My Unconventional Life

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Chapter Nine

The truck Uncle Bob had at the ranch was an old one. It was all beat up, but it ran fine. It also had a bench seat in the front, the only one I'd ever seen. After he got finished explaining why it was complicated that our mother didn't mind if we had sex with him, I got this feeling like there had been enough talk. So I scooted over next to him and leaned against him while we drove the rest of the way home. I wished we were naked. He put his arm around me and we rode in silence.

I thought about the fact that Mom knew about what was going on in our bedroom. I was already horny, but thinking about that ... about how we didn't have to hide things any more ... made me even itchier. I knew that when we got home I could go in the house and find Brinn and get my itch scratched good and proper and that since Mom knew about us, I no longer had to worry about getting caught.

Brinn and Shannon didn't know all that yet. And of course I'd tell them. But I could have some fun before I did. I was thinking about how I could go into the living room while we were watching a movie or something, and figure out a way to sit down on Brinn, like I had sat down on Uncle Bob, and get him in me there in the living room. He'd freak out, of course. So would Shannon. And then I'd "lose control" and start bouncing around, and the adults would notice and I'd say something like, "It feels so good I just couldn't wait!"

I was thinking about the holes in that idea, and trying to refine it to something actually workable when we got home.

We unloaded the truck in silence, moving the hay bales from the truck to that area in the middle of the barn aisle and stacking them against the stalls. The bed on which us kids had gotten caught was still there, the blanket still laid out over the scratchy hay. I got horny just looking at it. That's why, when he reached for the blanket to remove it, so hay could be stacked there, I said, "No, not there."

He looked at me, and then at the hay. There were still five or six bales on the truck. "Where, then?" he asked.

I pointed to the side.

We finished stacking the bales. He started for the door of the truck and I reached out and plucked at his shirt. He stopped, and turned to face me.

"I'm horny," I said.

He blinked. "I'm not surprised. You've always been the horny one."

I laughed. Shannon was the slut, not me. I reached to unbutton his shirt. He let me get halfway down, and then gently stopped me.


"I admit I'm horny too. I usually am when I'm around you. You have no idea how you affect me, and how you're going to affect the other men who come into your life in the future." He kissed my forehead. "But I explained why we can't do that."

I went back to work on his shirt. "I didn't say I wanted you to fuck me. I just said I was horny."

"I see," he said.

He let me take his shirt off, and then returned the favor, staring at my breasts as they were revealed to him. I knew my nipples were rock hard, because I knew what I was about to do. I dropped to my knees and reached up to manipulate his belt. It was tight, as well as being big and bulky, but I got it loose. I unzipped him, and pulled his jeans down. He bent forward a little bit, because his erection was trapped, and my pulling on his pants was pulling on it too. Eventually it flopped up, bouncing around in the air in front of my face.

I didn't give him time to react. I just reached, skinned him back, and leaned forward to get his knob into my hot, sucking mouth.

It turns out that one of the few things Mom can remember about that beach party where she was raped, was guys sticking their cocks in her mouth. So she's not big on giving oral love to Uncle Bob. She's done it, but she does it as a favor to him.

I'm told a man can tell the difference between being given a favor, and having a life-long, thoroughly addicted, confirmed cocksucker attached to his member.

Let's just say he was surprised.

He lasted a grand total of maybe a minute, and he wasted about half if that saying inane things like, "What are you doing?!" and, "Kylie!" and, "Oh man ... oh man ... oh man!" Then, as he bent over backwards so far that I had to reach for his naked butt and help hold him up, he said, "Fuuuuuck, Kylie!" and unloaded in my mouth.

I wanted to taste him, but I also wanted him to remember this moment forever, so I pushed my nose against his pubes and let his first spurts jet directly down my throat. I didn't even have to swallow them. I couldn't anyway, what with his penis in the way of the mechanics. But then I pulled back and got the remainder in my mouth, where I could taste it.

He tasted different than Brinn. It was very strange, because there were a ton of similarities, but there were little things, kind of like after tastes or something, that made it so different it was tempting to call it completely different. And I almost laughed, because while I was thinking this, I was swallowing and sucking and massaging his balls with one hand and he was moaning and groaning, and what bubbled to the top of my mind was this: "If I ever do this blindfolded, I'll know which man's cock I'm sucking just by the taste!"

