Lucretia had dominated the right side of the house. I'd claimed what was once my grand fathers music room as a current respite. It was adorned in wood paneling and accumulative junk. It's small space felt comfortable.

I walked down the halls until I heard a record player. The halls seemed longer than before. I followed the music, a Nelson Riddle recording. Scouting, I was careful to appear casual as I passed the ajar door. The room had once been my nursery. It was the room my mother read to me in up until her death from congenital heart failure. On the sleigh bed lay Miranda, her arable flesh looked like tan pastel oil paint spilt upon the blue bedding. She lay on her stomach, feet buoying in the air behind her. The peeking orbs of her ass gave me a hard-on. A man is never as aware of himself as when he has a hard-on.

“If you're just going to stand there, then come in.” Miranda said as she tipped her head back slightly. The thick curls bobbed. “I can hear you breathing. You sound like a water heater.”

I became even more awkward as I walked in. It made my stomach turn. The nostalgia raped by the presence of her young bony body. My face began to radiate. I glimpsed the fair pulp of her waist. Either I was aroused or angry. One passion tends to feed the other.

“What are you doing?” I drew my hand across the edge of the bed. Feeling the linen under my fingertips I closed my eyes. I tried to center myself. I didn't want to think about her ass being soft or how rough my pants felt against my cock. I wasn't embarrassed by the tent. I wanted control again of my head.

“Beading a bracelet.” She has seventeen bracelets split between her two wrists. It looks ethnic. I assume it was some sort of voodoo. “See.” She was effervescent. She swayed her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up with a cat like motion. Tribal drums beat on my temples. My skin was spandex. I wanted to rip and tear my skin off my hands and arms. I wanted to rip her shirt away. I wanted to hear the sound of shredding and the satisfaction of release. Was I going mad?

She removed one of her wooden bead bracelets from her wrist and stretched it over my hand. She brushed my arm with her hand. I opened my eyes and looked at what she was doing.

“No.” I said. I smacked the necklace with my wrist as I jerked my hand from her.

I would not give up my Puxatet. I would not trade myself or my domain for trinkets. I took for the door. I reached in my pocket and fiddled with lint from the dryer and then a nickle deep in the pouch.

I pulled it out and looked at it as I walked out the door.

“Coward.” she said softly.

I stopped in the middle of the hall and looked forward. The heat and the tribal drums paraded near my ears. My jaw was tense and I fought the urge to look back at her. I fiddled with the coin in my hand and marched on.

Her voice distant, “Yeah.”

On the first level of the house I began in the living room. I stood still and looked the room over indiscriminately. I heard a rustling and walked towards the dining room. I waited in silence near the archway by the table. I heard a clang. I moved quickly to the next door way and waited. Minutes passed and I played with my coin. This time the sound like sand paper bounced around the walls. I followed it to another doorway. I waited in a hall till I heard a “ting.” I walked down two more halls towards the rear of the house. I passed an open door and saw a figure rustling about.

“Ari. I will be late to dinner.” He nodded.

At dinner Miranda had her hair brushed to one side, her left side. It was a cockeyed mane. She sat across from me and Lucretia sat to our right at the head of the table. Ari stood in the corner solemnly waiting to be called upon.

Miranda fiddled with her fork. She would flip it so that the butt of the utensil, the long sleek end of the fine silver, was tugging against her blue lace top. She would expose first saffron flesh. Then she exposed part of the aureole. Her bastion of hair obscured this spectacle from bother Lucretia and Ari, who stood back and behind her. Her mother intently carved her food and chewed silently. Occasionally looking up from her meal. I could tell she wanted to smile. Something she wasn't practice in doing with her mouth of late I'm sure. I kept my head down, occasionally glancing up to see what Miranda was up to.

“Mother.” Miranda said.

“I have decided that I shall give Caleb lessons in speaking Italian.”


“If he is to be a part of our family then he must be exposed to higher culture.
Otherwise we only have ourselves to blame.”

“Mm.” Her mother nodded consensually.

I threw my gaze over at Ari. He stood stoic. I thought about the whorehouse.

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