You know your place, Peter and you know it isn’t beside Oma, not now, not today, not here.It is loud, joyous intoxicating but I am oblivious. Oma is...behind me; her strong, rough fingers smoothing my collar. I close my eyes. I can see as well without them. Her deft fingers smooth the crisp white cotton, sliding down across my collar bones, her fingertips pulling apart the triangles which hold my top button and its buttonhole.My heart skips a beat. For a moment, I am in doubt, uncertain,. She was busy with some papers on her desk and neither of us had spoken since she returned. I had to try another, small test.‘I wonder if her nose starts itching, will she scratch - or merely rub upwards with one knuckle?’She rubbed her nose upwards with the knuckle on her right forefinger. That made me want to try something - with a little more spark to it.‘I wonder if both her perky, spiky nipples itched at the same time, would she be brave enough to actually scratch them with me. More

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