Again, he panted, "Fuck, Kylie!" It was probably because I tend to keep sucking a little longer than is comfortable for a guy. Brinn had complained about that several times. But rather than apologize for that, I pulled off and looked up at his wide-eyed, astonished face and licked my lips and swallowed one more time, and then said, "You said we can't do that, Uncle Bob, so I thought of something else to do instead."

It actually freaked him out a little bit. Not as much as when I sat on his dick and it went in me, but close. I think part of the reason for that is because he had been giving Shannon and me pleasure, of one kind or another, for years, but it had all been a one way street. He did things to us, but all we ever did in return was hug him and kiss him and ask for more. We'd never touched his penis in all that time, even though it was bare, and erect for us, and hanging out there where it was hard to not run into. We hadn't even so much as given him a hand job. I'd grabbed it one time, but that was more out of curiosity than to give him any kind of pleasure.

Of course, in our defense, we knew that he wasn't actually starving for pleasure. Mom was giving him plenty of pleasure. When he serviced us (which was actually what he was doing in a very real sense) and got all wound up because of it, Mom took him to the bedroom and unwound him. So there was no torture or anything. Unless you consider that wanting to do even more with us and not being able to was torture. If that's the case then every man in the world is tortured every day, because every man in the world sees a woman every day he'd like to have sex with, but can't.

So for Uncle Bob, this was like going to sleep in one dimension and waking up in a different, but parallel one. Things looked the same, for the most part, but there were some huge differences.

I stood up. Possibly because it was my habit to kiss Brinn after I had blown his brain and balls, I kissed Uncle Bob too. I didn't rub it in by shoving my sperm-covered tongue into his mouth, but I pressed my lips firmly against his. When I pulled back, I said, "You taste yummy. Just as good as Brinn, in fact. I wish I could do it again right now."

His eyes jittered in their sockets and he said, "Man!"

I undid my pants, looking at him. "I don't suppose you'd return the favor," I said. "I mean I could go in the house and find Brinn, and I'm sure he'd be happy to do what you can't do right now, but you're awfully good with that tongue of yours ... and I'm horny now ... and the house is all the way over there!" I was an insatiable tease. I admit it.

He was ... enthusiastic. Let's just say that. My panties ended up ten feet away.

And after he laid me down on that blanket, (which was why I had told him not to remove it) and gave me a bone-crunching orgasm with his lips, he stood up and fisted his penis. It was thick, and longer than when it was fully soft, but couldn't really be called an erection.

"It's a good thing you did what you did," he panted. "Because if you hadn't, you'd be in a world of hurt right now." He rubbed the tip of his penis up and down between my saliva-slickened pussy lips. It was just hard enough that he could move my pussy lips around with it, and dip it into the opening there. He could almost squeeze it inside, but not quite. He rubbed it around while I lay there, limp and satisfied.

I thought about saying something witty, like I'd be around later, or that I was sure it would get hard in a little while. But what had happened had been fun, and painless, and there was no stress or strain involved. And I didn't want to make him think of negative things.

So I just smiled and lay there until he stopped playing with my pussy, and picked up his clothes.

I got mine, and we left the barn, walking side by side.

Believe it or not, after that, things were back to normal between Uncle Bob and me. As far as anything could be called "normal," anyway.

What I mean is that I could sit on his lap and get those luscious, long kisses that got me going so well. Twice, over the next week or two, while we were watching TV, he slipped a finger into my pussy and wiggled it until I had a nice, little orgasm. I likened it to having a quick nap, except that it woke me up.

It was so nice for there not to be any tension between us. And I'm sure it helped him a little bit too, since Shannon had gotten used to having Brinn whenever she wanted him, and pretty much ignored Uncle Bob. In fact, if Mom hadn't known about Brinn fucking us, I'm sure she would have figured it out, because quite often, right in the middle of something, Shannon would take Brinn's hand and pull him to the bedroom. Sure, she said things like, "I need to talk to you about something," and, "I want to show you something," and, "I need your opinion on something," but when you run around naked all the time, it's pretty hard for people not to notice that your pussy lips are all engorged and inflamed, from the fucking your brother just gave you, not to mention that, if you don't clean up well enough, there will be sperm running down your thigh. She thought she was so clever, wiping that up with her finger and sucking it clean, but I know of at least twice when, after she did that, Uncle Bob said something to our mother like, "I need your opinion on something," and dragged her off to the bedroom too.

