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The afternoon went by. Meg celebrated her son’s accomplishment with a dinner for two. It was their moment, and she wanted him all for herself.15Early dinner, Meg had at least two bottles of wine in her. She held onto her son’s muscular body as they strolled out for a walk after dinner. Luke enjoyed her by his side. The passers-by thought they a cute couple. He felt accomplished. He did not think of his future that evening. His internship in the city did not start immediately.Meg kissed her son often. Luke avoided locking his lips on hers, even though she made attempts to make such contact.There was a gentle drizzle of rain. Meg did not have a care in the world. Luke was excited to feel his mother’s breast often brushing and pressing his biceps. He dismissed her intentions and attributed them to her being drunk.They walked a mile or so. As they did, Luke called an Uber for a ride to the hotel Meg checked in. The ride arrived within minutes and got them to the hotel. We want to check out of this joint, but it won’t let us. You gotta fix it so’s we can leave.”“Who are you?” Ethan asked.“Who am I?” the stranger scoffed. “I’m the only guy who knows the scoop, the only patsy who’s in on the joke. Just when you think you’ve found an easy way out of the frying pan, bam, you’re dropped right into the fire. Some of ‘em get stuck in a loop, living out their despair over and over, like a clockwork toy. Me, I can appreciate a good pratfall, always did like a little Keaton.”“What is it that you want from me?” Ethan continued, trying to control the wavering in his voice. “What is this ‘it’ that you keep referring to?”“I ain’t got all the answers, that’s your job, shamus. I gotta bow out, so keep sniffin’.”“Wait!” Ethan said, daring to look up for the first time. In the clouded mirror, he saw an indistinct reflection, the silhouette of a man wearing a newsboy cap. “Can’t you give me anything to go on?”“Red eyes in the dark,” he replied. His voice seemed to.
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And tease me, you would. Through the passing years, you maintained your figure, your fiery lust, and the sense of our shared love and desire… it amazes me, somehow. The bond we share never diminished or even flickered. What was it, four years ago? The Valentine’s you came to the dinner table wearing nothing but one of my white dress shirts, one with French cuffs. And you never laughed, but carried on like it was perfectly normal. And when you slowly popped each button after our meal and padded to my side of the table, open to me, watching my eyes to make sure I was enjoying the show. I loved every casual flick of your slender wrist. Your fingers freed me quickly, as they always could. Some magic you possessed: your ability to find my lust and free it so readily. Swinging your leg over my chair you tucked me inside you, so comforting, you already wet from the anticipation that you so willfully kept at bay during our meal. When my body plumbed your depths your eyelids fluttered as.

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