“Lift up your dress mum” “Ross…what have I just been saying?” “Mum… I know you enjoy being told and made to do sexual things. Not only t...at, you seem to also revel in sex that may be… shall we say… on the naughty side… NOW… show me your pussy” Mum blushed “Ross…please” I sat up and leaned over the edge of the tub, reaching for the hem of her skirt. Grasping it in a bunch in my clenched fist, I tugged the skirt raising it as my mother shuffled towards me under the pull of my hand. Her bushy. She does not cry or mourn and she pretended not to notice me. It started a month ago and I just can’t seem to get it out of my mind. It was an echo of a rat-a-tat sound of falling rain on a tin roof, a cycle that seemed to repeat itself over and over again. I had been here before but I had a feeling that once I left- I would never, ever, return. The phone rang and I answered it- even then I could tell she was wearing that damn mask. The one with emerald eyes and clown painted cheeks. I could. More

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