I hate to be a sad sack and complain. Most people wouldn't give a shit anyway, and just see this as drama. It's the last day of 2025, and I thought I would share what I found in my mail box. It floored me and on some level devastates me.
Today, I had time to sit down and go over some of my recent work, fix some mistakes, and post some of the new content.
I had to share this with you, though. My "Friend" of several years, who's been editing with me, sent me his "Rough Draft" of his story. He copyrighted it, that's smart?
Copyright © 2025 OmegaPet-58
Yeah? There is a slight variation in his version of my story. He changed the names of the two characters and made them both talk exactly like the Leo/Mary characters he always writes in all of his other stories. It's the same story I told him not to steal a few months ago, which I documented in my blog.
TLDR VERSION: A friend has helped me almost daily for years, recently stopped helping edit, and stole a story of mine. He erased the observations/style of how I write from it and took it without my permission. He has a history of erasing my style from my stories and taking them, but it had always been with my permission.
Recently, we were talking, and he mentioned he had never taken a creative writing course and did not understand Show versus Tell. People like Ernest Bywater (a beloved author who passed too soon) helped me, so I always believe in doing the same. I offered a suggestion we could work on together that illustrates the basic techniques of showing versus tell. It's a different idea than the Cabot House one you'll see below. My initial blog went into that, but all that really matters for this story is to take a look at his 'proposed' story we work on.
And then the story he tried to steal a few months ago. I told him no. I am not the best writer in the world and I am not trying to be. However, I have a style of writing that is pretty much "As if I were sitting next to you at a bar shooting the shit about the most interesting thing that ever happened to me."
I don't have much I have done that I can leave behind in this world. It's my goal that, like Ernest, I can leave behind some of "me" in the work I do and the people I help. That includes helping people get off to my filthy stories. I told him how hurtful it was a few months ago when he stole this idea without permission and started to summarize my words to remove my details. I told him unequivocally no, and that I was done as a friend.
If he hadn't been so intent on erasing all the uniqueness of how I write, I may have been flattered. However, even in his second attempt to steal this idea and claim he wrote it/made it up himself, he worked extremely hard to insult me a little further by taking out the exposition and little details I felt were so important. The stuff I shared that was based heavily on my own nervous feelings when a girl asked me out. I got to live through my character's eyes again and be a naive teenager when I wrote it.
He wanted to remove that one part I enjoy the most, in his quest for Cabot House. A story that is not really all that brilliant. It's just *NOT* his.
In this story, the family believes in sharing hospitality. They also don't see sex or pleasure as a chore. It's something they share like hugs and kisses. I only stopped writing because I have been severely depressed and I felt like I could not do it justice since it was such a positive and uplifting story for me to write. I HAD every intention of going back to it.
He's made me so sick of this idea, that now I can only associate it with betrayal. If it was some random troll stealing to be stealing that would be much easier. Betrayal by a friend who has been working with me makes it deeply personal.
He didn't just say, "Here is your idea with the things that make Eddie's voice unique stripped out." HE COPYRIGHTED THE MOTHERFUCKER AS HIS OWN.
He took what I wanted to leave behind, removed me from it, and slapped his name on it - ensuring no one would ever know I had anything to do with it. Well, now *YOU* know. It's hard to give a fuck, I suppose but I've at least documented that if he does publish this - this is the kind of person that he is.
He apologized, but he clearly didn't mean it. Today, he sent it again with his copyright on it.
I guess he thought I'd be thrilled to watch him reduce my idea to shitty summary form and slap his name on it.
See if you can see some similarities between his COPYRIGHTED Dale and Angela story here, and the story that follows that was written several months ago. It's a rough draft, so I apologize in advance; the version he stole is not in a ready draft format.
This is the last day of 2025. This is how mine ended this morning - I saw this in my inbox. His copyright of my work kills me.
Here is his version;
Cabots’ House
Copyright © 2025 OmegaPet-58
Chapter 1
“You know, Angela, I have to tell you, I miss the Daleks. I know they’re kind of cheesy with the… what is it? Are you OK? Angela?”
The two of us were off in a corner of the lunchroom on opposite sides of a long table with today’s alleged food on trays in front of us. We’d become almost friends over a common interest, the “Doctor Who” science fiction series from British television. I say almost friends because, so far, our only interactions had been at lunch.
