.." Yeah, well," I conceded, moodily. "Maybe that's another point – I mean, our relationship has always had a sort of undercover quality – I think...the world of the woman, I really do, but all the time I was getting to know her she was, of course, looking after Phil, so it was never really appropriate to discuss the 'us' stuff ... and I think it just got to be a habit."I waited for her to say something – something helpful, something consoling, something ... whatever. But she didn't, so. Right now there were far more important things to take care of than the fucking meatloaf. Mom was still wearing her orange oven mitts as I deftly maneuvered her out of the kitchen towards the sitting room where I intended to have my wicked way with her despite her feeble protestations. Determined, I bent her over the left-hand arm of the sofa so that her blue tartan skirted ass was higher than her head as she twisted around to see what I was up to. "Sorry, Mom," I grunted as I tugged. More

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