Holding him with one arm, I let the other rest on his upper leg. Such silky smooth skin. I gently stroke him a few times. He doesn’t respond, the ga...e holds every thought. Slowly I let my fingers follow my desire, creeping like a spider up his thigh. I reach the edge of his short. I touch the fabric with my finger tips and look at my brother. His eyes are wide open and his nimble fingers move over the buttons like a professional. I have played this game myself many time. It’s difficult, but I. “Eighteen,” I said.“Yeah, when’d ‘at happen?”“Drake, I mean Daddy,” I said. For he knew when my birthday happened.“No, baby doll, call me Drake. Now, sweetheart, when’d you turn 18?”“Drake, today,” I said, still barely awake. “You weren’t at my party.”“No, you’re wrong,” he said, glancing at his wristwatch, “today is tomorrow, and your birthday was yesterday, now.”“What?” I said.“After midnight, little lady,” daddy said, thumping his watch.“Oh, yeah, yesterday. You, still, didn’t show up,” I. More

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