I liked Angela, but she was very reserved, or shy, and resisted my attempts to get to know her better. Once in a while, she let slip a smile, or even asked a question about me. I found her silences frustrating, but I had the impression she liked me, at least, a little. She didn’t seem to have any other friends, and neither did I, for that matter.
I’d been watching the TV show for a year or so, when some asshole (a girl) shoved Angela into me with a snarl as we were walking down a hallway, spilling her books and some papers. As I helped her, I noticed she was wearing a “Doctor Who” sweatshirt, which gave me an opening to talk to her. We were on our way to lunch, and I stuck to her for the rest of the period, and thereafter.
Today, as usual, she spoke so quietly I had to lean forward to hear her.
“You’ll say no, Dale, but I have to ask. Would you come to my house after school? You could go to a restaurant with me for dinner. I’ll pay the ticket—the bill.”
Already, that was almost more words than she’d ever used with me.
“You mean, a date?”
“You’re right, it’s stupid. I shouldn’t have asked…”
“I’d enjoy that, Angela. I have money, we can go wherever you want.”
She was still apologizing until she looked up and realized I was smiling at her.
“You want to? With me?”
I was already excited by her proposition. I wasn’t expecting that Angela would be my first date (ever), but if it was her idea I’d be stupid to turn her down. I did worry that she had so little self-esteem that the night could go sideways.
“Of course. Why shouldn’t I? No, don’t answer that. I insist.”
“Meet me at the east gate after school, then. My house is not far.”
I had lots of questions, beginning with “Why now?” but abruptly Angela took her tray, dumped her trash, and left the lunchroom, leaving me confused. But pleased—my first date!
With a few minutes left for lunch, I called up my messaging app and sent a text to our family group.
Dale: i wont be home 4 dinner-a date.
I heard back immediately from my older siblings.
Sherry: go dale!
Bobby: how much r u paying her?
Mom: who is she? do I know her?
Dale: she is angela cabot in my class at school
Mom: what is her home numbr so i can call her mom
Dale: what? embarrassing!
Dad: eileen, if he’s home by 9 you don’t need to call
Dad: if your ph is charged nothing to worry about
Dale: 80% thanks Dad
Mom: You have $?
Dale: I have $45
Mom: That’s not much u need more for a nice place
Bobby: you could have 2 happy meals from mcdnlds
Sherry: im gonna fk you up bobby
Dad: i need to work. dale-use the debit visa i gave u for emrgecys.
Dale: thx dad
I closed the messaging app, knowing any more texts would irritate my father. As always, Bobby made fun of me, Sherry was supportive, and Mom was overprotective. I appreciated Dad’s willingness to give me a cushion for the restaurant cost, and to intervene with Mom.
I suppose Dad was pleased that I had a date, recognizing I was pretty old to have gone without any dates before this. I didn’t have an excuse. I judged myself as very average, with ordinary height and weight, brown hair, brown eyes, and now, finally, clear skin.
As for Angela? Her “school uniform” was invariably some kind of baggy sweatshirt over loose slacks. I could only guess at her shape, but I had no indication she was overweight. And, even if she was overweight, that wouldn’t bother me.
What I could see was her long wavy hair, usually kept in a clip and hanging down to the middle of her back. Her eyes were a light brown, perhaps what they might call “hazel.” I wanted to study them in detail, but convincing her to look up into my face was always difficult.
I was so distracted by my upcoming date that my last period English teacher had to call my name twice before I responded to the question he asked me. At least he let it go because ordinarily I was one of his better students. I walked out through the parking lot to the east gate.
No Angela. Was this all a tease? It didn’t seem to line up with our conversation; but then I saw her already walking away on the far side of the street. I rushed to catch up, and spoke to her, slightly breathless.
“You, ah, you changed your mind?”
“I thought you changed your mind. I didn’t want to be just standing out there alone.” What happened next explained why.
Two tall girls pushed and shoved Angela off the sidewalk into the gutter.
One said, “Move your fat ass, tubby.”
Angela almost lost her balance, weighted down like I was by three or four heavy textbooks. As it was, mud from the gutter got on her shoe, and I rushed to steady her by taking a firm grip on her arm.
“You didn’t say anything?” I asked.
“No. There’s no point. They’ll believe what they want to.” She sounded defeated, if not sullen. Those bitches!
