She scanned the health books, hoping to find information regarding her sexual deviance. She expected that her behavior would be condemned, though with her new rosy pink cheeks and easy smile, she saw it as something more to celebrate. She couldn’t find anything relevant, and she soon became distracted by the tight-lipped people and controlled, quiet atmosphere. As a child, Luella had often fantasized about destroying the suffocating peace, perhaps with a shrill, piercing scream, maybe with a raucous bout of laughter? She never did it; she wouldn’t have dared, as her Mother would have slapped her bare legs crimson. But now she felt the familiar urge, the heart-thumping desire to rebel. She inhaled sharply, achingly aware of her body, her needs, the way she felt so wondrously alive in this serious place where everyone else behaved like a manipulated marionette. Luella took a seat in the jigsaw corner, selecting a large book to hide her secret. It was too good to pass up; the fire. A gentle touch or a loving kiss, would suffice in such a situation. As girls we knew his need, for any of us to take his seed from him, as softly as mother did, that was daddies way, he insisted his girls watch, we had to learn.I grew up believing all men were needing the constant attention of the tender codling of a woman's touch, and seeing my parents, as one, during their copulation, there was no doubting in my mind, or my sisters, that sex was pleasurable, as mother was the one making the most noise when daddy was inside her, humping her.Looking back over my lifetime of men between my own legs, heaving and humping both my 'Kitty', and 'Anus', I have cried with both pleasure and pain, cooking oil and butter smeared in and around my 'Back-door', providing the dualities of 'Pain and Pleasure', 'Father and Daughter', 'Butter and Oil'. He stood by the table that morning, beside Gina, our youngest, only because she was the nearest. His hand stroked her hair as she sat quietly, his cock.
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