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All I had to do was slide them up my legs. Or rubthem against my penis. It would be easy.But someone wanted me to have them, so I didn't put any of the pantieson. I didn't rub them against me. I just took them, went straight toKatie's drawer and threw them in, as if there was some sort of secretcamera pointing at me. At night, I would look at Katie, as if waiting fora message, but there was none forthcoming. Our lives went on as normal.Our conversations. Our meals.But for the life of me, I could not stop thinking about the panties in mybed like a light in the distance.***Finally, it was Saturday. Katie slept in, the way she often did. I madecoffee and got the newspaper. I was reading an article about ganglandviolence in Cincinnati when she came into the room."Hello, Katie," I said."Hey, funny-face," she said. "Can I have a cup of that?"I poured her coffee. I slid the cream and sweetener toward her. Shepulled out the lifestyle section and began to read. We were content, theway we were. She felt the strong wind in her face like she was on the roaring bike again, vibrating under her as she moved her hand under her underwear. A campfire. What’s with the campfires? She intentionally went back to images. The hot tub. Scooters perfectly sized and shaped penis. Her hand started rapidly flicking her clitoris. She pictured a winged patch as she inserted two fingers, reaching for her g-spot. She tried to make out the colors on the wings as she lifted her hips off her bed, fingering herself, rubbing her magic spot. She pinched her nipple, tugging on her large breast with it. She came on her hand as the wings turned bright gold. Then she drifted off to sleep, crying a single lonely tear for her mom and her dad, and her innocence lost. The following day was apprehensive, no explanation necessary as to why. She wanted so badly to just go hang out at with the club but knew her parents needed her home if she wanted them to be any version of sane. She knew they both.
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