I wore my hair over my ears and shirt collars. I wrote page after page of lonely, awful poetry. I listened to angry rock and angry R&B and angry folk ...usic. My grandfather took me under his wing when he saw where I was heading. On Sundays, he took me fishing with him on small Michigan lakes and listened to me whine about my life. He didn’t say much. Every now and then he’d pass me a beer, never addressing my underage status. He did say one day that he thought I was trying to grow up too fast. “Let’s just do it tonight,” she said, “We’ve both got to be up in the morning.”So we did it. She lay back, legs apart and I pushed into her, finding her moist and open. I thrust in and out, and she lifted and sank in opposition, making my travel all the longer.“Harder,” she said, “I won’t break. Maul my tits.”So I went at her hard, and she grunted her appreciation, which transposed into hushed moans of rising pitch as I squeezed her little tits and pinched her nips hard.She pulled me on to her. More

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