It was always the haughty ones who seemed to come on to him. Or maybe that was just my faulty perception, or is my faulty memory. Maybe because they were authority figures to me... teachers, friends' mothers, minister's wives. Women I always had a secret crush on. As I got older I started to wonder about my girlfriends, about the times they disappeared at my birthday parties, or were there waiting for me when I got home from work or school, looking a little excited, and somewhat flustered.

It's all conjecture, innuendo, perhaps real, perhaps manufactured, pieced together from very clear, but very little fragments. Especially the one...

I was at a friend's house playing when the doorbell rang. We charged downstairs, my friend and I, and there he was. My friend's mother had let him in and he was relaxing in a chair in the living room. I remember thinking it was time to go, that I should get my coat, and I started to go gather up my things. But my friend's mother was back, standing there in the doorway of the livingroom, looking very regal, with a haughty, bemused little smile, wearing a robe, a floor length, high necked shimmery robe with a giant ring for a front zipper pull.

"It's OK, he said, "we don't have to leave. I'm early. You can play some more upstairs if you want to."

My friend and I charged upstairs again to play. Sometime later my friend became engrossed in something that didn't interest me and I wandered downstairs again. There was nobody around. Nobody in the living room or the family room or the dining room or the kitchen. It was oddly quiet as I moved through the house, arriving finally at a closed and locked bedroom door. I'd been in that house many times and that door was never locked. I remember staring at the door, something nagging at me that I couldn't quite identify, until finally I shrugged and went back upstairs to play.

My friend has long since moved away but I still see his mother every now and then. Much older, and yet still with that same regal bearing. I cannot help but imagine her much younger, on the other side of the locked bedroom door, in the middle of the bed, the robe in a crumpled and forgotten heap on the floor, sliding silently up and down on my father's long thick cock, with that same haughty bemused little smile.