Amelia stretched out her legs on the coffee table as we watched her selection; the usual run of sitcoms. Slightly slouched, and partially leaning agai...st me, I caressed her shoulder and, feeling randy, slipped my hand down to cup her delicate breast over her cotton top. Nice. No bra. Amelia didn’t object. She placed her hand on the back of mine, her other on my thigh, and continued watching television.I was quite happy. A delectable breast in one hand, a glass of India Pale Ale in the other,. Better than that ‘other’ thing she brought home last time.Mary takes John’s hand, her soft hand holding his own hand that now feels like an old sweaty mitten to him. She brings him to their dining room table, where her books are already laid out. They sit. She watches as her mom disappears into the kitchen.She whispers, “Mom doesn’t let me bring boys up to my room...”He stares at her, unable to conceive of him seeing her room.“Uh, sure. Of course. No problem.”Mom reappears with some drinks for. More

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