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The mature husband dies, but there's always the son.
I'm a bit of an exhibitionist, as you can see. I'm a bit of everything, really."
"Yeah, well I don't really care what weird shit you guys get up to around here, but my mother is not a part of your exhibitionist games."
There was a kind of alluring, kind of aggravating twinkle in Dawn's eyes. "You sure? For someone her age, she's pretty--"
"Please don't finish that sentence."
Dawn rolled onto her back and let out a long, contented sigh. She looked like a cat lying in a sunbeam. I turned to go back and leave the troublemaker here. "Hey Mike."
"You sure you want to go talk to your mother with that hard-on?"
I looked down to discover that I did indeed have a prominent erection tenting my jeans. It wasn't really that surprising, considering I had just been clinging to an orgasming girl who was, I had to admit, pretty easy on the eyes. Even now I had to stop myself from staring at her full, round tits rising and falling with her breasts...
"Hey, I can help you with that if you want."
I responded by storming out of the room. Dawn went into another giggling fit behind me. I tried to think of baseball, grandmothers, apple pie, the nubile girl shuddering and moaning in my arms...
This was perhaps going to be more difficult than I thought.
My arrival had fallen on Simon's day to cook, and he had gone all out, spending most of the day in the kitchen as a green apron-clad whirling dervish. I had spent most of the afternoon unpacking and shooting the shit with Padma, when we could hear ourselves over the crappy music emerging from Josh's room. I wondered how he fit into the big commune ideal. When we emerged for supper the compost in the back yard was topped with a rainbow of pepper and other vegetable husks, the grisly signs of the plant genocide that went into making Simon's vegetable lasagna. The kitchen was also a mess, but a great-smelling mess.
Padma breathed in deeply, pulling the fumes into herself. "I'm salivating over here, man."
Simon swatted her hands away from the jar. "It still has to sit for a couple minutes. You can do drinks."
The girl mewled like a starving kitten. "Mike, I'm subcontracting this out to you. Pour us some wine. Actually, ginger ale for Ellie, she doesn't drink... and you can get yourself whatever you want, I suppose."
"Wait, why do I have to do it? It's Simon's cooking night, isn't it."
Padma gave me an exaggerated sigh of condescension. "Don't be a child." She drifted off to bask in the aroma of the lasagna.
Resigned to my fate, I poured six glasses of white wine and one of ginger ale. I had to admit, the table looked nice, with the steaming main dish in the centre surrounded by covered mystery sides. For a bunch of weird hippies, they classed up real well.
Julia, Dawn and Josh all drifted in, the first two practically salivating and the second looking like he was a kid at a boring family gathering. Simon served up his final dish, a big plate of brown rice, with a flourish of his apron. "Geez," I said. "I hope I'm not expected to do this once a week."
"You're not," said Padma. "We just thought we would have a big dinner to welcome you. That and Simon likes to show off." The show-off cook in question shrugged as he sat down to eat.
"Aren't we missing one?" I said.
"Ellie hasn't gotten back from work yet," said Simon. "I guess one of us has to have a real job."
Josh raised his hand to protest. "I have a real job!"
Dawn forked a pile of yams onto her plate while laughing sardonically. "Oh please. You're a professional work-out buddy."
"Trainer. The term is professional trainer."
I wasn't sure what I was expecting at that meeting -- more demanding interrogation, or maybe political dogma shouted in between forkfuls of falafel. But it was light and fun and somehow totally comfortable -- just friends getting together to have good food and make jokes, usually at each others' expense. And the food was excellent -- Simon managed to get flavours out of peppers I hadn't conceived of before.
Everyone was wiping their plates clean, with the except