“Can I tell you something?”
“What?” Still sullen.
“I’ve read that fat hatred is the last kind of acceptable prejudice.”
“I suppose you’re right, Dale, but I’m not fat. I just prefer loose clothes, they’re more comfortable. That is, when I have to wear clothes.”
“I see. Wait, what?”
“I should have told you this before now. Inside my house, everyone is naked all the time. Before we get far from school, this would be the best time for you to say, ‘This is not for me,’ and go home like usual.”
“Because I would see you naked?”
“No, Dale. Because I would see YOU naked. My parents insist on having our visitors undress once they’re inside the front door. It’s something they are very strict about.”
“Angela, you need to do one thing before we go any further.”
“What is it?”
“I’m tired of looking at the top of your head. Look up into my eyes. No more looking at the ground, like you’re ashamed of something. If you expect me to undress in front of you, I expect you to look up, like you enjoy my company. Like you don’t find me hideous and repulsive. Am I hideous?”
“No, Dale. I’ve been imagining you inside my house, how you might look.” A smile crossed her face, affecting me. “I’m hoping you will come inside and meet my family. Our rule is naked inside the house and backyard, clothed out in the world.”
“Then there’s one more issue. If I’m around you and other family members who are as attractive as you are, I’m going to have a visible physical reaction.”
That earned me a big smile and a small chuckle. “You’re going to get hard, Dale? I certainly hope so. We’ll consider it a compliment.”
“Holy moley, you’re serious? Oh, I can see that you are. Does your father have a gun?”
“No, why?”
“I’d like to get through this day without being shot for being horny around his daughter.”
“You’re in no danger. Like I said, erections are considered a compliment. So, now is your chance to back out.”
“I would—no, I am excited to see you without those baggy clothes. I think what I can already see is very attractive. Please don’t try to convince me otherwise. Lead the way.”
(END OF THEFT)
Neat, right? copyright that bitch! You wouldn't want someone to steal it, like for instance this story that he stole without my permission, apologized for stealing, and apparently thought he'd do it again? There are so many ideas, why take mine? I should be flattered, but I am not. I am deeply offended and hurt. I sent him an idea we could work on together that was quite different from his. It would be an example of creative writing that emphasizes SHOW versus TELL.
His proposal is to write the two main characters like his Leo/Mary characters from all of his stories, copyright it, put his name on it as the creative person who came up with it. He's also stolen three other stories over the years that he never gave me credit for. I didn't say anything, but Must Love Dogs and Hobo-Sexual are both my titles and characters/same setup. Study Sessions are my character and setup.
I didn't say anything over the years even though he doesn't list me anywhere or give me any credit. I am just mentioning this because this is not a misunderstanding out of the blue. This is someone who steals ideas and copyrights them.
It's sort of like writing the five year mission of Space Journey, on the Spaceship Enterprise with Captain Flirk and copyrighting it. The Baron of the Brooch and the Flobbits along with the Warlock Randalf must take it to Mountain of Doom to stop Soreon! "Look at my original idea!"
It's my story, if you ordered it on WISH/Temu.
Here is a not-ready to publish chapter one of my version of the same story he took.
MiCasa SuCasa
“Would you like to go out with me sometime, like on a date or something?”
Taylor asked the question like she was delivering terrible news and found the conversation unpleasant, like an obligation she was completing against her will.
She’d sat across from me at lunch all year and barely spoke a word to me or anyone else. Taylor Welton had big blue eyes that seemed impossibly round, an upturned nose, and a weak chin that made her look stuck-up. Her chestnut brown hair was shoulder-length and curly, like she’d gotten a cheap perm. Her hair wasn’t flattering. Her hair framed her face like she was trying to blend into the crowd, not stand out.
I thought she was pretty in the face, with big blue eyes, an upturned nose, and a weak chin that made her seem a little mousey. She had slightly buck teeth that made me picture her as a rabbit.
Taylor wasn’t a traditional beauty, but she wasn’t ugly either. If I am being honest, there weren’t many girls I would have turned down back then. I was pretty much the eternal virgin.
I knew she was probably chesty and a little chubby, but she wore baggy t-shirts and jeans to cover her figure. Today, her shirt had a skull on it with the words “Pantera, far beyond driven.” She often wore shirts from heavy metal rock bands. I think girls teased her about it. I remember once she wore a Korn shirt to school. The band was once very popular, but almost no one my age knows who they are.
