I moved myunderwear and shirts to the dresser I had brought from New Jersey. Shoeswere tossed onto the floor of the closet and all that was left was summerstuff. I planned to put that in the spare room and gathering it up Iwalked across the hallway and pushed open the door.The spare bedroom was a dull little space. A bed frame with no mattresssat against one wall. A small dresser was placed in a corner. Light camefrom a single ceiling fixture. There must have been carpeting in the roomonce. I could see the staple marks in the wood floor. I looked around.Maybe if it was painted bright yellow and curtains were hung it could bemade livable but it felt cold. It appeared not to be a place to live butonly a place to exist. Maybe I'm getting too philosophical.I dropped my clothes on the dresser top and opened the small closet. "Damn, I thought Turner had cleaned this place."A large clothing bag, the type that you use for storing a season's worthof clothes, hung in the closet and a small red. As she was drifting towards consciousness she thought it was Bobby who had done that a few times in the past. As she came more awake, she realized it wasn’t her husband. She was paralyzed. What should she do? Roscoe was snoring slightly so she didn’t think it was intentional but should she wake him? That might be more embarrassing than just trying to ignore it.That chosen course of action was more difficult than she anticipated. The feeling of the long hard object against her back was a wicked thing. Especially when Roscoe moved a little. “Were those little thrusts he was making?” she wondered. Her hand drifted down between her legs and rubbed herself in tiny motions that she hoped no one would notice.Her feelings were all mixed up the next day. She was afraid to tell her husband which could upset their arrangement for a family member. Would it happen again? In that short time when Roscoe had gone to work and Bobby wasn’t home yet, she sat on the toilet and rubbed herself, feeling.
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