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At the center of each table, nestled on silver chafing dishes, piled high with shimmering flakes of ice, were olives, cocktail onions, radishes, and foot-high celery stalks. Layers of silver-etched china donned each place setting, while colossal brandy snifters as big as hot-air balloons sat waiting to be filled. It was another full house. Moe could almost hear the cash register belch. Dutch wouldn’t show for at least an hour – too much behind the scenes work with the show people – so Moe put a word in to the maitre’d that he was looking for Mrs. Winslow. The little trip to the pokey had raised too many questions in Moe’s mind, questions that Dutch just might know the answer to, but he’d kill some time chit-chatting with Kitty, just to reassure himself that the dame wasn’t more than met the eye. Moe finished two shots and was thinking of ordering a third when Kitty Winslow made her entrance. She was Moses parting the Red Sea. Like a grand hostess greeting her guests, schmoozing with. This was me. I lifted my wet fingers to my nose, to confirm. It was, then thinking about it, how boys are always talking about eating pussy, in hushed tones. And watching Ozzy pacing and watching me. I opened my mouth and slid my fingers in wrapping my lips around my two wet digits, and sucking my own flavor of off them. It was an odd lite flavor, slightly alkaline slightly slimy in texture. It was weird. It was making my panties moist.The shame was weird too. It was, I don't know, embarrassing, and just sort of felt wrong. That also excited me a bit. And I sat in my shame and wetness sucking on my slick fingers, feeling like the slut, my mom always accused me of being. Anger at that thought built up from within me. Coupled with the shame, I declared "screw it".I jumped off the couch and headed towards the stairs. Ozzy followed his nails clicking against the floor. I turned to him a brought him back by the couch and told him to sit and stay.I went up to see where my Aunt and her.
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