The happy times. He wouldn't even call me his "slut bitch" anymore. Now it was a perky little "hi babe" or "honey" when he got home from work. One nig...t he actually walked in carrying one long-stemmed red rose and a pink Hallmark card! Awful. Simply awful.He knew how that hurt me, but he did it anyway. It was like he wanted to rub my nose in it. How I yearned for him to demand, in his gruffest, sternest, take-charge Master's voice: "Hey, whore, bend over, take my cock up your ass till you. Apparently, he had been fighting in the school yard.Actually, he had knocked down an eight-year-old and was sitting on his chest when a teacher 'removed' him. "Is there more to the story?"Weena had a gleam in her eye. "Is there? Is there! It seems that the bigger boy was baiting Rachel, calling her 'yellow slant-eye' and 'lousy Jap.' Rachel was crying and Patrick jumped at the bully, knocked him down, and was bouncing on him while yelling 'bully' and 'filthy racist'!" Sounds okay to me. I used. But still just kids.Sixteen, the year Dad left forever — though it was two years before Cindy and I agreed that he was really gone forever — Cindy was embarrassed and turned away while she washed. I was embarrassed because she was, and after that I did twice the work and filled two tubs. You see; I had always loved Cindy.When I was five Dad taught me to read — I read everything. I knew the difference between sloe gin and gin when I was six. I read the labels. I taught Cindy to read; Dad said. I started telling him how pathetic he was and how I was going to make him listen to me please his boyfriend in ways he never could. He begged me not to fuck his boyfriend so I really laid into whacking my balls against his face so he couldn't talk and just raised my voice, explaining how I've already made up my mind. His cum went so far it hit me. I couldn't take it anymore either and let loose all over his face. It was a sloppy mess. I rubbed my cum in his face and he complained he couldn't.