Incest/Taboo Nora in the Sun

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

It's really, really important that I emphasize what kind of story this is before you even start reading.

"Nora in the Sun" is what's called a 'slow burn' - it's got a definite progression that it needs to follow in order for the protagonist and his mother to 'enjoy each other's company', if you take my meaning. It's not the kind of story where a boy looks at his mom sideways one second and finds himself balls deep in her pussy the next.

It's the kind where they talk first.

It's the kind where the mom has feelings, has reasons for drawing close to him, has very real physical temptations she undergoes and fights on the long, sexy road to actually seducing/being seduced by her son. It's a bit of a romance, if you really want to break it down. It's the kind of story that makes the act of incest all the more hot and forbidden when it actually does happen.

Though that's not to say that there isn't a huge amount of nude teasing, anatomically explicit misunderstandings, sexually aroused skin contact, and maybe the occasional 'physical compromise' along the way to it.

What I hope to make clear is that if you're the kind of person looking for a self-contained story to get you off in 10 minutes, you may want to check something else out - Literotica has an incredible variety that'll do it for you. I personally recommend "A Mother, Her Son, and His Lap" by Mr. Here. Wow. What a dizzyingly hot read.

But if you want a story that will allow you to really get in the head of the MC, to allow you to feel a relationship building with his mother, to enjoy a realistically drawn out, semi-realistic progression from awkward son thinking his mother is beautiful to cumming, balls deep inside her as she begs, orgasming, for him to impregnate her, well, if you're the kind of reader into that kind of stuff then this story is for you. It's got a lot of parts to it, and I'm working as hard as I can to have it finished by the end of the month. We're only at day 6 and I'm almost halfway there in the word doc, so stay tuned, and please, take your time and enjoy.
​

*************​

Mom's lips had a way of seeming especially soft when she was embarrassed.

They pressed together in a plush frown as she watched Ross, my dad, making a fool of himself again. She kept her head low while he yelled at the girl who panicked at her terminal, trying to get our plane tickets printed. It wasn't that girl's fault - printer malfunctions happened all the time. Our own printer was equally as much of a piece of shit, which is why we were trying to get the vacation tickets printed last minute at the gate, but it didn't look like dad had any patience for the airline either.

"What kind of fucking service is this? Don't you know we've got a flight leaving in," he looked at his phone, "two hours? I can't miss this! Do you know how much I'm paying for this vacation?" I felt anxiety crawling up me as I noticed the airline employee's hand moving closer and closer to the phone on her desk, undoubtedly to call her manager and to have us thrown out.

"Ross, please," mom begged dad, "just be patient, people are watching-"

"I'm being patient, damnit. Oh, Nora, will you give it a fucking rest?" He took a deep breath with mom's encouragement and then shut his mouth, glaring. The airline employee looked at him warily, her hand now slowly moving away from the phone next to her.

It looked like we weren't going to be thrown out of the airport, yet.

Like mom pointed out, people really were looking at us. Most watched my dad, waiting for him to explode. Concerned families, TSA officers, a couple of employees that stood off to the side all tensely stared. The girl behind the counter looked most often at me, her make up covered face clearly searching out my opinion, as if she were asking if she should be worried. I shrugged and tried to look relaxed. She took it as a sign that the worst was over.

Through all the stares surrounding us I picked up that some guys behind us were looking at my mom. Not that I blamed them. She was a stunning specimen - the kind of woman you'd expect to see on television - practically a Nigella Lawson look-alike, with wide eyes, long, full lashes, impossibly dark brown hair, pale skin from being indoors and working to keep the house clean in a full-time effort. She had soft, wide hips. You would never have guessed that she was in her forties.

I heard a comment behind me. One of the guys used the word 'fine', over and over. Mom and dad may not have noticed their ogling, but I did, catching earfuls of it. Another voice behind me said the word, 'milf'. Then I heard laughing.

It made me angry, but I knew they had plenty of reasons to describe her that way. Her body was built by regular yoga, a bit of chocolate and wine, and a LOT of squatting from doing laundry. She was wearing dark leggings, a tank top, comfort-wear for the long flight ahead. A hoodie tied around her waist covered her ample behind, but despite that, there were a lot of curves along her legs that the spandex seemed to show off, feminine muscles that could move with tired resilience doing chores, or lightning reflexes to keep things from falling off the mantle. I looked mom up and down really quick, and noticed her shoulders were really pale under her tank top. She had incredibly white skin.