Did I tell Shannon and Brinn that Mom knew? Nope. I did not. Don't ask me why, because I can't tell you. It was the only secret I ever had between us, or at least the only one I felt like was important, somehow.

Brinn had already learned a lot about women, and having sex and all that kind of thing. I like to think we had helped him, but these days, when he climbed on top of me, I was pretty much guaranteed to have at least two very nice orgasms before he grunted and filled me up with warm, slippery cum. Sometimes, if both Shannon and I were horny at the same time (and since Shannon was horny all the time that wasn't rare), then he'd give one of us an orgasm and then switch over to the other, climbing back and forth, teasing us about which one was going to get what he now called "his gift." Brinn had delusions of grandeur sometimes, I think.

But the point is that both Shannon and I were very happy girls. Mom was happy again, and Uncle Bob didn't look quite so stressed out anymore either. So life was pretty good.

It was probably two months before Uncle Bob and I were alone again. This time it was because Mom took Brinn and Shannon with her to Morriston, which was the biggest city within about a hundred miles of the ranch. It was time to get staples and bulk items. Only three could ride in the pickup, and I have no idea why she chose them instead of me.

When they left, I read a book for a little while, and then was distracted because it was so quiet. That made me wonder where Uncle Bob was, so I went looking for him. He was taking a nap. I know it was a nap, because he was up and around earlier in the morning.

So I crawled in bed with him. It wasn't to sleep, but I didn't have any nefarious sexual plans either. I just wanted to cuddle with him. And he didn't wake up, either. He moved, as I snuggled up to his back (he was lying on his side) and pressed my breasts against him. He muttered something as I lay my arm over his waist, but his breathing went back to really slow within a minute.

I eventually drifted off too, because the next thing I remember was waking up and his face being right in front of mine. His eyes were wide open and his hand was on my hip.

"Hi," I said, still sleepy.

"Hi," he said back.

Then he kissed me, and it was one of those really good kisses, and I woke up.

"I'm horny," I said, when he finished with that kiss.

"I see," he said.

"You should do something about that," I said.

"Oh, I should, should I?"

I nodded and reached for his penis. It was hard. In fact, it was like diamond hard. I stared into his eyes, blinking slowly, which I didn't actually want to do because his eyes were so beautiful. I tried to stroke him, but the angle was all wrong.

"What, exactly, should I do to relieve your ... condition?" he asked.

There was something in his voice that I'd never heard before. I didn't know it then, but as I would think about it afterwards, I'm pretty sure that if I'd said something like, "I need a long, hard, spurting penis in my pussy," I'd have gotten one. But I said what I was used to saying.

"I need to cum. I want you to suck my clitty."

And things continued to happen that I was used to. He did, in fact, crawl between my legs and feast on my pussy, and I did have a glorious, happy orgasm.

But then something new happened. When he rose up, while I was still lying there limp and satisfied, he fisted that big, long penis of his and rubbed the tip between my slippery labia again.

This time it wasn't just semi stiff. This time there was a very firm inch sticking out of his hand, and as he rubbed it, that inch penetrated my pussy. He never let go of his cock, so his hand kept it from going more than that inch, but he sort of, almost, kind of fucked me with that inch of his cock. I had my head up, watching, because I was amazed. It didn't feel all that different from Brinn's penis, to be honest, but I was just so surprised he was doing it that I was kind of mesmerized. I think that's why I didn't look at his face until he made this funny little sound in his throat. When I looked up, his eyes were closed and his mouth was open. That open mouth turned into a grimace that looked like he was in pain, and I felt warm splats on my mons.

I looked back down to see that he had pulled it out of me, and was squirting his cum all over my pussy, and mons and even a little on my belly.

It was delicious, and I felt a thrill shoot through me that was different from any kind of sexual thrill I'd ever experienced, to that point in my life.