I remember once some mean girls joked behind her back that she looked like she ate a lot of corn because her shirt made it seem like she was in support of the vegetable, and they probably had never heard of the band. Taylor heard the comment and didn’t respond, didn’t frown, or react at all. She was the kind of person who seemed very passive. She looked down at her food and kept eating.
I probably would have, as well. I wasn’t the type of kid to cause waves or stand up to bullies. I didn’t like it when they teased her, but I didn’t stand up for her either. I often felt guilty that I hadn’t.
I was both bewildered and flattered that she asked me on a date. I’d never been on one, mostly because I was too shy to ask, and I didn’t own a car. I thought she might be joking with me because she seemed more physically mature than I and had a pretty face. She could do a lot better than me.
Taylor was far from a silicon Barbie doll. She wore baggy jeans that completely hid her figure.
“Forget it, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, sorry,” she apologized, looking down at her food. Her body language read like she was metaphorically curling up in a little ball inside a protective imaginary shell.
She always kept to herself. Like me, she didn’t have friends that I knew of. That made us perfect lunch partners – far from the jocks, rednecks, goths, and popular kids. I was painfully shy. I played computer games, read sci-fi, and had no idea how to talk to girls. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have known what to say back. It didn’t seem logical that this was some elaborate joke on me, and the moment I said yes, she’d tell me that I was a fool for thinking it was possible.
“I’m flattered, but can I ask… why did you decide to ask me now, after all these months of sitting across from me?”
I kicked myself for answering her that way. I should have jumped on the opportunity, but a part of me was still skeptical this was real. I grew up in the time of YouTube pranks, and I didn’t want to end up on one of those TikToks where the girl asks if he’ll go on a date with her, and people ridicule him online for thinking he had a chance with her.
“It’s dumb, forget it,” she shrugged, looking at her plate. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to like, interrupt, and stuff.”
I looked to my left and to my right to emphasize that I had no one sitting on either side of me. I motioned to her because she was sitting almost perfectly across from where I sat. “I didn’t have a lot going on, so you didn’t interrupt. I am just a little confused. I’d love to go on a date with you.”
I was so proud of myself for not stammering or muttering.
“My mom said that I have to get out of my shell and stop being so shy. She said I had to go on a date with a boy and have normal, healthy sexual relationships.”
My tongue caught in my throat, and suddenly I wasn’t able to speak. I began to blush at the mention of healthy sexual relationships.
“Oh, it’s not like that,” Taylor assured me when she noticed how uncomfortable I grew when she mentioned healthy sexual relationships. “If we go on a date, the most I can do is like a blowjob or something.”
My pants felt tight as my dick stiffened under the lunch table, and I tried to contain my shock. The possibility this was some elaborate put-on still felt very real, but if it was true – then why not?
“Um, that would be okay,” I replied as if this were a negotiation and I was willing to take less than full sex in exchange for a date. I didn’t mean it to sound the way it did, but that’s how it sounded to me. I’ve replayed this awkward conversation in my head a thousand times since then, and it still amazes me how naïve and awkward I was. Taylor should have assumed I was a complete loser and walked away because I had no clue what to do with her.
“Okay, can we do it tonight?” she asked casually, like she was talking about something far more mundane than a date that involved “healthy sex” and blowjobs.
“It IS Friday,” my fingers danced across an imaginary Rolodex as I pretended to check my nonexistent schedule. “I am free for the evening, but I don’t have a car or anything.”
She didn’t laugh at my attempt at humor or seem very impressed by it – in fact, if anything, she seemed sad. “My mom or dad can drop us off somewhere. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, and I can pay for my own food or whatever.”
Suddenly, a million possibilities began flitting through my brain like they were carried on the wings of the nervous butterflies in my stomach. Everything was turning up Gary for me today, and it seemed like it was up to me to screw this up somehow.
“Where would you like to go?” I asked. I was already thinking about how I’d ask my parents to let me go on a date. They would have a thousand questions, and my brother and sister would probably tease me mercilessly. My older brother was a bit of a lady’s man, and he’d take some potshots at me. I assumed my older sister would laugh and ridicule me for one reason or another.
