Just ask her

That picture of your sister-in-law in a bikini is branded in your brain.

It’s all you can think about.

You play with the kids. You’re thinking about those tits.

You’re washing the dishes. You’re thinking about scrubbing those boobs.

Everyone heads to bed. There’s a long day tomorrow.

You stay up. You sit alone on the back porch. You can’t stop imagining those tits. They overwhelm you. Your brother’s wife shouldn’t have tits like that.

You don’t realize how late it is. Your lost in your obsession. You walk into the house to go to bed.

You run into your sister-in-law in the hall on her way to the bathroom. Her hair is a mess. (Did she just have sex?) She’s wearing a nightgown that has a low cut that shows a bit a cleavage. She’s not wearing a bra underneath and her nipples poke out the fabric. She turns to scoot by you. “Sorry.”

You don’t move. You said playfully, “You can’t pass until you pay the toll.”

She looks up at you, playing along, “Okay troll. What’s the toll?”

“You have to flash me.”

She laughs at your joke.

You don’t move. “Show me your boobs if you want to get past.”