"Sorry," he panted.

"I'm not," I said. "Except that you wasted it."

He was still gripping his penis, squeezing it.

"I can't cum in you, Kylie," he huffed. "The pill doesn't always work, and if I got you pregnant I don't think your mother would see the humor in that."

"That's not what I meant," I said. "I would have swallowed it if you'd have given me the chance."

He laughed and said, "Don't move!"

Then he leaned forward and wiped his cock through the mess he'd made on my pussy and moved up, bear crawling, until his dripping penis hung over my face.

"Open wide!" he said, grinning.

So I did, and he lowered his penis into my mouth, and I sucked it clean, and he did it over again. But only two more times, because it was a lot of work, and he was kind of tired out from his orgasm, I guess.

After that, I managed to get him alone at least once a week, so I could suck his penis and get all his yummy spunk in my belly. It wasn't the primary way I wished he could put it in my belly, but I loved sucking him because he made it clear he loved what I was doing. Brinn's voice was always a kind of reward, when one of us was blowing him, but he didn't talk to me like Uncle Bob did, saying how fantastic I was at what I was doing, or how much he loved me and stuff like that. Brinn just grunted and whined and spurted. Then he waited ten minutes and fucked one of us.

It was different with Uncle Bob. Not better, and not worse. Just different.

That was our life for the rest of high school. Shannon and I got to live like married women, and Brinn got his rocks off at least twice a day. Uncle Bob and Mom continued to live like they were married too. And I got to play with Uncle Bob every once in a while. That's all it really was - play. But it was very intense play, and I knew, beyond any doubt, that Uncle Bob loved me very much. I felt the same way about him. I think, in fact, he was my first lesson about the fact that you can love more than one man at the same time. You love each man a little differently than the other(s) but the love you feel for both (all) is legitimate, lasting, honest love.

Graduation was an event that was special in more ways than one. The three of us had already applied to, and been accepted by, Kaplan University, but they didn't have three-person rooms, which meant we were going to be separated for the first time in our lives, not counting that time Mom had pulled Brinn out of our bedroom. That was three months away, which was a long time, but then that could also be viewed as only having three months left before our whole world got turned upside down.

Suffice it to say we were torn. We were excited, but there was an element of dread in our anticipation too.

And the same thing was happening to Uncle Bob and Mom. Suddenly it was just going to be them on the ranch, and the other three people in the family would be gone. True, we'd only be a few hundred miles away, but we'd be busy with classes, and homework and our new social lives (whatever that meant,) and we weren't coming home every weekend.

So our lives were already in turmoil when our eighteenth birthday rolled around. Brinn had to register for the draft, which just freaked Shannon out. She was sure they were going to stop the all-volunteer Army any day, because the volunteer soldiers were tired of doing repeated tours fighting terrorists. And that mean the draft would start up, and that meant Brinn would get drafted, and on and on and on.

She got over it eventually, but her uproar over that was the reason nobody paid any attention to me and Uncle Bob, who gave me the best present an eighteen-year-old girl could get.

The first day I was eighteen, he taught me how to make love.

It wasn't unusual, when Uncle Bob was off doing some kind of chore, for me to go find him and follow him around and be a pest until he let me extract his penis from his jeans and suck it until I got a mouthful of yummy, gooey man milk. And there were a lot of chores to do on a ranch, even one that didn't have stock on it.

It wasn't that I was trying to do these things out of my mother's eyesight, necessarily. It was more like I just cherished a little one on one time with somebody. I got loving from Brinn and Shannon every night, but it was always both of them. Or at least both of them were always there. And there was something special about being alone with Uncle Bob and knowing that all his attention was on me.

Of course I had no idea how hard this was on him. His life must have been pretty difficult, in the sense that while he had permission to do things with us girls, there were limits on that. Some of those limits he put on himself, but the fact was that he had to restrain himself many times from doing what he really wanted to do with us. Maybe that's why he acted the way he did on our eighteenth birthday.

