I teased her by saying, “I shouldn’t say.” Julie glared at me and punched me hard in the chest. “Okay. Okay. When Dad got to her, she was standing naked a foot from my bed. I could sense that she was there from her breathing or something but I couldn’t see a thing until Dad turned on the hall light.”
Julie was grinning and nodding and said, “Did she do anything when Dad caught up to her?”
I smiled and hesitated. I knew this is what she wanted to hear and I teased her with the hesitation. She punched me again. That one hurt. She went to punch me again but I fended her hand away. “She did what she does. Honest to God. She dropped to inhale Dad’s cock. She was two feet from me. I laid there with my eyes wide open expecting that Dad would realize any moment that I was watching them. He never noticed. He was too busy jack-hammering his cock in her mouth. She can deep throat Dad but she can’t deep throat me, or I should say, she couldn’t but she did today.” Julie grinned and I said, “So, you shouldn’t have to worry about tonight.”
The look that passed over her face made me think that she was actually disappointed now that she seemed sure that Mom wouldn’t disrupt their sleepover.” She caught me looking down into her micro bikini top and punched me again before walking away. I returned to the picnic table and sat down across from the chef. She smiled at me and offered her right hand as she said, “Hi. I’m Fatima. I work for the company that your mother hired to put on this shin-dig.”
I shook her offered hand and said, “I’m Dex. The twin’s older brother. I’m home for the summer from college.” I don’t know why I felt compelled to say that, other than to let her know that I wasn’t a dead-beat son, with no future. She smiled and sucked her index finger and then her middle finger into her mouth before wiping her hand on her napkin.
Dianna, or as she preferred, Di or Lady Di or whatever, appeared from inside and walked up to the picnic table and without even excusing herself for breaking up our conversation, said, “The French fries are cold. Di can’t stand cold French fries. Di didn’t like the spices you put on the hamburgers either.”
Fatima stopped our conversation in mid-sentence and looked at ‘Lady Di’ with contempt in her eyes. Dianna stepped back from the table. Fatima stood up and excused herself. She turned, without addressing Di’s complaint, and went inside. Di looked uncomfortable, as though she didn’t know if she should follow Fatima or not. She looked at me and I looked at her until she finally turned on her heels and went back inside.
Several minutes later, Fatima sat back down across from me at the picnic table and resumed eating. I had finished mine. Sparks were flying in Fatima’s eyes. She was clearly angry and not because she had been interrupted from her lunch. I was sure that was a common occurrence. She looked up from her plate and studied me for a moment and then spoke, “I hate people like her. Snobby bitch.” She stopped talking and continued her assessing gaze.