I got the bag of charcoal and made a pile the way he showed me the last time, found the lighter and lit the newspaper. Soon the bottom of the charcoal...was all lit.I got the pitcher of lemonade and went around topping off everyone's glasses. I asked John if there was more inside; Jill informed me there was. By the time I got back with it, the lovebirds had made it out of the pool. They were sat on a bench at one of the tables. They looked like they were glued together. I handed them both glasses. I would giggle andlaugh and she would join me in the merriment. There was nothing sexualabout it, nor did she treat me like a girl, it was just our littlething."Mark, honey, you have such beautiful lashes," she would gush.I would bat my lashes at her and say, "Really Mommy?" Honey you make your mother jealous. You have the longest lashes,they're just beautiful, my pretty, pretty boy."I'd blush and run to my father and his reaction was to laugh."I swear, I think your mother wants a girl," he'd. ..ever...think before I speak. I say what I'm thinking, and my thoughts aren't usually particularly deep. I'm a creature of the immediate, the present, and the sensual. So, it should be no surprise at all when I answer my mother with, "I'm getting turned on." A pause. I can't see my mom's face, but she's got a very expressive voice, rich and warm and low for a woman's, a smoky sexy contralto, and there's amusement in it when she says, "From telling the story?" Now it's my turn to pause. Okay. I. ."Harry smelled them - a rich, overly ripe odor of decay, sweet and rotten - before he saw them. He walked into the bedroom and they were tangled in chains suspended above the bed, the mattress stained and soggy from the blood and the fluids their decomposition was producing. Their eyes were bulging, tongues swollen in their mouths, hands frozen in their futile attempts to free themselves from the glistening strands that pierced their flesh, to loosen the metal links that crushed their throats,.