As I approached the window, I could see Papa sitting over in a corner of the garage in an old recliner. We kids had worn it out years ago, but Papa always recycled everything. Papa was sitting leaned-back in the chair with a magazine held up in-front of his face. His pants were pulled down to about to his knees and his one fist was beating away at his cock. I was so shocked. I don’t know what possessed me to stand there in the dark and continue to watch him, but I did. I knew he had never figured someone might spy on him, but I just couldn’t pull myself away. I stood there in the darkness and watched as he thrust his hips upward. His fist would change speed and every so often he would pause and pull at the shaft and let it stand upward. He would grab at the very end and twist at it and then stroke hard at it some more. Girlfriends had always talked and laughed about guys doing this. I figured both my brothers did it too, but I never figured that my papa would still be. "I shrugged off the tone. "You snagged a few tubes of paint and did the rest on your own."She just sat there, silent, her head in a minor shake of dissent. "That's not the art I'm talking about," she finally whispered.I shrugged clueless and guided the boat towards the approaching pier. My first mate tied us off with the knot I'd taught her ages ago. We lugged the provisions up to the cabin and opened the place up. Then I went out and circled the perimeter, making mental notes of where I'd want to work.Then it struck me. "Goddamnit!"Melissa was fast in the doorway with a worried look. "What's wrong?" Oh, nothing. Nothing. Not a thing," I scoffed. "Just you know that bag of mortar?"She picked it up real quick. "Oh, you mean the one you left in the trunk of the car." You got it," I grinned.She paused. "You going back to get it?" Naw. Hell with that." Want me to go?" Nonononono. Manana, baby, manana."Instead I wound up in the woods. I had cut the dead fall into draggable lengths the last.
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