"Why do you still use this stuff?" Elder shuttered carrying the 'oh-so-familiar' amber bottle to his mother.
"Don't ask stupid questions, boy." Mahalia condemned correcting herself in her chair. "You've been asking me the same ridiculous question since your were an idiot youth. Just give me my oil and shut the hell up." Throwing her hand out.
Elder watched his mother fuss with her lapghan, tucking it in just so. She always had to be just so. Always perfect, always putting on airs.
"Are you listening to me, Elder Stacy Castor?"
"S-s-s-sorry, Mother." Extending her silver medicine spoon. "One teaspoon, nightly, as directed, by Doctor 'What's-his-name' from back before the war of the states." The resounding slap kissed his cheek was enough to grind his brain to a full stop.
"Don't you dare, boy!" His mother waggled her finger at his nose. "I raised you better. Don't be disrespectful. I am still your mother. At least until I pass on, then you will have all my money and you won't need to put up with me anymore. Though I have outlived two husbands and could very well outlive you."
Looking into the serpentine-like eyes of the woman who has abused him, verbally and physically, every day of his life since birth, he felt his skin begin to crawl. Cowering, "Yes, Mother. Forgive me, Mother. I spoke out of turn." He reached out for her 'tonic' bottle, filled the spoon and dropped it in her crystal goblet.
Reaching up to grab the glass, Elder watched her hand shake. It was an act she would roll out time to time to guilt him, however even know this farce he couldn't help feel she actually needed him. Watching the muscles in her throat work, Elder could feel tensions rising in his shoulders causing him to flex his hands.
Thrusting the glass into his solar plexus, "Boy, I want you to remember who you are talking to. Mahalia Margaret Rochester Casto McCloyer is not your door mat and you will not be insolent towards me or to Doctor Westingridge. Period. Don't make me have to correct you again. Aim I clear, boy?" she glared.
Nodding obediently, he grasped the glass, "Yes, Mother." Moving to the opposite side of her chair. "I apologize. It will not happen again." Elder placed the glass among the cacophony of other bottles, dispenser and containers perched on the buffet.
I have spent quite a few years writing short stories that never quite fit into the 'normal' genre. When I came across the different erotica genres I was overjoyed. I had found my writing family. I hope that everyone enjoys what I've written. Please feel free to send me a comment/suggestion good/bad/indifferent. I appreciate all feedback! Bright Blessings!