she even know where he lived? Doctor Gilmore must be screwing with his mind, making him question reality.
Pausing at the front door, David checked his reflection. His clothes were fine, although extremely slutty. Why had he dressed like a stripper this morning? Why had he chosen the schoolgirl outfit? His memory was hazy (probably Gilmore again), but whatever the reason, he regretted it. The clothes sure had given Janice the wrong idea about what kind of boy he was.
His hair, long, golden, was tied in his signature pigtails. His face, too, was still made up fairly well, despite the aggressive nature of Janice's kissing. David was amazed that he didn't look more dishevelled, but was thankful nonetheless. It saved him staying in this house that made him feel so dirty.
He walked out, wanting to leave the memory of Janice behind him. A shower was what he needed. A nice, long, hot shower. He hadn't driven to Janice's house, so he walked back to the cafe where his Volvo was waiting for him. He knew nobody was watching, or at least David hoped that nobody was watching. As he swayed down the sidewalk in his short skirt, on his high heels, he could feel dozens of eyes following his every move, silently judging him for his actions, condemning him as a whore.
He wasn't a whore! He was a good boy! Sure, he was dressed like some cheap hooker, and sure he'd just had what would easily be called a one-night-stand, but David knew who he was.
David paused at the thought. Did he know who he was? Again his mind seemed to fill with cotton. The feeling of stockings on his legs suddenly felt alien, unfamiliar. Why was he wearing a bra when he obviously didn't have breasts?
The thoughts fled him as soon as they came. The cafe was before him, and his car around the corner. He had to get home, get cleaned up, get respectable. Climbing into the used silver import, David grabbed a key from his handbag, started the car, and drove toward home. For a moment he couldn't remember where home was, but only a moment. The confusion he kept feeling wasn't staying as long as it had when he first experienced it, and he was glad. The last thing he needed was to not know who he was, or where he was going, especially with a madman like Doctor Gilmore around. Who knows what kind of crazy changes that guy could make without anyone noticing!
