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But it wasn't. I couldn't rid my mind of the memory of Mom's tit resting in my hand. I could still feel its warmth. It got worse every day and by the end of the week its imprint was embedded in my palm. Like a drug, I craved the opportunity to experiencethe bliss of its touch again and entertained preposterous scenarios wherein I was able to freely walk up behind Mom and slip my hands insideher dress to feel her tits no matter who was present. In these ridiculous dreams nobody was aware of what I was doing, including Mom. I was jacking off so much thinking of her atnight that I became seriously sleep deprived.
In desperation, I picked a fight with Gordie when Dad wasn't home. He tried to ignore me because we were downstairs and so was Mom but I really pushed it and finally triggered his explosive temper.
Gordie got up from the kitchen table and hissed, "Fuck off!" somehow managing to keep the sound down while conveying how pissed he was and what would happen if I kept bugging him. I backed away and he followed, his sneer changing into a malicious grin when he saw that I was moving out of Mom's line of sight, should she turn around to look at us.
"Eat me," I said in a whisper that couldn't be heard beyond the kitchendoor.
Gordie thumped me hard in the chest with both hands and I fell back, too easily crashing into the fridge with a bang that rattled everything inside. The slug that followed landed with aloud thud on my shoulder.
"Ow," I wailed loudly.
A dining room chair skidded back. Gordie's jabbing stare threatened to kill me on the spot.
"You're dead!" he hissed.
"I heard that," Mom yelled, bursting into the kitchen.
Gordie protested. "Mom, he…"
"I don't want to hear it."
"But he…"
"I said I don't want to hear it."
I managed to keep a smirk off my face so I could feign real pain.
"Are you okay?" Mom asked, concerned.
"He's fine. He…"
"Gordon, go to your room."
"Aw, come on, he started it."
Mom whirled around.
"I mean NOW!"
The smirk emerged full blown on my face. Gordie's eyes shot daggers at me but he turned and walked out of the kitchen. As he stomped up the stairs, Mom yelled, "And clean up that pigsty."
The smirk turned into a pained look as Mom turned back to me.
"Are you okay Stanley?"

6 of 13 in hot story: A SLIP OF HAND

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30. Dec 2012 11:52:41 EST
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