”“Good,” she said. “I'm super preggers. I need it.”“You're not super preggers,” I said, shaking my head. “You're not even showing. I'm...not even super preggers.” I was starting to have morning sickness. It wasn't bad, just some nausea in the morning that some saltine crackers helped settle. “I'm super preggers, Yunie!” my lover said, her rump clenching. “I need to be pampered.”“Of course, Daughter,” Mrs. Armstrong said, spreading the massage oil.“Okay,” I said, moving around the other side of. At the end of the evening as we all disappeared home, I was left with Michele, who by then was legless and to all accounts, brain dead. We went to a taxi rank and sat down, where she fell asleep on my lap, with her legs stretched out on the bench.I dozed off myself due to the electric heating, then woke up and caught the old controller bending over Michele. I watched through my thick mascara, as he fingered her, and occasionally glanced at my supposed sleeping form.There was no doubting I was. More

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