Unlike some people, his hands were rough and hard but his touch tender and loving. You couldn't call it fucking, no we made love. My emotions built up...in me, I had orgasms, oh God did I. But the big one had nothing to do with the act, no the big was an accumulation of the loving. When I went that time, oh dear God, I exploded, arching my back – riding him harder and faster. We writhed in passion feeling exploring, fucking. His hands caressing me, those callused hands so tender and loving sent. I kissed her. She moaned. I laced my fingers through her dark hair. “You’re mine,” I said. Her eyes opened wide, melted darkly. “Fuck me,” she said. Two days later I sat on my parent’s back porch and watched the sun go down. Jane and Ted’s house erupted with anger, cries, and a harsh symphony of accusations and denials. I listened, painfully, scared as I waited, expecting to hear my name burst into their howls of complaint. A door slammed. Jane. More

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