Mum was standing at the bench chopping vegetables when I entered the kitchen and I decided to put my plan into immediate action. I had the rolled up foam pad under one arm, and so, when I paused to kiss the back of her neck, I reached down and ran the other hand up her thigh, under her dress, and clasped one cheek of her backside, and squeezed it through her nickers. Mum jumped and tried to escape my grasp but was prevented from getting away by the bench, so she slapped at my hand, forgetting she was holding a peeling knife, and it was only my quick reflexes that saved my getting a nasty wound. She was quite shocked at what she had nearly done and was most apologetic and anxious that I should forgive her action."It's OK! It was probably my own fault, it's just that I didn't realise my touch was so repulsive to you now. I'm sorry if I offended you earlier to the extent that you now find my touch so terrible." I didn't really mean any of this bullshit but I figured that my increasing. My attentions shifts when the driver asks, “All dressed up for a night on the town?” He tries to start a friendly conversation. Talking to him takes my focus off of the night to come and calms me. We pull up outside the house and it looks like the party is in full swing. People are out front talking and the music inside is thumping. I climb out and pay the driver and he comments as I leave, “Whoever hooks up with you tonight will be one lucky person.” I smile at his kindness and am feeling a little more confident about myself. As I walk up to the door, my hearts beats harder and almost in time with the music. There are so many people and I don’t know a soul. I walk through the crowd looking for Tristan. He must be somewhere. Walking from room to room does no good. There are too many people. I spot the drinks tub and pull out a beer. I almost scull the beer hoping that the drink will calm me down. After a few drinks, I’m feeling free and relaxed. I walk over to the dance floor, or.
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