A pattern born of survival. One that can play out in a myriad of ways. They may hook up with some lowlife pimp that looks out for them and ensur...s their fixes. They get to get fucked and get high every day. And in one sense maybe in some twisted way they have discovered something what most us working stiffs have not. Isn’t that what you really want from life? To be made love too and feel good all at the same time? It’s what I want. Comfort and love. That’s my contribution to this. I was suffocating. I couldn’t get air in my lungs. I knew I was going to die. My fingers couldn’t hold on. I was going to just let go. But the angel was there. She wouldn’t let go of my hand. It was the only thing I could feel. I knew that as long as she held my hand, I would survive. I prayed to her not to let go, even when I couldn’t grip her.I hadn’t had the dream in a week or more. I could feel my eyes trying to cry but the tears were dry. It was like they were being sucked out of me like. I couldn't wiggle my toes, my fingers, my head, my hips... anything. It was like I was both blind and paralyzed, yet I could still FEEEL EVERYTHING!!I fell into a strange trance of calm. Detached, but not totally. I felt something touch me in my most private place and I gave a small, frightened intake of breath. Then it touched me again and I felt a strange thrill. Then I felt small hands spread my lower lips apart and spread them wide.Again the shock and fear came. I had never been touched. The wine didn’t add to my sense of decorum, nor did his arm around my shoulders, nor his toasting us to the day, not to mention his lips on mine or his hand up my dress. He paused when he touched my bare wet cunt and his fingers easily entered, beginning to stroke its length and depth.I took his wine glass, putting it next to mine on the table. We were all over each other now, the swing in full sway. He lifted me down on the rug, was between my legs, his pants at his ankles. My eyes were.