We had gotten to the highway when my mom chuckled beside me.
“What?” I asked, trying to smile.
“You missed a spot,” she said.
“I did?”
“Or rather, I did. Give me that.”
She took my white pocket napkin, and after licking it she dabbed at something on my pants, right over my crotch. The sensation started a stir in my flesh. It was wrong, wicked, but she just smiled and looked at the red lipstick stain when she was done, twirling the napkin between her fingers. Then she gave it some fancy swirls before she stuck it in my pocket again, the red stain hidden beneath the folds.
“We want everything to be perfect today, don’t we?” she asked.
“Yes, mom.”
She stroked my leg, far up my thigh. I tried not to swirl into a semitruck.
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