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Sometimes I would find her actually crying over a copy of Medea. She had a copy of fucking Gilgamesh, but she could tell you the story herself better than the version found in our study. Anyway. We sat down on the couch. I know we have a lot to talk about. About just now, and all the things I promised to tell you earlier. But I think the easiest way for me to explain things would be to show you this. She held the photo-album in her hands. She opened it to the first picture. It was a black and white picture of what looked like Ellis Island. I saw a group of immigrants standing in line to see a man at a desk. They all held briefcases and some of the women were covered in that kind of shawl I cant help but associate with some Russian babushka. My mom asked, Do you see it? Is one of our ancestors in this picture? She smiled. Kind of. She pointed out one of the women in line. I took a closer look. She looked like a carbon-copy of my sister. She looks just like Maddie! I took the. She laughed, leaning in and kissing me hard. I fancied I could still taste myself on her lips but didn’t care. “In that case…” she trailed off, rolling gracefully off the bed and wandering around the frame towards my feet. She reached out and yanked my shorts and boxers from around my knees and tossed them across the room. Then, as slowly and as sensually as she could, she crawled back onto the bed and up my body, until she was straddling my thighs. She looked down at my already hardening cock with fascinated amusement. “Ah, youth,” she mused, smiling as she reached down and softly ran her fingers over the hard piece of flesh and blood. Already sensitive from before, her touch was like lightning shooting through my body and my cock jerked in response. Mrs. Fletcher bit her lip, eyes locked on my shaft as it twitched against my stomach, one hand gently touching it now and then, and the other going from one breast to the next squeezing and pinching her own nipples. Her weight.
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