I carefully stepped to the side so the guys behind us had less of a view, and also made a point of not looking at her. It was weird. I had only come back for a few months after some time at college and it felt like I was only noticing what my mom looked like for the first time. She was a bit of a hottie.

I shook my head. I wasn't a pervert.

"Here you go - your tickets," the girl at the counter said, holding them out with a fake, strained smile. "Enjoy your trip to Belize!" Dad grabbed them from her and grumbled his thanks. Mom walked on, turning her eyes to me.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed. She looked so embarrassed. She sighed as we walked on, still looking at me, and smiled sadly. "Well, here we go. I hope at least he calms down by the end of the week. It's not like it's our only family vacation in years. It's not like I made him promise that we'd all have a good time, especially since you're going back to school after this." She watched dad moving quickly ahead of us, out of sight.

"He's not going to calm down," I commented, knowing exactly the kind of person my dad was.

"He'll have to calm down, or else," she muttered, frowning. "I warned him about this. There's consequences for behavior like that." Her eyes went dark. I knew what she was talking about. I remembered that before I left for college, she would go on little 'strikes' at home whenever dad got too out of hand. While she cleaned, and cooked, and made sure all the kids were doing well, there was one arena she sometimes held back in. I'd see the effects after a day or two. Dad would get pent up, tense, angrier and more frustrated.

He would sometimes pull my mom aside, and try to reason with her to end her 'strike'. He'd make awkward jokes, trying to get her to laugh and to ignore the ways he deserved it. Of course, by the end of a few weeks, I'd see my dad stepping up, doing dishes, measuring his words, and then we'd all notice after a night where mom would finally go 'off' strike, he would come down to breakfast with a look of bliss and relief. These strikes worked in helping him to step up as a parent, for a week at a time at least. Mom almost laughed. "How many times am I going to have to put up with this?"

I didn't want to answer that.

"Now, where the hell is your father?" She asked. He was too fast for us, already closing in on the security checkpoint, likely too embarrassed to face her. In a way, I didn't blame him. When she was disappointed and frustrated it could make your heart fall to pieces, though I guess that didn't really work on him, hence the 'strikes'.

She tried turning the rolling carry-on to go after him, but there was a loud snap, and it tipped over. One of the cheap wheels at the back of the suitcase lay by itself on the ground, snapped off thanks to a lucky mix of bad plastic and the luck that only our family vacations had.

"Shit," mom's face turned into a furious glare. She looked around and at me, exasperated. She searched the distant crowd at the security checkpoint. "Goddamnit, Ross, I told you not to order this cheap shit. I should have bought these things myself." She tried lifting it up. Her little arms pinched together. Her bra shifted upward as she hissed with the effort. I saw a little glimpse of purple fabric emerge near the top of her chest.

I went up to her and grabbed her suitcase. "I got it." I brought it over my shoulder, trying to show off and cheer her up at the same time. She smiled at me as I hefted it, and we walked together toward the security line.

"I'm glad I raised you this way," she said. "To be a gentleman. I don't have to be nearly as patient with you," she laughed, putting one of her arms around my waist in a hug. I felt my chest go warm. It was nice to be close to her again. We walked towards the TSA in silence.

Mom bent slightly to read through the signs as we got closer to the scanner area. I looked down and saw a little flash of purple at the top of her chest, and looked back up. It took a few seconds before I realized she was only pretending to read the signs. She was thinking instead. She looked concerned. Down. Worried. She pushed her soft, sad lips together.

"I'm not... so confident about this trip," she said, as we walked toward the area where we had to empty our pockets.

"Oh?"

"Your father's excited that all the kids are out of the house now, especially since you're at college." she said. "It's definitely nice to have all this... husband and wife time together again."

She bit her lip. "But I think he's... more excited to have more time to work." She stopped as if there was some kind of logic to it. "Or play, I guess. Not really the kind of husband and wife time I pictured. He's always either staying late at work, or out with his friends, or mowing the lawn for the hundredth time. We have dinner, sure. We'll see a concert or something. But it's not like he's any calmer or that he's spending any more real time with me than before. You'd think with you kids out of the house that he would relax, a little. Maybe try to get some quality time, since things are... less stressful."

