His weathered skin and protruding gut didn’t match his nice muscular legs and arms. As my eyes reached his face, I could have sworn he was looking ...irectly at me so I ducked down out of sight. A few moments later, I couldn’t restrain from taking a peek and had to look again, so I slowly peeked into the shed window again.He had climbed into the shower with the shower curtain halfway open. I could see the water running all over his older body, down over his hairy chest, smoothly over his round. He was sure that he had never seen one so complicated. When he finished with it, the oatmeal was still pretty awful. He poured it into the trash and return to his search for food. Someone had brought some fancy sweat bread, so he had some of that with fake butter. He didn’t feel bad about eating their bread, since it was the only food in the house. Alex was sitting on the patio beside the pool when Lucy came down. ‘Did you eat all the sweet bread?’ she asked. ‘Guilty as charged,’ he said.. And "it" wasn't getting"into" me either. I would do some "things" with men ifI wanted to (once I was 18 and legal), but nothingthat "penetrating." And I wasn't marrying a maneither. I had my male pride. Some of it, anyway.My immediate problems when I broke off telling youthis story were two -- 1) how would I deal withdressing as a girl and dating boys during thehours when I wasn't in school as a boy and 2) howwould I stop the humiliating act of submitting to myfather's milkings when I woke up. She had squinched her eyes tighter and her mouth was almost grimacing. It was pain and pleasure and I let her have that. I couldn't fuck her. I couldn't make love to her. I couldn't move. I felt that if I stroked at all, I would rip her stem to stern. This is what Sting calls Tantric sex. Making Love on Xanax. I ran my fingers through her hair. I caressed her supple skin. I kissed her forehead. I enjoyed every throb and heartbeat of her writhing body. I was barely able to push a micrometer.