Emily lets out a squeak of embarrassment. Dropping her phone, she ducks down towards the shorts around her ankles. She jerks them upwards in effort to...make herself decent, but the waistband rips out of her grasp as she makes the upward motion. The fear she felt turns to horror. The shorts lie there on the floor, with Mr. Masterson's foot anchoring them down. This is not an accidental visit, she realizes. Her muscles shake and tense as she looks up at her friend's father, tears already forming. Something so small about him and yet…it was something that defined him. Would she still be as intrigued by him without it? It didn’t matter. The fact was that he was sitting in front of her, with that mustache, that built in smirk, and her mind was wandering to places that it shouldn’t. He laughed and she joined him though she couldn’t seem to place what had been so funny or even what he had been saying. Her mind was much too flooded with the idea of his face between her thighs, his hands. More

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