My dream was more of a memory––something that happened between us I rarely spoke of. Back then, Megan was this 5’2 punk-chick. She was really sm...ll––like 90lbs soaking wet. She had long raven hair that stopped above her butt. Her bust wasn’t very large, the boy’s used to tease her about it, but she’d usually throw a right hook and that would be the end of that. When Meagan wasn’t dressed like a punk with dark mascara and black band t-shirts, she looked rather stunning with her olive complexion. Grainger ... no, Mary, she had insisted, who he could scarce believe was old enough to have produced four children as she looked closer to being Emily’s big sister. She, unlike Mr. Grainger ... definitely not Bill! gave him a warm welcome and squeezed his hand slightly as she looked him over with a warm smile and an appraising glance as Mr. Grainger observed him over a smoking pipe and an opened newspaper, clearly dismissing him as irrelevant ... save only as a possible threat to his daughter’s. She shook her head, "Too bad... but if you can't hold I like an adult ... then you'll be treated like a little baby..." She adjusting the tapes... she pulled the white ruffles down... "This is the deal...," she was adjusting the white rubber ruffles... and rolling down the skirt..."We've got about another 30 miles to go... when we get there... if your diaper is dry... then I'll let you go pee in the bathroom like a man...well... sort of ... considering your current state of attire... " She. ”She stood up, handed us our questionnaire and said, “I would like to see you twice a week. Schedule that with my secretary on the way out… it was nice to meet you both.”We walked to the parking garage together in virtual silence until I said, “I’ll pick up Timmy from daycare if it’s all right with you?”“That’s great actually because I’m meeting someone for drinks in half an hour.”I stared at Marika and wanted to say something but held back. She seemed to notice my anxiety and added, “Don’t.
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