Patrick's Day/Go to breakfast
From Create Your Own Story
You make your way downstairs. You enter the kitchen and see your wife, now wearing yoga pants and a baby blue tank top, finishing breakfast. Your son Shawn is already at the table. He's a bit of a nerd, but you don't hold that against him. He's got a shaggy brown mop of hair and thick prescription glasses.
As you walk in, you think he may be checking out his mother's ass. You think about saying something, but check it out yourself. The yoga pants hug the curves of her ass perfectly. You're too horny to care if your son is checking out his mom's ass. No harm in looking. And it is magnificent.
You take your seat at the head of the table, clearing your throat as you do so. Shawn jumps noticeably and looks down at the table.
You smirk to yourself, knew it.
Just after you sit down, your daughter Heather walks in. She just recently turned 17, and she's made it very clear that she plans on going her own way. She takes after her older sister really, with the firecracker attitude and defiance of authority. In appearance though, she is completely different, and seems to try as hard as possible to be that way. Her hair is chin length and dyed black with streaks of blue and she's wearing grey lipstick that makes her full lips look like she's dead. This morning she's wearing a My Chemical Romance t-shirt that looks like it's more shreds of rags than a shirt. The neckline is ripped away, with one side hanging off her bare shoulder. With a start, you notice her skirt, or nearly lack of. It's a black pleated miniskirt that barely covers the tops of her thighs. As she takes a seat at the table, you quite easily get a peak of her black and red panties. She makes eye contact with you, and then rolls her eyes.
"Breakfast is served," your wife says, setting plates in front of each of the 6 seats. When she sets the plate in front of Heather, she gives you a stern look as if it's your fault she came to the table wearing such a short skirt.
"Heather..." she says in a stern voice.
Heather slams her fists against the table.
"God fucking damnit! What, mom?"
"You know what," your wife says lowering her voice, "get upstairs and put on a decent skirt. We've talked about this."
More than anything, it was Christina who did the talking and Heather did the listening with plenty of eye rolling.
"Fine." Heather said, venom in her voice. She kicked back against the table, turning towards you and then to her feet giving you a long, clear view of her panties before she storms off to her room to change.
