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He smiled and said come on in. Before I could react he put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me in. Walking to the kitchen he said, you want somethin... to eat. Mumbling I said OK. He made me some food and brought it to the table. Nervous, I was about to eat. Mr Smith put his hands on my shoulders and rubbed. I didn't know what to do. He reached down and slid his hand under my shirt. He rubbed my chest, then leaned down and rubbed my stomach. Whispering he said, why don't we take this off. I. Go sit with the rest.”And with that she goes. “What was really going on here Mark?” my mom asks in a tone that she uses when she will not tolerate bullshit. A tone I’ve heard a few times since my teenage years. “Like I said mom, Christine dropped some coffee and I was wiping it off”“Were you looking up her skirt when you were down there? I’ve been watching you watch her legs and her skirt since we got here. Attractive isn’t she?” “Well she is, but she IS my aunt. So nothing weird going on. More

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