When he opened his eyes and looked in the mirror he gasped at what he saw. * * Fifteen years ago John Carliye sat outside of his Uncles house holding ... bag of ice over his left eye. The pain was intense, and he was trying his best not to cry. A boy of thirteen shouldn’t cry when he gets punched, he wasn’t a baby, but damn did it hurt. ‘So you going to tell me what happened?’ his Uncle Max asked sitting next to him on the steps. Max was his Mom’s little brother and John’s legal guardian after. Exploration of her firm little waist had been entirely been without skin contact, a gentle press upon the silky material of her blouse. A few surreptitious tugs upon the tails of the material remedied that lack of access, and he slipped his hand beneath, making skin-to-skin contact, his hand upon her flesh, repeating the ministrations he’d given her before. Fiona’s body arched against him as she was distracted by his touch, her own reciprocation not getting much response. He was fast resigning. More

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