She tightened her arms around me. Her chest pushed together a little more. I tried not to look down. "But there's never any time. Never even a thank you after breakfast. He's always got to go and be angry about something, or busy with something else. I guess that's why I begged him for this vacation."

She sighed and looked up. Patted my cheek. "God, you're so handsome now. All grown up." Her proud smile glowed with motherly radiance. Her dark eyes looked into mine as I pulled my glance from her chest as fast as I could. "Do you miss it?" She eventually asked me.

"What, being home?" I thought for a minute and considered the wild parties I had experienced over the last year. I thought about the girls, the drinking, the endless studying. There were a few girls I almost liked at the school, I guess. But they didn't seem to have anything else to them but brains and boobs. It felt ridiculous to reduce them to that, but every time they opened their mouths, it was a ridiculous stream of complaining and giggling over the most mundane things. The whole college sex experience felt more like a checked box than the mythical college adventure. The movies didn't really prepare me at all for the hollow disappointment of University. All of it made me miss something about home, like mom, who seemed so stoic and gentle and reasonable that I started to resent the fact that I had to go back in the fall.

I realized that I really missed her.

"College must be so different," she sighed. "Those times, for me at least, were... something. I met your father at college, you know." She went quiet as the memories came back.

They started dating after her first year at school. He had a bit more hair and muscle then. He was cool, likeable, she said. They had a lot of fun. But her couple years in college came to an end when she had to drop out thanks to an unexpected pregnancy. A very quick wedding hid the fact that my oldest brother was conceived in a study room at the state college library. Dad was able to quickly graduate and thankfully got a job working at my grandpa's firm. It provided for them as mom had two more boys, one after the other.

Our family situation was nice, if you compared it to a lot of broken families out there. But over the years, dad got more and more focused on everything but the family. I started to suspect in high school that he felt tied down, a bit resentful, maybe even trapped. It seemed like a dream come true for him when I finally went off to college. Maybe he just felt free, finally.

Though I couldn't imagine what mom felt.

I could tell that mom's thoughts were swirling around that time at college. She seemed to be smiling, sadly, as she considered the time when she was young, slender, free to have fun. All the time before being married, raising a group of rowdy boys. About holidays, dinners, difficult nights trying to control her crazy sons, all the times where dad didn't pitch in, times where he stayed late at work, came home buzzed after a night with his friends, ignored her tired pleas for help. Nights where she put up with the difficulties of caring for four males, when really, it should have been a combined effort to take care of three. But it always did seem like dad never really appreciated what he had.

My mother looked distantly. I thought she looked hauntingly sad.

"Mom," I smiled at her, trying to comfort her. "You know, you're really special, right?"

"Aww. You're pretty special yourself." She smiled back and kissed me on the cheek. Her lips stayed there for a long, long moment. I savored the cool and wet feeling of her lips on my face and let myself get carried away in the feeling. I puffed out my chest and winked at her. She laughed and wrapped herself around my arm, leaning her head on my shoulder as we got in line before the security checkpoint.

"I think we'll make this vacation pretty wonderful, kid." I could hear the smile in her voice.

"Come on!" I heard dad yell beyond the security gates. He waved at us impatiently and tapped his foot. I shrugged at him, not knowing what he expected. I guess he got through before most of the people arrived.

The line was long, so mom and I were stuck. It was a busy summer day -- and it seemed like everyone in the state was going on vacation. The airport felt warm already from all the activity. Mom untied the hoodie from around her waist. I tried to avoid looking to be polite, but her plump rear was impossible not to notice, even in my peripheral vision. The effort it took to not look increased.

A year can do a lot to reset a mind, I observed darkly. I felt a little guilty, being so curious about what she hid under that hoodie.

She bent over to put the jacket into her luggage, and her leggings drew themselves a little tight around her hips, along her cheeks. I turned my head and hummed a few song lyrics to myself to try and ignore it, unsuccessfully. We moved down the line and I tried to see if dad was still out there. No sight of him. I felt my pocket vibrate and heard mom's ringtone chime.

'getting food,' read the text. 'you're too slow. try and roll your way over here faster you fat clowns.'

I knew what dad said was more of a joke than a dig about weight, but I saw mom frown as she looked at her phone. She shook her head, her face turning a little pink.

"Hey," I said, trying to get her mind off the joke, "what an asshole, yeah?"