“I don’t care, like wherever, basically,” she shrugged – clearly content to do anything that I wanted to do.
Unfortunately for me, I was paralyzed with indecision because the possibilities seemed endless and the chances of my picking something stupid were infinite.
“We could go see a movie,” I offered.
“Okay,” she replied flatly – not inquiring as to what movie we’d see.
I had no idea what movies were playing in a theater. After Covid, my family stopped going to theaters entirely, and I didn’t keep up with that.
I had so many questions about what movie she wanted to see and what kind of food she ate. I was also worried that I didn’t have any money.
“What time should I come by your house to pick you up? Err, um, for your Dad and Mom to take us someplace?”
“I don’t know.”
Taylor’s response wasn’t a question or a recommendation. It was a definitive response, and then she stopped speaking. I would come to realize that Taylor did that all the time out of habit, and it was one of the annoying things her family was trying to make her stop doing. At the time, I was unsure how to respond.
“How long will it take you to be ready?” I asked a more clarifying question so that I could get an idea of what time I should stop by their house.
“I can be ready right after school. It only takes me a few minutes to walk home,” she shrugged, failing to make eye contact with me. I felt she was intimidated, perhaps a little overwhelmed, and that was a new sensation for me to process. I had never intimidated or overwhelmed anyone except in online Co-Op PVP shooters.
“Maybe I could walk you home?” I asked nervously. Taylor didn’t seem all that interested in me despite asking me out on a date. I wasn’t sure if I had blown it.
“I don’t know,” she scrunched her nose like she smelled a disgusting fart, like this conversation was making her want to get up and run away. I felt like I was coming on too strong, but I didn’t want my first date to be uncoordinated just because I didn’t know what time to be there.
I paused and let the silence sit between us awkwardly.
“You can if you want, but my family is weird. I guess you’d meet them anyway,” she shrugged- clearly no big deal to her. I thought she might be apprehensive about introducing me to her family on the first date, but her parents were going to take us out on the date, so it made sense.
I tried to fill the heavy silence after the matter was settled. A few unequivocal “I don’t know” from Taylor were all I needed to realize that I was probably annoying her. I was more than happy to stop speaking because I was painfully shy, nervous, and that minimized my chance of putting my foot in my mouth and sounding like an imbecile.
We said goodbye to one another when the lunch bell dismissed us, and I said I would see her soon.
I spent the rest of the day on cloud nine – I had a DATE. A girl had ASKED me – CHOSEN me. It didn’t matter who it was, but the more I thought about Taylor, the more she seemed perfect for me. She clearly had low expectations, seemed easy to please, and she was gorgeous.
I was short for my age, and I would have preferred a girl who was more my size, but those girls were younger than me, and as far as I was concerned, too green on the vine to think about romantically. I would have bragged to my friends that I had a date with Taylor if I had any.
It took me a while to gather the courage to ask permission to go on the date. My parents COULD have said no, and that would have been devastating after all that work up.
My father was the first to respond. He was at work, and he wasn’t the type to send long takes. He simply wrote, “Good job, Gary.”
My mom, on the other hand, launched a barrage of questions about who my date was, where we were going, when I’d be home, how I’d get home, and was embarrassingly overprotective. I was the youngest of the family, and my mom let my older siblings go on dates on Friday night without even asking.
“They are older, Gary. They are more experienced and they both drive!” she wrote back.
“Can I go out with her?” I texted back.
“Why can’t she come here? I want to meet her and talk to her parents. What is her mother’s phone number?” my mom wrote back.
If my older sister hadn’t asked Mom to make sure to pick up some new diapers for me, and spoon-feed me some baby food, my mom probably would have been a stickler. I am sure Chloe just wanted to have a laugh at my expense, but Mom must have realized she was being far too overbearing.
“If you get lost or don’t know what to do, call me, don’t text. Pick up the phone and call me. If your battery runs out, you call the police and have them pick you up and call me!” Mom’s response was her way of saying that yes, I could go.
“What time will you be home?” Mom sent immediately after that decision.
I was halfway through texting that I had no idea when I’d be home because it was up to their parents, but it would be sometime after the dinner and movie, when my older brother Pete texted another sarcastic dig at me. “Mom needs to know the precise time, because she’s going to read Thomas the Tank Engine to you and tuck you in, and change your diaper, Garr-Garr.”
