But she was less willing to let him slow their encounter, less willing to give into his softer urges. No matter, he had been here before, uncountable times. Their dance shifted, brought him down on her, his weight stilling her movements. She did not go easy, writhing underneath him, nails finding his back in punishment. He luxuriated in the pain – and the touch. But he was not willing to let her have her way, his mouth had not tasted enough of her yet. He loved the way her back arched as his teeth found the long column of her throat, the shudder as he laved the little marks his teeth made in her skin. The sigh when he found the hollow at her collarbone, the sigh changing to a mewl when his hands filled with her breasts. There he halted, let the minutes stretch for his own enjoyment. How often would he still be allowed to touch, to feel that subtle skin, that fullness under his hands. He had no idea why the pale curve, the dark contrast of the aureole had such profound attraction to. I had forgotten that I was supposed to take my daughter’s car to the mechanic today after dropping her off at work. On the way to her job, she asked me if I remembered that I was to take it in once I dropped her off. I didn’t remember and we talked a bit then I found the memory of her telling me.I was so sad. There’s nothing like failing the people you love on a continual basis for your self esteem. Then my mind went to “This is really happening to me. I’m going away.” So I threw myself a pity party then I remember she had given me GRAPES! When I got home I could eat them. A small burst of joy went through me followed by FUCK! I’m living a Ralphie May comedy routine.Ralphie May had a routine where he talked about how happy retarded people were because they are pleased by simple things. While non-retarded people were unhappy because nothing ever pleased them.He asked, “Do you know how to make a retarded person happy? A Scooby-Doo lunch box and if they find a thermos of chocolate milk.
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