He's got a cloth diaper in there for me.For pathetic me. For pathetic pigtailed, beribboned, diapered me. With ahard on. Damn me!Owen's smile broadens."Johnson, is it?" he asks.Jenny nods enthusiastically and her eyes fall back onto Owens' hands.He's digging around in the sack with a purpose. Something's wrong.Something? No not something! Everything is wrong! This has to stop. Ican't do this any more. I'm indulging! What am I doing to my sister? Thisisn't a game anymore! She'll be ruined for life.But something is wrong with Owens..."Johnson... Johnson... Johnson..." he sings to himself as his handtussles through the contents of the bag.I see more lace. I see more ribbon. I'm sure. I see it before his handlands on it. The leather straps and smooth tapered look of it. Johnson!"NO!" I yell.Owens is surprised. His hand stops. I'm on my feet. The hard soles of mybaby mary-janes give out on me and I crash to my knees and then to mychest. My hand is on the zipper of the bag. I pull it away. Instead, a pair of black Adidas track pants rose up off the floor from where he had previously tossed them, and stood up on their own, looking towards the sleeping stud. “I’m getting really tired of this crap,” they said as the waist, thighs, and legs of the track pants filled out to Tristan’s invisible shape, raising a hollow leg and sweeping over some left over food items from the top of the microwave where they fell to the floor in a cacophony of sound onto the floor. Several other of Tristan’s clothing items stirred at this sound.“Dude, cut that out, you’ll wake him up and he’ll see us!” A pair of Tristan’s Under Armour athletic shoes said, stepping over to the sound and stomping onto the items, stopping them from rolling around on the floor to minimize the sound.“Good! Maybe the lazy fuck will realize what he’s finally been doing for once!” his track pants said, walking over and sitting on his desk chair. They lifted their legs and crossed them at what would have been Tristan’s.
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