This was a few days after the incident with the baseball bat, and my mind was a maelstrom of conflicting impulses; a new-found urge to take risks, and...the same old fears still hanging on with their fingernails."So you going to go out for basketball this year, Jack, me boy?" asked Uncle Mike, lighting up a Lucky Strike."Uh, well, I'm not sure," I said. "Don't have a lot of formal experience. Wonder if the coach will give me a chance." Fuck that!" snorted my uncle. "Listen, bucko, remember this:. Her peaches and cream complexion was only slightly darker than the white dress which billowed around her.She was married in that dress. And she would have been buried in that dress had they ever found the body... or the dress. No bodies or human remains of any sort were ever recovered from the ruins of the house. By the time the fire had burned itself out, there was nothing left but a thin layer of fine, gray ash, confined mostly within the four rows of bricks which held the house slightly off. Maybe she, like me, wasn’t quite sure how to address it. She had to have noticed it, after all. It was impossible not to. What was she thinking?Was she simply hoping it would go away? Was she disgusted? Flattered? Annoyed? Aroused? I wished I could hear her thoughts right now and get an idea of what was inside her head.She finished my right leg and moved to my leg, her hands squeezing, her forearms pressing, and all my tension leaving me. I just sighed deeply and closed my eyes. If nothing else. I reached my hand inside to help her out of the car and closed the door behind her. As she stood, and straightened her dress I pushed her up against the side of the car. Hard.“Don’t move” I leaned in and whispered in her ear. Then I got down on my knees and lifted up her dress looking at the wet mess, once again, between her thighs.“No. Ryan, we’re outside my house.” She started to counter. But the tone changed when I kissed along her inner thighs. “Please, let’s go inside.” She pleaded. I.