I’d rubbed my fingers in it, rubbed them together, and felt the greasiness if male orgasm. I’d smelt my mum's discarded knickers, the crotch smell...ng slight tangy from pee, sweat and vaginal fluids, just how mine smelt by the end of a normal day. But in my curiosity of all things sexual, I had never seen evidence on the nights bed-sheet that mum had cum, maybe like me, she didn’t orgasm with just thrusting, did this mean my dad was a useless lover? I’d shaken my head; I couldn’t imagine life. He'd be home soon, he figured, and could chew on some of the cold chicken Agnes had left in the refrigerator. Cold chicken--what an apt description for his wife, Mort thought with a smirk; Agnes had shriveled up into a puckered resemblance to a plucked chicken, her skin and temperament as crusty and brittle as the drumstick waiting for him a few miles away. But at least she could cook, he sighed, and she was a born housekeeper and society woman, which were assets he needed to get ahead in. More

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