Lee Schlangen
Little brother_s big thing
CHAPTER ONE
"Living in the boarding house gave all of them more sex than they could handle. Still it was little brother's big thing that held most of her attention… so rigid and so near and so always ready for her hungry lips."
"Stupid sonofabitch! Where you get off bein' so cheeky!"
"Ain't cheek! I seen 'im!"
"Don't sass me! Goddamn ungrateful whelp! Yell at me I'll take your hide off!"
Friday night at Ma Conner's boardinghouse. Seven of us at the table and one skulking from chair to chair trying to get a handout without Ma seeing him. Eight, and only five were paying guests. Typical scene, too, and my food was churning already, like it always did by the time I could get away from that dining room.
As if it weren't bad enough to sit down to every meal with my pussy taut from wishing Eric would get under the table with me or something! But, no; that must not have been enough. Always there had to be the yelling and name-calling between Ma and her sister's boy, fifteen-year-old Will Dennis. She'd raised him from the age of nine, after his mother had abandoned him to go whoring in Chicago. Ma was right; he ought to show some respect after all she'd done for him. He didn't. He acted as if he hated her. He let his hair grow until it hung onto his shoulders and talked radical and probably even smoked pot! And he got mad every time she reminded him how much he owed her. So they fought at every meal, him defying her with his snapping, black eyes and crooked teeth and weasel nose and her pushing back the coarse hair that kept falling across her forehead and setting her jaw and shrieking.
It wasn't that I couldn't take it… or Mark, my fourteen-year-old brother, for that matter. It was just I was scared to death Eric would get a bellyful and tell Ma where to stick her Goddamn place.
As usual, though, it was suave, dark, snake-like Duane Fowler who got pissed off, while Eric patiently ignored the row and worked his way through his double portion of dessert.
"For Christ's sake! Sounds like an Irish fishing wharf!" Duane growled. "Belt the little snot and be done with it!"
Ma didn't take a lot of shit off her guests and I don't think she really cared right then if Duane did leave. She fixed him with a baleful glare and drew herself up, swelling as if she had an air pump hooked into her boobs. "Who the hell asked you, Duane Fowler? Just because those know-nothin' owners in Kansas City think you got the brains to run the Emporia Bowl doesn't mean you been out of diapers long enough to tell me how to raise a kid!"