Cautiously, experimentally, I said, “You should look up catamite in the dictionary.” “I told you,” said Theo. “I know what it means.” I took a breath. “Girls can’t be catamites.” He regarded me unblinkingly. “You’re not a girl,” he said. “You’re like this weird sad pervy gay guy in a girl’s body, cruising me.” 4. Identification in the wild: He saw me. He understood me. He knew me.
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