SMACK!SMACK!SMACK!Blow after blow landed as I continued to work around the moist edges of my throbbing mound. She finished before I did, but I felt th... bliss of an orgasm to the orchestra of his crying.For days, I couldn’t help myself reliving the episode. I had no use for the usual pornographic materials or stories, I just spent time picturing them in my head. Her sitting there, probably on a wooden chair. Her son draped over her stoic knee with his bare bottom perched up high in the air at. But, o f course, under their code, which she knew she could never understand, he could not, no matter how much he may have wanted to. Life itself meant so little to those brought up in the ghetto jungles, so how could she expect they, the survivors, to care about such a small intimate thing as her lost virginity? She was an object to be used, like a tin can they might suddenly come upon in the gutter and kick along the street until they became bored, and then kick back again into the gutter. More

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