She hissed at me. "Brett! Don't talk about your dad that way." She looked down as she took off her shoes and emptied her pockets on the way to the scanner. The disappointment in her face was palpable as she looked down at her legs. They were elegantly curved, with a hint of soft jiggling along her upper thighs. Her legs were heavy with the muscle only a mother could have in her legs. I could make a guess - she might have been thinking about her college days again, when it was easy to be rail thin. She was probably comparing herself to back then.

Of course, anyone with eyes could see she was gorgeous. Her shape was like an expensive, hand-blown hourglass. Curved. Elegant. Unique. One of my friends once tried telling me she was 'a voluptuous milf'. He got a punch in the mouth for that, even though I had to admit now that he was right. My mother was gorgeously fit, with just a hint of thick below the waist. It was no wonder my friends always asked to come to my house.

As I watched her getting ready for the scanner, I took off my belt, and had a flashback to the last time I took off my belt with a woman in front of me. I imagined the last girl I slept with in college before the break. It came with a feeling of pressure in my groin. And guilt. I took a deep breath. "Alright," I said to myself quietly. "You're making it weird, man."

"Step on the yellow marks, lift your hands above your head," droned a TSA agent by the scanner entrance. "Hurry up."

I stood next in line as she lifted her arms above her head. Her chest pushed up. The machine gave a loud hum. I took the next few seconds to try and NOT appreciate how her back curved behind her in a serpentine bend. I took another deep breath, and tried to say something to undo all the weird things I was noticing about my mom. "You look great, mom!" Wow. Great job making it less weird.

She smiled, almost laughed, but kept looking ahead. She always looked so beautiful and clear when she was smiling.

"Hold on a second," another TSA agent said, loudly. He pointed at a screen and said something to my mom, who looked concerned. She stepped out of the scanner and then followed him a little ways and around the corner. Odd. Must be that vacationer's luck again.

"You're up," said the first guy said to me in his same drone. "Come on."

I put up my hands for the scan and heard the hum. Another agent looking at the screen frowned and looked up at me from behind the scanner walls. "Yeah, alright, this guy too," he said. He stepped off to the exit. "You'll have to come with me, sir."

Great.

I followed him, going the same direction as Mom. "So... am I being detained?" I joked. The guy walking ahead of me said nothing, clearly not in the mood. He gestured for me to step into a little area behind some temporary walls and curtains, where I saw mom standing next to a female TSA agent. I caught on pretty quick - we were getting a pat down.

"We didn't do anything, I swear," mom joked with the same sense of humor that I tried.

There was no humor in the reply. "Just put your hands on the table, lady," said her agent.

"Any reason why we're here?" I asked.

"The system flagged something on you, so we've got to find it. Come on. Hands on the table," said the other agent who took me here. I looked around for another table. "Your hands, right there," pointed the agent, at the same table where mom stood, her hands in front of her, her ample behind pushed back. She glanced at me, embarrassed.

I went across from mom and put my hands on the table. Spread my legs.

I suddenly felt a few roving, nylon gloved hands - the agent assigned to me was pinching and squeezing all over my body, checking to see if I had anything on me. The hands went over my groin and I half coughed, half laughed. I tried not to look up, but I heard my mom squeak. Across from me, the female TSA agent moved her hands all over, grabbing and pulling at her flesh under her clothes. Mom's eyes went wide as the agent's hands went up and down her waist, over her back, behind and between her legs, pushing beneath her breasts. "Woah," she said, loudly.

Mom and I looked toward each other at the same time.

Some hands went down my waist.

A couple hands went over her soft, ample chest and squeezed it.

I felt my heart leap into my chest as I looked into my mom's dark, dark eyes. Something weird was happening. She opened her mouth to say something but then closed it again. She looked to the side, her cheeks flushing.

"Alright," said the guy searching me. "Unfortunately, since we haven't found anything, you're going to be temporarily detained and thoroughly searched. So we're going to have to go the next step."

Mom snapped up straight. "I'm sorry? Detained? The next step?"

"Yeah. Strip search. You'll have to remove all your clothes. Sorry about that, but if you refuse, we'll have to call the marshalls and you'll be arrested." He gave a nod as if he did this kind of stuff every day. "So let's get it over with."

I felt hot blood rising in my face as I thought of... mom... removing her clothes. I shook myself. What the hell was this guy's problem? Wasn't this illegal?

