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werewolf
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"well, i guess i've just always had a way of getting people back on my side. you know that, you've seen it a dozen times with your mother." he said placing down the glass of brandy, or bourbon, or some other amber swirling with the dramatic flourish of a gavel. and it was true, he had seen him win over his mother, after ripping her heart out so many times. as if he tore it out and then gave it back to her. it was such a familiar scene, the slammed door, the shouts, the modulated voice of his father, a stolen laugh, the door closed for hours, his dad grunting and groaning like captain caveman, his mother laughing like a child, then accepting her squeaked orgasm. it was like watching a baseball player known to hit homeruns step up to the plate, you didn't expect it the first time, then you gave it a chance, then you fully expected it, and there was tension until it was done. and it was exactly like that. his dad even said so. "i can't really explain it, i just have a way with people, it's like a baseball player can hit homeruns, but he doesn't understand it. it's more a feeling than physics. and even if i could give you a theory, it wouldn't be much use to you, because you have to be able to do it, not just talk about it." here was his dad, his suit tie crooked like a road with curves, his shirt coming out of his zipper a bit, from doing god knows what with his smile and his money, and yet sam felt a moment of love for him that was ironically almost paternal. and he knew tomorrow he'd be back to telling someone else to do as if he's a priest of the one true religion, and he'd be back to being at work or whatever it was he did before act two where he made it up to my mother, as if that was their foreplay, as if she had no other way to unlock. than to be torn open and put in the position to forgive. he loved his father for a moment.
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040424
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