I guess it was a nice service. I wasn't listening. I was remembering all the times my mother had held me as a child, all the hugs and kisses. The time... she'd tickled me, tucked me in to bed and read to me. All the times she'd said she loved me.I looked across into the eyes of my brother. He flinched and looked away.I looked into the eyes of my father and saw relief and fear. He looked away slowly.I looked into the eyes of my sister and saw streams of tears.I looked down at the casket before me. He always keeps me waiting so long. "Better?" His blue eyes smoldering into mine. I dig my nails into his buttocks, urging him to go faster, but he grabs my hands, placing them above my head and rolling his hips so I can feel all of him. His entire body is hard; his abs and pectorals grind against me, his thighs forcing mine further apart. I kiss him, and bite his lip. He speeds up. "Why don't you ever tell me what you want? You're usually so talkative," he says as he moves one hand down to. More

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