Kenneth thought he understood. Until the day 20 years later when she admitted she’d never stopped hurting.Kathleen's nails raked his back and brough... him to the present. He was unused to long nails. She was positioned against the wall now, legs open, his cock poised just against her, the slippery wet skin of her sex rubbing against his. Wet hair clung to the sides of her face, the tips of a few strands touching the corner of her mouth and her full lips. She was telling him to do it. The words. She turned to the kid and said, “You’re not allowed in here. I’ve told you that several times already.”Looking around until he spotted Ed, the kid pulled a gun and pointed it at Ed. He shouted, “You killed my father.”As Shirley backed away from the bar, Ed raised his hand and said, “Another Coke please. Make that two.”The kid shouted, “Did you hear me? You killed my father.”Doing his best to look calm and cool, Ed was actually scared as hell. The worst thing that he could do was to make the kid. He felt it indicated a growing trust in him. Furthermore he could enjoy the shape of her face and eyes and the beauty of them both. Over Christmas at home she had worn figure hugging jeans and, on Christmas Day, a skirt to only just below the knee. Her blouses and jerseys had also revealed more than just her neck. He was surprised when she started to change into them after work when they returned to the flat. He said nothing and waited to see when she would start to wear such clothes to. Beth fucking believed everything."I'd been in therapy for six years. And sitting across from me, Dr. Kenneth, who demanded I call him "Jim," finally got my story. All of it. He was the first.In prison, therapists don't stay with you very long. Jim was my fourth therapist, trying to see through to my evil ways that compelled me to rape an 18-year-old girl. My girlfriend's roommate. Coldly and without apology.He was trying to figure out if I was some kind of monster.The scene that they had heard.