“Okay,” Dennis sighed. Perhaps it was time to emerge from his hiatus.
The party was heaving. Girls and boys drinking, drugging, back flipping into the pool.
“You’re cool,” a goth girl embroidered with piercings hung around Dennis’s neck. “Jump into the pool with me.”
“Can’t,” he pulled away from a tongue ring working its way into his mouth.
If he took off his tee shirt how would she react to scallop scars cutting through chest hair where budding breasts once spouted, and said:
"I used to be Denise."