‘He’s still my son. What can you do?’ They assured him they were doing all they could and rushed back to the intensive care unit. I was fourteen...and found out my mother was dead and my brother may be dying. I was on emotional overload so none of what I witnessed made any sense until later. Chip didn’t recover, but he did last three weeks. I spent every minute they would let me with him. I brought my guitar and sang to him. I brought the ukelele I had given to him and put it on his bed. Through. He would rip her flimsy gown off, pushing her down on the table, locking her small body beneath him with his weight. The initial shock and then her resistance would excite him. He’d capture both hands and hold them above her head with one of his own, forcing her big young tits to stand at taut attention. Her squirming, shaking body rubbing against his; her trembling and continued struggling would set her tit flesh swaying and bouncing against him. Dr. Riley, what are you doing? she’d say, voice. More

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