I was 11, Alex was 9. The neighborhood crew I ran with was in their backyard, and we were playing tag, or something. Something loud, with Cheryl organ...zing and yelling and pontificating, as usual. And I remember Alex, sitting by herself in the corner, reading. The rest of the crew badgered her, telling her that she should play with us, but she refused. I admired her for it. Me? Oh, I was playing tag. An eleven-year-old boy, who'd rather read in the corner than get dirty? Well, yeah, actually, I. "Thanks, sweetheart." I knew I was dismissed. "Your mother will kill me if I don't do the rest myself."I dutifully rubbed the oil into my mother's back while they exchanged the lively form of sisterly banter that I heard so much of I could almost repeat it like a script. But I was comfortable enough to sit astride Mom's bottom and legs while I worked. Being in contact with her deliciously soft bottom for this long with a good excuse was exquisite pleasure.I worked my way down her legs and they. More

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