Quirky Katy

“My mom,” Emily continues, “is not like you or me. She has this, um, quirk.”

“Quirk?”

“I don’t know,” Emily sounds exasperated, “maybe it’s a condition. I always thought it was because she was a young single mother, you know, not wanting to give up on her youth.”

“Emily,” you are starting to feel nervous, “what are you trying to say.”

The elevator door dings and slides open, revealing an empty car the two of you to travel in. Stepping in, you select the level for the underground parking garage.

“What I mean,” she says slowly and measured, “is that I don’t know if whatever you two think happened is real, but if it is, you might be in trouble. My mom doesn’t obsess over things like comic books.”

“I didn’t think so, I thought that was my thing.”

“She obsesses over cocks.”

The bluntness of the statement makes you stagger. Cocks? Penises? Like male penises?

“What do you mean obsess?”

“I don’t know how she justifies it, but maybe she thinks it’s some kind of game. I figured it out a couple years back. She likes to meet men and suck their cocks. She keeps a diary, it’s totally weird. Length, girth, taste, everything. She doesn’t know that I know,” Emily pauses and looks me in the eye, “That diary gets a lot of action. And if she’s upstairs happily reading about X-People or whatever, that means she’s not obsessing over something else.”

“You mean that I,” you **** on your words, “I mean, I haven’t noticed any, um…”

“What I mean is that we are going to have to be keep an eye on you,” Emily says, “because the mom I know would be itching pretty hard to get a new diary entry written. She looked like she was enjoying herself up there, almost relieved. There’s a chance, if this thing you are convinced about is real, that you might start to get some itches yourself.”

The elevator door slides open, revealing the parking lot. You and Emily slide past the group of people waiting to climb on and walk to the car. Mentally you make a note that three people in the group are men, two of which looked quite fit. One of which had brushed up against you. Had just you felt his…

“Shit,” you say.