” “You really wanted to fuck me?” I asked softly. Her eyes glistened with delight. “Oh, yes!” she said emphatically. “This,” she said, �...�right here. You feel so good.” “Why?” I asked. “Because,” she moaned, moving her hips on me, “you’re not Jeremy. I love the feel of your cock filling me up.” “That’s it?” I pressed her. “You fuck me different. I like the difference.” “What’s different?” “The fullness, the feel,” she said, “The tempo, and even the foreplay. You do it differently and I love the. That might have been one of the few times I saw her smile without reservation. "I know you do," she said. * * * That was the year my dad had his first heart attack. Steph and I had been seeing each other, on and off, for a few months; it wasn't exclusive but it was a little more serious than non-exclusive. Still, those months seemed to vanish like smoke when my sister met me outside the hospital and threw herself into my arms. Our lips met in a hot, wet kiss and we stayed like that much longer. More

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