Pictures of Fred often included other men, rarelywomen. I didn't comment.Their Graduation photos came next, at the end of the third album. Then mypa...ents' wedding photos appeared early in the last album. They would havebeen about twenty-four. Fred was Best Man, of course, so officiating forAnnie and me twenty-something years later must have given him a bitter-sweet feeling of d?j? vu. The nuptial pictures were clearly taken by aprofessional. A framed copy of the one of my parents as bride. That is where the real torture began, and I was brought to the edge of the precipice time and time again before being pulled away before I could go over. It felt like once one mouth got tired, they switched places. I couldn’t tell how long this had gone on for, but my testicles felt so full they hurt. This felt like the worst case of blue balls I ever had in my life, but their lips finally pulled back, giving me a much-needed reprieve from their pleasurable onslaught. That is, until I felt. "Yes," I answered, "and she only came the once before you arrived." We have got to do something about that," she told me. "When we get back, leave the talking to me. You just go along with whatever I do, or say, okay?"We smiled at each other, and she reached behind my neck, pulling me in for a kiss, our tongues entwining. Then we stepped into the shower together, and sponged each other down quickly, teasing wet tits and happy pussies in passing, drying off with big fluffy towels before. Domestic violence in an all-female household. So much for the kinder, gentler sex, hey? I hate my professors, especially the feminist ones who go on and on about how men are responsible for all of society’s ills. I was once a victim of domestic abuse. My own sister tried to kill me with a knife but I managed to wrestle the knife away from her. When I told my parents and other relatives, none of them believed me. So I just left the house, cursing all of them. In my anguish, I sought help. And I.