He's your son. Your little boy. Your little Pasha. Pulling my blouse back over my shoulders, I started buttoning it back up. Feeling mischievous, just...as I had done last night, I left the top three buttons unbuttoned.There, that ought to get his attention, I told myself as I stood up. Turning, I started for the door, but stopped. I felt schizophrenic! I wanted to be Alexei's mother. His good, loving, caring mother. But another part of me wanted to tease him. Give him a nibble, but never let him. " I mentioned."Fuck! ... You two dudes need to chill, lets smoke a doobie!" Tim made light.So we did, --and the park-warden didn't! Good thing, because the smoke lingered going nowhere in the hot, dead air even with both rear doors opened wide. I began to regret ever allowing my dad to talk me into the cocoon of carpet that was surely absorbing not only the moist air and body-odor, but also, the pot smoke that I realized was causing the dank, "locker room" stench that Mike so descriptively. More

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