“Oh so, how about one of my special deep tissue massages then?”“That sounds lovely,” You say in a very relaxed soft voice. “I think that’s...exactly what I need baby. But remember my housemate will be home soon.”You lie on your front, as I pour oil onto my palms, slowly letting it drizzle from the tips of my fingers, starting at the base of your neck down along your back, pouring more onto the space above your waist, and across your succulent backside. Letting gravity make a small river that. A Christmas present no doubt, right? Yeah … no. Dad was laundering money through the savings and loan. Apparently again from that same, unnamed, mafia connection. But they could not find a source, no matter how hard first the police and then the FBI tried, and Dad wouldn’t name his buddy who had given him the money to move. So dad went to jail on Christmas day. And mom and I went to her brother’s house while the police tore our apartment to postage stamp size pieces trying to find any clue that. More

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