Which is why nobody else fascinated them like they did each other. "So?" "Huh?" "You were bursting, remember?" He grinned. "You wanna hold it?" "Can I..." "Anything, for each other, that's what we said." So Helen held her son's cock, gingerly, not knowing how, while he pissed long and hard into the bowl. She played it around, aimed it, splattered a bit on the seat. "Oh, now I understand why guys miss the bowl so often!" It was a game, intimate if not arousing. It was part of them fully knowing. It was a case of walking with him or toppling overonto the ground. He was at least six feet, two inches high, and built likea brick shithouse. There was no way that, once we'd started walkingthrough that door together, I could do anything but trot beside him.As we entered the vestibule, the organist saw us, and the churchreverberated to the sound of the Bridal March, played as loudly aspossible.***Until now, I'd been elated by my wonderful clothes, my spiky stilettoheels, my squeaky voice, but. More

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