At the Motel With The Mitchells

BY : Wendell Urth
Category: Comics > Dennis the Menace
Dragon prints: 1464
Disclaimer: I do not own Dennis The Menace, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter 8: Telling The Truth

I was woebegone myself. Dennis’ didn’t make fun of me. We stood in the shower together, sharing the one bar of soap. Shampoo. I turned away from him. The differences between us didn’t seem to mean anything to him. I wrapped a huge bath towel around him, a smaller one around my waist. His mother knocked and handed us clean clothing through the door.

Was I wearing her husband’s underwear? His ugly plaid shorts and t-shirt? I had to hold the shorts up, she had forgotten the belt and they were a little big on me. I could feel how red my face must have been. The steamy air of the bathroom had done strange and wonderful things to the outline of her breasts. Tits. Even with the bra underneath her blouse… well, my boner was back. It had mind of its own. A dirty mind.

So was Dennis’

I was horny and embarrassed.

He was just horny.

While in the shower she had called my mother to invite me to dinner and to stay the night, given how badly the weather had turned. Being Saturday, it was fine with my mom, who was going to be working her second job later anyway.

I gulped. Mrs. Mitchell might not want me there after I admitted what I had done… and if I didn’t do it now, I might never get the nerve up again.

“Mrs. Mitchell, err… can we…ahh, talk in private... Please?” There may have been a few more ‘errrs’ and ‘ahhhs’.

She smiled and ran her hand through my (damp) hair for a moment, then invited me into her bedroom. I sat on the edge of her bed as she closed the door.

“What is it Davy?”

“I uhhh, I have something I need to tell you… show you… Tell you and show you.”

She was all exaggerated concern, making fun of me, I guess, “Oh dear, sounds very serious!”

I couldn’t speak anymore. I took out my phone and put the card back in. I called up the picture. I couldn’t look at her as I passed the phone. It was very quiet

“I’m sorry.” I said, and tried to explain what had happened. I’m sure I made a mess of it.

She grabbed my chin gently and turned my face to hers. I was looking at her in the eyes, maybe for the first time. They were very blue. We were very close.

“Davy, I need to know. Have you shown this to anyone? To any of your friends or your mom? It’s very important. Have you emailed it or copied it? Are there any other pictures?”

Those blue eyes. I told her the truth. I popped out the micro card gave it to her, deleted the images from my phone’s memory and history. She watched me. More importantly, she believed me.

I told her that I would go home now and would quit if she wanted me to. I apologized again and swore I would keep her secret, their secret. She laughed, patted me on the shoulder and said we could talk about it after dinner.

Dinner. In spite of what had happened, dinner with the two of them was fun. Mr. Mitchell was out of town on business (I knew he wasn’t there because I couldn’t smell his pipe). Dennis burbled out a ‘splanation’ of his day’s activities which from his perspective was entirely different from mine. He was excited that I might be sleeping over and wouldn’t accept the possibility that I might decide not to. His mom put her hand on mine and told me the matter was not up for discussion.

Desert was cherry pie. Dennis’ mostly on his face, he smiled and with all seriousness asked “Davy, do you like the way you cus’ Marie gives “blowgies”?

I dropped my fork.

“She’s pretty good. Not as good as mom. Needs more prac… prac… prac-is. But she’s great at fuc…I mean enter-cause”

“Dennis Mitchell! We do not talk about this at the dinner table. You are not supposed to talk about this with anyone outside the family.”

Dennis looked at me, about to cry.

“Go to your room and think about what you have done. I’ll be up in a little while. She wiped his face and hands. He got up from the table and looked at me while dragging his mostly shredded teddy bear behind him. Like he was on his way to an execution. His.

She sighed, “Well, I guess we need to talk about this now.” She winked at me

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