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She was again in her gardening clothes and was holding a hoe in her hand.She looked at me, in my T-shirt that barely reached mid-thigh. She saw the blanket on the chair. She looked at Buster. She looked at Buster’s crotch.Even I couldn’t believe Buster still had an erection.“Every time I go gardening, isn’t it?” she said in a quiet voice. “You think I don’t know?”“I don’t give a flying fuck,” Buster said to her.“This little skank of yours,” Mary Ellen said, her voice picking up again. “She just dills your pickle, doesn’t she?”I shook my head to say no, but Buster said, “So what?”“Buster!” I said. I looked at Mary Ellen. “Don’t listen to him. We just talk.”“You shut your face, floozy,” she said without looking at me.“No, really,” I tried to say. “We don’t do anything.”She looked at me finally. His erection was still bulging. I was half-naked. Who was I kidding?So, I said to her with a shrug, “Okay, but he just watches me.”She looked at us for a moment. Buster glared at her. I stared at.

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