Bittersweet Dreams Read Online Free PDF

you imagine thinking of it not arrogantly but just as a simple fact? That might make me seem very cold, I know, but it wasn’t something I chose to be.
    Anyway, I learned that both men and women have orgasms and that it was an autonomic physiological response, which are big words for you can’t stop it if you’ve gone too far . Parents were always warning their kids not to go too far, and this was the reason. When you were very little, they warned you not to go too far from the house. Well, this meant not to go too far from your self-control.
    After I read about the word and understood the physiological activity, which is a fancy way of saying what goes on in the body, whenever I was with Fish Face, I would look for symptoms, especially something in her face to tell me it was happening, symptoms like her being flushed or breathing too hard. I even wanted to take her pulse and tried to figure out how I could get my fingers on her wrist. My intense concentration rattled her, and one day she finally asked me why I was looking at her with such an engrossed expression.
    â€œWhen you glare at people like that, Mayfair, you make them feel quite uncomfortable. What is it about me that makes me so fascinating to you right now?” She sat back, waiting for something intriguing to come out of my mouth, something she could blabber about in the faculty lounge. Her face looked like a big saucer ready to catch all my gems.
    â€œI’m studying you to see if you’re having an orgasm,” I said, as casually as anyone would say “to see if you are feeling okay.”
    Remember, this is coming out of the mouth of a five-year-old.
    She turned a dark shade of red and looked like she would choke on her own saliva. Then she sat forward, entwining her chubby fingers, which made each arm look like it was holding on to a shoulder for dear life. Her lips were so tight that little white spots popped out in the corners, and her shoulders looked like they would rise higher and higher until her head sank down between them completely. I was quite fascinated with her reaction.
    â€œWe all know you’re very intelligent, Mayfair, but you have to learn what is proper and not proper for a little girl to say,” she told me.
    â€œWho decides what is and is not proper?” I fired back.
    She narrowed her eyes and nodded as if she was confirming a suspicion about me.
    She had given my parents some booklets about profoundly gifted children, and one described them as “often argumentative, more like lawyers challenging words and comments.” That definitely sounded like me, but it wasn’t something I was conscious of doing. It was just natural to me to question and challenge anything and everything I heard or saw.
    â€œNever mind that. Just think before you speak,” she told me.
    â€œI always do. I have to think before I speak. Don’t you? Maybe you don’t. Maybe that’s why you say silly things sometimes.” She had a habit of saying something she didn’t mean to say and then pressing the back of her hand against her mouth as if she were trying to stop a leak.
    At this moment, she looked like she was going to explode. Her cheeks ballooned, and her face went from red to white very quickly. “You can go now,” she said.
    After that little exchange between us, she didn’t parade me about as much or ask to see me as much, and when she did, she was very formal and always on her guard, trembling in anticipation of something I might say that would embarrass her. I enjoyed her discomfort. Was I already showing some signs of meanness or disrespect?
    Anyway, she had called my parents in again, this time to warn them about me. Suddenly, it was both a curse and a blessing to have a profoundly gifted child. That excitement she had first evinced was gone. She was full of new warnings, pointing out red flags like someone from homeland security.
    â€œIf you’re not careful,” she