May I?” she asked, pulling his t-shirt up, not waiting for his answer.Dean lifted up, letting his mother pull his shirt up all the way. “There we...go. Perfect,” Monica said, running her fingernails over his skin.“Now then, just relax,” Monica began. She went for nearly 20 minutes, deeply massaging his muscles, her hands gliding over his vertebrae, her thumbs working his neck, shoulder blades.When she was done she leaned down, whispering in his ear, “I won’t charge you a dime for that.” She. 'Mariel', my mother said softly, 'I want you so see this', she said, and I looked at the old woman, who then looked at me, and nodded approvingly at the thought.I took of my own coat and put it on the back of the seat I just vacated, and like mother adjusted my clothing in a similar fashion.We entered his room, which was large, light and airy, to be greeted by an elderly man in his seventies, lying in a huge bed, 'Chelsea', he said as mother walked up to the bed, bent over and kissed him full. More

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