“Just be home by midnight, and if it’s going to be later than that, I want you to call me and I’ll come get you. In the future, you need to ask permission BEFORE the night of your date,” my mom said.
My parents share authority equally, but my father usually only weighs in on the big things. My mom is the one who enforces the little rules, like who does which chores. I should have waited for my older brother or sister to tease me—it always seemed to have the opposite effect than they intended because my mom would lighten up.
“That’s not fair. Chloe and Pete don’t have to ask permission to go on a date at all!” I wrote back. In my head, the tone of my observation was helpful and constructive. I didn’t really think about how my mom might perceive it or react before I sent it.
She must have read it in a tone that sounded like I was questioning the very fabric of reality and her authority as my mother in the most rude and insulting manner possible.
“Gary Sonneborn, You are not them! They are older than you. You spring this on me without any notice and expect me not to worry? I have never met this girl. She may not even be real. You have different rules than they do because you are younger!”
I was about to apologize and shrink away from conflict, but my sister unexpectedly came to my rescue with another insult. “Ten bucks says Gary’s date’s name is Rosie Palmer!”
“CHLOE SONNEBORN, that is crude and disgusting!” My mom wrote in my defense.
“But true,” my big brother piled on to the insult.
“I am trying to work to put food on the table. Can you guys remove me from this chat or joke around in a different one without me?” Dad’s text put an end to that line of conversation. I was free and clear – permission to go on a date. This was really happening!
On one hand, I was full of jubilation and excitement that I had a date. My mind found ways to terrify me. The least of which was looking in the mirror and seeing a pimple faced kids staring back at me. I felt like her parents may take one look at me and think I am way too small to be on a date with their daughter. If her siblings were like me, they might tease her because I was a dweeb. Doubts crept across my mind that this was going to work out at all. I was dressed in my school clothes.
I assumed I needed to go home, shower, and put on aftershave (I didn’t need to shave, but I’d borrow some from my Dad or brother). I’d need a change into fresh underwear. I might be sweaty or nervous, and I wished that I had worn a nicer shirt. I just had on my sneakers. I assumed maybe I needed dress shoes, possibly a tie.
I had no money at all. My brother and sister both had credit cards that my parents controlled. I wasn’t even trusted with bringing cash to pay the lunch lady because it made, me a target for bullies and mom didn’t want to take the chance they may try to rough me up to get it from me.
All the self-doubt, low self-esteem, and awkward hormonal angst simmered and percolated in my mind for the rest of the day, consuming my thoughts and making me fail a math test that I was certain I would have passed.
It all went out the window at the end of the day. A wave of adrenaline kicked in, and I hustled out of my final class for the day to try to find Taylor. I almost went to my bus to go home out of habit. I saw her walking toward the gate alone, holding her books to her chest.
“Did you change your mind?” I asked as I caught up to her after a quick dash.
“About what?” she asked dumbfounded.
“Our date?” I reminded her. I was prepared to be crushed. I felt so vulnerable. After all that effort, if she told me that she had a change of heart, I’d have to eat crow at home when my siblings teased me mercilessly about rejection. I could visualize my mother coddling me and patronizing me because she thinks that would soothe my feelings but it would only encourage the teasing and make it feel worse.
“Oh, no. I thought maybe you did,” she shrugged. I was frustrated she was walking home without waiting to see if I’d meet her, but I tried not to think too hard about it. Taylor Welton always seemed very passive - a gentle big girl. She could be meek and soft-spoken, and that could come across as sullen and melancholy.
She almost never smiled, but the trace of a wintry smile passed across her lips. I assumed she was happy I chased after her.
“I am excited!” I replied with a smile as we headed off the school property.
“Why?” she asked – seemingly perplexed why I’d be so excited to have a date with her. I didn’t want to tell her this was my literally first date ever – although it was probably quite obvious.
“I have a date with you! That’s why,” I beamed with pride.
“I know I am fat and lumpy. You don’t have to pretend I am hot,” she assured me pragmatically. “I am just a girl.”
“I am just a boy,” I countered.
Taylor would just stop talking and keep walking, like she was stubbornly but slowly fleeing a place she didn’t want to be, never looking back. I was used to saying something and getting something snappy right back from whoever I was talking to.
I goes on to introduce their nudist household - same as his version of my story does.