"Thanks," she finally replied none too happily."Jed. Jed Morrison," hoping to make a better impression."Jed? What kind of name is that?" she asked wit... a guarded tone.I had heard this question far too many times. Like saying "hello" when you walk into a room, the automatic response just kicked in: "My parents were real religious and liked biblical names, like Jedidiah."She stared a me for a moment, apparently trying to make up her mind about me. I decided to cut bait and take my loses.I pointed. I wanted someone to hold me, the way he held her, to love me as deeply as he loved her, but the boys my age were only concerned with touching boobs and telling their friends about it. These boys would never give me what I wanted; I knew that what I wanted, was a need that only my father could fulfill.I remember the day my bitch of a mother left us. I was still a child. She left to go to the supermarket, and never came back. My father, being the loving husband that he was, grew scared and. More

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