Asking The Right Way

Two teenage girls sit on Natasha Nice’s bed, palms flat on the sheets, pleading. Their words crack with need. They want the road trip, and they want her to say yes. They call her Mommy like they’ve practiced it, soft and careful at first, then firmer. Natasha’s breath skips. Her thighs shift together; heat creeps under her clothes. Hazel leans closer. "Mommy, we’d be freezing out there at night. We’d have to get in one sleeping bag and hold each other just to stay warm." Her thumb strokes the inside of Samantha’s wrist, slow and open. Samantha’s voice is quieter, but bolder. "And after long hours behind the wheel, our shoulders would ache. You know how tight they get. We’d rub them for each other... arms sliding, lotion glistening on bare skin. Mommy wouldn’t want us sore." Natasha’s protests sound tinny, already hoarse. She keeps saying their names, but her eyes trail down the straps of their tops, the ridge of each young collarbone. She licks her bottom lip without realizing it. The girls see the slip. They press in together, thighs brushing hers, hot breath against each ear. Samantha’s voice trembles with excitement she can no longer hide. "Let us go, Mommy. And we’ll stay right here with you first."