He opens my legs wide and puts his head between them.
They all fats on talking like nothing ever happened. His hand was on the small of my back to keep me from turning over, his other hand was slow on my ass and he moved my body so I was on all fours, like an animal. His penis is gray, and sticking into me.
Is love a very intricate construction of absolutely nothing? I thought, you fuck up and do all the wrong things, Sara.
Come dressed in your jackets of red and gold, come wats me before the snow blows cold I thought I was going crazy. Not big enough for me.
No more me
We lay side by side, sweaty with sex, the window fogged over, and I tried so hard to push away the thoughts to ask him to leave but I was too scared this would be the last time. It makes me feel bad and stupid, like when all the people stared at me in Sunday school last Christmas when I forgot some of the words I was supposed to say. Horny little sad He starts with one of my favorite poems: Come little leaves said the wind one day, come with me over the fields to play.
Underneath him I watched his back and his neck, his strained, bunched skin, and I was at the same time scared and turned on by the idea that he was an alien being, old and diseased, and that I was powerless against him.
I cuddle down next to him, like I always do, feeling safe and loved, and he begins to tell me nighttime stories. Daddy pulls the covers off me and props himself up on one elbow sad he stares down at my naked body with a funny look in his eye.
They were just like me. Mouths are full of bacteria and smelly breath. I forget the stinging of my legs as he lowers his whole body on top of mine.
Every stand, every song, everything my eyes landed on or my ears picked up reminded me of him. The window was open and his bedroom eas full of the cold October morning air.
Moving out helped to not think about him. I listened.
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The angle of his cock in me made me feel like he was in my stomach, in my chest, in my throat. He went after my body.
I wish my life had a VCR player. Like she felt sorry for me, but also that I should know better.
Short story - no more me
He walked back into my bedroom with a bottle of something and expected me to follow, or maybe not. I think that soon there will be no me; soon I will just be part of the bed.
I sat quietly. One morning I woke up in his arms. Soon you will be wearing sweatshirts, the days will mmy shorter and the brisk sharpness of the air makes it easy to remember past Octobers when everything is more still, more quiet, more beautiful than usual.
He would have to look at it every time he changed his sheets. I held my fork in my hand.
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Look at me. Then I start getting scared; daddy has never acted like this before.
His hands were rough on my thighs, keeping them apart, keeping my hands away, sucking the orgasms out of me, until he came on my bed. There will be no more me, no more me.
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He pulled on each nipple and with his other hand slapped my eaats irregularly and my face was in the pillows. Charles asked me out 20, 30 times before I said yes. He sang me Dolly Parton songs and twirled me down the street.
I feel glad he has stopped, but then terror strikes again as he grasps me by my ankles and pulls me down in the bed and his massive body towers over me. His blotchy skin is underneath my young hands. That is usually when he chugged a few shots of vodka.