I tried to stop myself but I just couldn't. I twisted my hips in small thrusts, in tandem with my squeezing hands, faster and faster, with the music, always with the music, and then ... Mom cried out. "Ahhhhhhhooohhhhhhh." A single cry and then the music stopped, echoing throughout the room as Mom's cry subsided, as my hips stopped moving and my seepage waned, until Mom stopped quivering between my hands. Soon, it was quiet except for the ragged sound of our breathing. Slowly, that returned to normal. Reluctantly, I climbed off the bench, knowing I had to go. I kissed Mom's neck, said goodnight, and turned to walk up the stairs behind me, knowing I had to escape before my father came in and my wet pants betrayed me. I heard mom belatedly mumble when I was halfway up the staircase. "Goodnight, Jon." Over the Edge The next morning, I lay in bed wondering if last night had been a dream, but knowing it wasn't. I hadn't faced Mom at the end but I had to now. I would be expected at. Let's go there, doesn't look too crowded," she said, grabbing my arm and directing me across the busy street. "You like coffee, don't you?"Inside, she told me to find a table, she would get the coffee. "What do you like?" This was new to me, a girl buying coffee for me. I know this is the day of modern, liberated, confident women, but I am still a southern gentleman, I usually pay. She completely ignored me when I offered money."I will have a decaf latte with skim milk," I responded, obviouslyto her amusement. "What?"She shook her head. "Find a table."After she set the coffees on the table, I asked, "Why did you laugh at my order, not manly enough for you?"After a brief pause, she answered, "All I have ever had is robust, strong coffee. My father drinks it black. My mother likes Cubano, strong with lots of cream and so sweet it would put you in a diabetic coma. I like mine strong with the cream foam on top." She offered a taste, which I took. Yuk! I guess it is all in what you are.
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