At the edges of the screaming match, Jeff’s mom circles, head turning back and forth, as if watching a tennis match, pleading. ‘Bob, stop, let’s...go home, honey, please. Jeff don’t! Stop! He’s your father’ Back and forth. The old man had sat in his beloved car, (all his dad’s cars are beloved, since most of his life has been spent not owning one). Spittle and invectives fly from his father’s mouth in equivalent amounts. One soils Jeff’s face, the other his soul. In typical Hunter fashion, that. It was warm. It was alert. It felt like every inch of her moved, and her ass felt like it was on fire.The feeling was pain. “Whish! Whish! Whish! Whish!” four more hard swats with the leather belt. “Ahhhh!” the gurl screamed. “What the fuck are you doing? Stop it! Stop it you fucking asshole!”“Whish! Whish! Whish!” The swats continued. “Fucking stop!” the gurl screamed. The swats continued for what seemed like forever, then suddenly, just stopped. “What the fuck was that? Let me fucking go you. More

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