Gone were all my jeans, suits, and pants, replaced with skirts and dresses, mostly thigh length, some shorter (yikes) and some longer but mostly narro... and confining, some sweater sets, and a number of tight, clingy tops.My breasts had now grown to an 'A' cup, officially, and had a bit of heft to them. So I had got new bras too. Nice ones, satin, soft, and generously trimmed with lace."Bleeding?" she asked. "Probably it's nothing. Let's take a look." She walked me into the bathroom and I had to. Geetha suddenly leaning in closer and kissed me. It was just a light brush of the lips, but she could feel a fire start from her breast and head downward. It spread out over her body. She pulled back and looked at my eyes. She did not expect the expression that she saw in my eyes.I was staring at her intently. Your lip tastes good, was all I said. You don’t have to look at me like that Suresh, Geetha told. This time I cut her off by letting out a moan and kissing her harshly. My tongue invaded. . not his idea of fun, and second, the lesbo bitch was ... well, she was a lesbo bitch, not just that, but a MLF (Militant Lesbian Feminist) and inserting his cigar into her pussy was akin to rape, even if he was sufficiently motivated to beg.Anyway, she was hanging up her whips, putting away her latex and leather suit, and her other paraphernalia. ‘‘That’s it, I am already pregnant, you’ll get your baby, one child, your heir. You’re never bringing that THING near me again,’’ his wife told. It’s just a house. She wanted to think that. She wanted to pretend that what had happened hadn’t happened but she had the scars to prove it. Why couldn’t we have just been a normal family? Because her father was an alcoholic. Because her father was a wife beater. Because her father was a child molester. Because she’d shot him 15 years ago. The screen door slammed shut and she jumped as if it was the shot she’d fired so long ago. It echoed in her mind and the smell of cordite burned in her.