I fucked my made Indian

I loathed her. My cats sat at my feet, Mickey on the right, Michelle on the left. My lover’s son, Seth, stumbled in. He was chained, hand to hand, f...ot to foot, feet to waist, hands to waist, eyes covered, mouth taped, smelling of alcohol, trembling of meth, clearly, to me, in the dream, making no progress to graduation, flushed out of school, they had a plan, GED. Oh, the nightmare scenario. My terror was that he could have done so much, unlimited, but he was done, I called out, but he could. Then I was running up the driveway to my house. I swept to the front door, burst inside, and headed straight for the kitchen.“Dusk?” Mom said as I entered. She was setting fried chicken onto a platter. “I thought you were having dinner with the Reynolds.”“That got boring,” I said, panting from my run. “Made some extra for me?”“I always make too much, honey,” she said, smiling.“Good.” I opened the fridge and pulled out a diet coke. I cracked the can and took a sip. I sighed in relief. It felt. More

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