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>You walk downstairs, a feat made all the harder (pun intended) by the throbbing erection barely contained in your pants, and your palms are so sweaty that it's hard to grasp the handrail
>Quickly, and weak-kneed, you stride into the den. DW is sitting there, watching her gay ass Mary Moo Cow show
>You turn off the TV, and DW prepares to run away for some bullshit reason again, but you grab her shoulder and push her against the couch
>"Stop it! Lemme go!" she cries
>With one hand, you unzip your jeans and let them slide down
>"Like what you see?" you ask
>She blocks the view with her arms, so you push them out of the way with your heavier arms and force her to look
>When she finally does, her face changes from fear to a cautious, but interested blush
>She touches it. Her hand feels so much better than your own
>You're trying hard to play it cool as she plays with your penis, but you feel nervous. Too nervous. Nauseous
>You vomit. DW screams, and pulls her hand back, nearly ripping your dick off in the process.
>"Ew! It got in my hair! You're SICK!" she screams at you, before crying and running away to the upstairs bathroom.
>You look down to see what kind of chunks you've heaved all over your sweater
>It's mom's crappy cooking
>Mom's spaghetti
