Of course, I was wearing my favoritepetticoat, covered by a very full, calf length skirt with crinoline netfor extra fullness. I was particularly fond of the flat waistband,which had to be undone as I substituted the cotton blouse I had beenwearing for a slightly dressier one of satin.It wasn't long before I had Bob sitting at the vanity in his silkbathrobe. The last article of masculine clothing you'll be wearingtoday, I thought mischievously.It wasn't at all difficult to make up my Bobby's face. Previously I hadconsidered his fine features to be boyish. Now I thought of them asgirlish. He didn't struggle, or raise any sort of fuss, even when Itook the liberty of plucking a few hairs from his eyebrows. Nor did hecomplain when I painted and buffed his fingernails. I was so pleasedwith my husband. I applied a ruby lipstick, kissed him, and thenreapplied it.I finished my work by placing a shoulder length blonde wig on his head.I had worn the wig on a few modeling assignments, whenever. He mistakenly thought it would make him a man. It didn't. It made him a killer, though.Over the next five years, Jake Dunn killed indiscriminately. He killed because he was angry. He killed because he was sad. He even killed because he was happy.He had killed men who were armed. He had killed men who were unarmed. He had killed boys who thought they were quicker even though Jake knew they weren't.He spent hours drinking whiskey he didn't like and fucking whores he felt nothing but disgust for. He gambled in saloons and cheated men who made a living cheating other men.But they never said anything because they mistakenly believed the baby-faced boy would kill them without a second thought.Jake would have killed them. That was a fact. But he was starting to have many second thoughts.It was during the summer of Jacob's 17th year when he finally started to feel remorse. His parents hadn't raised him to be a killer. They raised him to be respectful and respectable.The next spring, Jake.
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