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I rolled off the ring, swam to the end of the pool and hauled myself out of the water. Mom had pulled down the straps of her swimsuit and lay flat on...her stomach, waiting. Her toned body glimmered in the hot afternoon sun. I sat down on the end of the lounge chair and squirted some lotion into my hand. Then I threw a leg over the foot of the chair so I was straddling it and began rubbing Mom’s back. Her bare skin was warm to the touch.Mom jumped. “Ooh, that’s cold,” she said gasping. Then. She had seven pairs of stockings, a complete set of garters for each corset in matching colors, and two bras, 34A. The first gown she unwrapped was one she had picked out herself. It was all pink with white ruffles at the cuffs of the short sleeves, and around the modestly cut neckline, and on a diagonal from the waist to the hem. It wasn't quite as full as the others she had worn, but full none the less. The next one was definitely a party dress. It was sparkling blue off the shoulder full. My heart sinks. She takes the key from the cage door, and my choice is made.I charge. My tackle knocks her to the ground and the key slips from her grasp. I dive and grab it successfully. My fumble with the lock almost costs me my freedom; a whip strikes the air where my face was a second ago. The lock clicks as I turn the key, and the collar falls. But I am not free. Yet.I charge again and my fist makes contact with her nose. We both fall, and I land on top of her. I hold her down by the neck. "Why are men such assholes?" she asked me."It's in the DNA," I said. It was the best I could do on short notice. I wanted to keep her talking, although why, I didn't know. "Problem at home?" I inquired, wondering why I asked, and whether or not she would tell me. We didn't know each other well enough to trade war stories by any means.She shook her head. "No. Not really. It's just that John..." she trailed off, and I knew she was deciding whether or not to confide in me. People do, for some.
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