“The panties, Oma?” A simple question but one which diminishes me and magnifies my Oma. And, yes… I can see as well without them. I can see in Oma’s eyes that he is beside the pocket doors somewhere on my left. One by one, I button Oma’s dress, my dress, pulling it up a little to reach the last two. Fifty years before, she was me. Choose one of two, either bra and panties with a camisole or a full slip with whatever panties make you feel comfortable, confident, in control.” She pulls me to her from behind, the soft skin of her arms pulling me into her safe and warm embrace as her strong hands cross and rest on my tummy. “No, that is right, just enough to pull the fabric above tight but not so much as to make you uncomfortable, my dear.”
Oma takes my left hand in hers and leads me to the bed. I lean back, taking Bobby’s hand with me, resting his downward facing palm on my upward facing palm, on my bare knee. He is an elusive prey, and he needs to be coaxed into the open. The JC Penny white shirt fits him well and the blue blazer does not, bought to be a little too large so that he won’t have to buy another
