It was the same look my mother had worn after her father had passed. That much stayed the same across cultures. He had tried to be stoic, noting that ...enny had been old and housebound for years. Maybe it was even a release after years of dialysis and surgery. He could tilt his lips up in a parody of a smile and mouth those platitudes, but he couldn’t stop looking like it was a part of him that died. In unguarded moments little bits of the truth leaked out. He should have visited more, should. I'd been so much in need, I thought I would release right away; but the sloppy wetness of her kept the friction from getting me off too quickly. He kept us like that for so long, even taking the time to walk behind her and reach his hands around to stroke her breast right in front of me. She was lost in lust, almost a****listic, like an object. My own need was building, and I realized that I was starting to lose any kind of control, just as I'd already lost my pride. He could see it building,. More

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