She sniffed first, then swished and swallowed. “It’s not plonk, Winter. Decent. About like you’d expect in a mail order wine club.”“Price?�...“Around $15 or $20. Certainly under $30.”“Is it a Bordeaux?”“No, it’s definitely California. Over-oaked. Maybe Central Valley. That’s just a guess, I can’t really narrow the location that much.”All house wines were to be a minimum of a $200 value. It says so right on the menus. And on the invoices that The Globe paid. Many invoice wines were a multiple of. When I opened my eyes, she asked me what I was doing. By then, she had already taken my hands off her. I was now scared that mom might tell this to my dad. I was silent for some time and again pretended to go back to sleep.After 15-20 minutes, I thought that mom was asleep and got back to my work of rubbing her ass. But mom again turned towards me and told me in a sterner tone that it was not right. I felt ashamed and went back to sleep without saying anything.The next day, a similar thing. More

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