He responded by pulling my still tighter,pressing it harder against me. I struggled to try to kiss him, to justtaste his lips. But then he moved lower, resting the base of his cockinto the top of my vagina. Gently but firmly, he made it go up and downthe side of my clit three quick times. I felt myself cum. It was as thoI were suddenly falling, then landed in the softest bed of feathers Icould ever imagine. My body was aflame. I could feel my vagina...I wasclearly, intensely aware of it. Its muscles and membranes, its depth,its heat. It spasmed, contracted inside. It expected coitus. I triedto move him. He moved one leg, then the other, inside mine. My kneesspread immediately. I could feel my wetness. I could feel the pulsingin my labia. I felt dilated and feverish. He lifted my ass andpositioned his shaft below me, nestled lengthwise in the crack of mybutt, leaving my pussy bereft of him, vulnerable. I struggled toposition myself. I just wanted to feel the head of. ." a pause, "of your mother's ...?" I nodded, stopping this painful display. I was gaining nothing from having both of us tortured. I told him I would meet him in his room, to get undressed and wait for me. This year there would be no long breakfast or extended make-believe, I wouldn't be able to handle it. We were cutting straight to the chase.I got dressed slowly in front of the mirror. Even with the surgical alterations I had made to my face, I looked a great deal like my mother. Patricia once said, after seeing photos of me a few years back, and photographs of my mother. She frankly conjectured I only believed the cosmetic changes to myself were to escape the look of my mother. With the exception of my dramatic change in hair color and style, she suspected (in a place in my mind I wasn't aware of. ) I was making choices to in reality become more like her. I didn't see this increasing resemblance she spoke of. When I asked "Miss Junior Freud" as I testily called Patricia that.
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