I stepped back from the table and pulled my shoulders back, wanting to bust his head open. Fight instinct rose along with a weird, sick feeling. I had a sudden mental vision of my mother being forced to remove her clothes, piece by piece. The sick feeling multiplied. Her shirt, completely uncovering the purple lace of her bra, would come off. Her neck, the top of her milky white chest would be bare. Her leggings would have to be removed. The fabric would peel from her legs, revealing skin along her upper thighs I realized I had never seen.

An uncontrollable anger, and something else very, very powerful moved into my lower belly... and lower. I had to stop it. My vision was a weird blend of red and pink. I felt my voice rising by itself, I felt my shoulders tensing and my stance widening. "No, I don't think so," my voice nearly turned to a violent shout, "You're not going to do this, you fucking-"

"Brett!" My mom's urgent voice cut through everything.

My vision immediately cleared. She stared at me with the same look that she used to give when I was about to make an idiot of myself. It was a look of an absolute and firm barrier - I would listen, and I would correct my behavior, immediately. There was no other option - I would comply. I tried to swallow my pride and protective rage and the weird, sick feeling that came with the thought of her being forced to remove her clothes.

"Alright," she said, her face suddenly cool, collected, dignified. "What now?"

The agent next to her rattled off a practiced list. "Shirt, pants, underwear." The next sentence seemed to explode in my skull. "It's all got to come off." The agent turned to glare at me while I swallowed the dirty feelings in my stomach, "You're going to keep next to the table while you undress. Don't make any sudden moves. Hurry up."

My brain immediately envisioned what was to come. It made violent strides without my consent. Her tank top would come off. Her chest in all its paleness would emerge. Her leggings would disappear. Her legs would be pale, white, strong, firm. She'd be wearing something underneath. Thin, little panties in a mysterious color that covered her most private space. But the agents wouldn't let it stop there. They'd ask her to remove them. I would see a place on her that I hadn't been since I was born.

Her voice came through my mental fog again. "We don't get separate changing areas? It's a little awkward for us to... do this right here. In front of each other."

"We don't have the time, lady." The agent working with her gave her answer tersely. "You're related, aren't you? It's fine."

Mom and I locked eyes again. She was like a doe, a pale creature stopped helplessly. She didn't even have words to respond.

"It's fine," I said quietly, trying to make it less difficult and awkward. "It's fine, mom. We're family." It wasn't fine. It wasn't any less awkward. It felt wrong. I felt my jaw aching as I looked at her and felt a tremendous tension from within my chest. I felt sick. I felt like... I wanted to see my mother take off everything. To bare herself in front of me.

"...Alright." She looked away from me. Her hands went down to the bottom of her shirt. She pulled up, lightly. Her hands went up halfway and stopped, her pale midriff exposed in the bright lights of the airport search area. Her belly button was an innie. A cute, little hole that colored her lovely white center like an artfully placed inkwell. "...Brett," she looked at me, noticing my stare. "You've got to do this too. Or we'll never get to Belize." She looked back down, hesitating.

I quickly pulled up my shirt. "Let's get this over with," I said, trying to pull my eyes away.

Eventually, mom looked off to the side and finished pulling up her shirt. Mine was already on the table. I reached down to undo my pants, and tried to focus... but I couldn't help it. My eyes went up, and I saw her. I looked. My mother's chest was bound by a laced purple bra, one of those trendy brands you'd get at the mall. The lace along its edges sparkled, adding a magic quality to her already impossibly white chest. Her breasts looked so... heavy.

Her thumbs hooked into the waistband of her leggings. They pulled to the sides, and slowly went down. I saw a hint of a mellow green fabric along her pelvis. Panties. Mom's panties.

It felt so wrong.

I looked down hurriedly, but felt my gaze pulled upwards. Her thumbs went down. Her legs were the color of milk. The soft flesh gave way, just slightly, pushing outward, free of the form constraints of her spandex. Her hands went farther down, she leaned forward to bring her leggings past her knees. Her full thighs were bare. Hairless. Polished ivory. Between her thighs, the deadly thin green piece of nothing hid something else beneath them. Like a leaf, hiding Eve in the garden. Hiding something even softer, and more secret.

A place I had once been.

I looked up at her face.

She was watching me.

