I couldn't move anything, not a muscle. I couldn't talk, I couldn't cry, I couldn't even scratch my nose, and it really needed scratching more than on...e. I couldn't do anything. I understood this, but understanding it is a lot different than feeling it.After a week, they sent me home and boy was it good to be back home again. My own bed felt so much better that the hospital bed with those plastic sheets that made you hot and sweaty. The doctors and nurses told mama that she and my sisters would. .what the--?! I pushed myself up and looked down between my legs. There, hanging down from an obviously not-fake penis ramming into me, was a swollen ball-sack! I looked over my shoulder at the slim young man who was fucking me. How had I mistaken him for a woman?! Now that his shirt was off it was pretty damn obvious!I should have pulled away...I should have yelled...I should have done something other than moving my hand back between my legs, cupping his ball-sack and giving it a slight. More

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