My jaw dropped and I looked down. My cheeks were so hot, burning up. My mind raced furiously.

What the fuck, Brett?

You're a filthy perv, Brett. How could you, Brett? What the hell was going on, Brett?

A cacophony of accusing voices swirled in my head. I cleared my throat and tried to focus on undoing my pants. The zipper dropped. With a quick movement, my legs were free. The pants fell, and I felt the humid air in the airport cooling my groin, which was undoubtedly now a high enough temperature to be a national security risk. My dick was free of the constraints of pants, but all I could feel was shame... and something hotter and more urgent.

I looked up and saw her looking at me still.

She wasn't looking in my eyes. She was looking me up and down, briefly, until our eyes met again. This time, her eyes darted off to the side. Her face was very red.

"Everything's got to go," said the female agent watching my mom. "Hurry up."

Mom straightened up. Her covered breasts moved upward. Her bra would be the next to go. I felt something moving below my waist. I could feel the blood rushing into my cock. I was hardening.

This was going to be a very difficult vacation.

Mom lifted her hands up along her back. This time, I couldn't pull my gaze away. Nothing could stop it. Her eyes flicked up to mine. For a long, and agonizing moment, she actually stared into me. I wanted to look away. I wanted to pretend this was just an awkward moment. But I felt my hardness increasing, the host of feelings between my legs flaring upward, growing violent as her stare refused to break, an absolute miracle that she didn't see my shaft stiffening .

"It's fine," she said slowly, unblinking, her voice shaking. "We're family."

Her hands went behind her. Her chest pushed out. The purple lace sparkled in the bright airport lights. Her hands stopped, undoubtedly taking hold of the clasps. Her shoulders gave the slightest movement as I heart the faint tick of something undoing. It was a move I had seen soft, feminine arms make in the dorms as girls would unclasp their bras... before the fabric would fall and the fullness of a girl's perky tits would greet me, the way their nipples -- pink, brown, dark, pointed, soft and wide, would seal themselves into my memory.

My mind screamed as I saw the plastic clips drop behind her. I wanted to know. I wanted to see. I wanted to hide before my erection became visible. I could already feel my underwear moving upward. I wanted to crawl under the table.

But more than anything I wanted her bra to fall. I wanted to know her color, her shape.

Some say you can predict the color of a girl's nipples by the color of her lips. Mom's would be the color of coral, a pale pink, almost like chalk, the same color and tone of her full, pale lips in the morning when she would make breakfast.

Her bra edged downward. But my mother's hands held it up. She was still watching me as I stared.

"Come on," the TSA agent next to me prodded my arm.

I had to take off my boxer briefs. I felt them shifting. I hunched over, my thumbs hooking into them the way my mother's had hooked into her leggings. I started to pull them down. Her bra fell another inch. A strap came off the side of her left arm. Then her right. Her shoulders, perfectly pale, were completely bare, the same perfect white of a mountainside freshly covered in snow. She looked at me. I looked at her. Something was different about her eyes. About her face, her gaze. Her lips were barely open as she looked down... below my chest... down... to my midriff...

...down.

My underwear dipped lower, baring the skin just above my crotch. I could tell that she could see below my hips. Her bra fell even more, and now inches and inches of her breasts were visible... Her nipples were almost free. And the bra dropped lower... down... down...

...a soft circle of pink. The color of coral.

We heard some footsteps off to the side. "Hey, big mistake," the droning TSA agent barged into the area. Mom's hands snapped up to her chest, sealing her breasts away beneath the bra and her pale white hands. She had a look of surprise and shock, completely unprepared for anyone else to be walking in. The agent droned a non-apology. "The scanner just had a dust bunny on one of the optics. These guys are good. Have a good flight." He turned around and left without elaborating further.

Mom's arms were over her chest as she crouched down. Her face was flushed. Her breathing was heavy. "You people," she gasped, visibly furious. "I ought to sue all of you." Her hands darted behind her and expertly hooked her bra back on. She moved like lightning. Her tank went over her chest, closing the doors to the soft mystery of flesh. Her leggings went up, the pale, creamy legs disappeared, shuttered away. She stood up straight, huffing, and walked out.

I was completely stunned. And still in my underwear. The TSA agent assigned to me yawned and handed back my pants.

"Hurry up man," he said, dryly, pointing at my crotch. "I don't want to see that."​