You'd think that in a family like ours, our eighteenth would have been a big deal all day long. But it wasn't. Not really. I woke up, and the other two were still in dreamland. So I got up and padded barefoot to the kitchen, which was empty. I could tell somebody had cooked some eggs, because the pan was still on the stove and still warmer than room temperature, but there wasn't a sound in the house. I went to peek and saw Mom lying spread-eagle on her stomach on her bed, snoring softly. I stared wistfully at her bottom, which is round and firm. Mine just kind of sits on my backside.

So I figured Uncle Bob was out doing chores. And, not knowing what kind of chores he was doing, I put on cutoffs and a blouse that I tied the tails of over my belly button. There were boots in the barn, so I put on tennis shoes with no socks, for the present. If I needed more than that to help Uncle Bob with whatever he was doing, I could always come back to the house and dress up.

I found him in the corral beside the barn currying the horse.

I've mentioned "the horse" several times, but told you nothing about him. He was a stallion, who Uncle Bob bought from a man who intended to geld him. Uncle Bob had been around horses at some point in his life, and being the kind of man who wanted to own a ranch in the wilds of Wyoming, he was also the kind of man who had no trouble envisioning a stallion running across that wild land. I think that, since he was a man, the idea of having nuts get cut off wasn't naturally attractive. So, on an impulse, he bought the horse to keep his balls intact, and named him Smoke.

They say stallions are hard to manage, but that's only if there are females around and competition from other males. Smoke was the only horse within forty miles, and what with us pampering him all the time, he was a pussycat, rather than a rearing, foot-stomping vision of equine danger.

And when you gave him a really good curry session, it felt so good that his penis drooped down out of its sheath.

It was doing that as I approached the man currying the horse. You know how you make a comment sometimes that's facetious, but it doesn't sound facetious? I did that that morning.

"It's too bad Brinn doesn't have a cock like that," I quipped.

Both males turned their heads to look at me.

"I take it you've already gotten your birthday present from Brinn," he said, grinning. "So size matters after all?"

"I don't know," I said. "I've only ever had one in me. How is a girl supposed to tell if she only ever gets to have one in her?" I put a hand on one hip and stood hipshot, with the opposite foot pointing out, away from my body. "Maybe when I get to college I'll try out a couple of others. Then maybe I can answer your question."

I was just messing around with him. I had no plans on increasing the level of experience I had with penises in my vagina. I was quite happy with the one that plumbed it routinely. But uncles with nieces, and daddies with daughters, and even brothers with sisters, sometimes, have this special little button inside them that, when it gets pushed, results in adrenaline being dumped into the bloodstream.

That button is connected to a vision, in their mind, of their niece/daughter/sister lying on a bed, with a strange man hulking over her, with his penis either in her or about to enter her. And that image drives them temporarily insane. Usually it's only for a few seconds, and in most cases it's because they can't envision a man who is good enough to enjoy the privilege of being in that scenario. But sometimes (and I think more often than people think) it's because they're jealous ... they want to be that man.

When I said that, Uncle Bob had that vision, of a couple of college boys capering about, naked, while I teased them and then was bedded by one or both of them, talking about differences in size or whatever. I'm sure it was just a fleeting image in his brain, but it got all that adrenaline dumped. Smoke could tell, too, because he whickered and backed away from Uncle Bob.

"No," said Uncle Bob.

"No, what?" I asked. While I am aware of all that stuff I just mentioned, I wasn't thinking about it then.

"You're not going off to college to let some pasty-faced boy get into your panties. Brinn should be enough for you."

I still hadn't tumbled to the fact that he was jealous. He could manage the jealousy he felt for Brinn, but not for a stranger. And because I still didn't realize what was going on, I teased him.

"What if he's not?" I asked, innocently. "I'm eighteen today. I'm a big girl now. I get to make my own decisions about that ... don't I?"

If I'd have thought about it, what I would have done was tell him, "I need you to help me answer that question, Uncle Bob." I mean I was eighteen. I could make that decision on my own now. But that wasn't the way we thought about turning eighteen. Not really. I already had a relationship with Uncle Bob, and I never thought about intentionally changing that.

Uncle Bob had stood as all that adrenaline entered his bloodstream. His muscles bulked. That's something adrenaline can do to your body. It makes your muscles bulge a little. He walked towards me, and his face looked a little grim. I thought he was playing with me, like I was playing with him.

Until he reached for the blouse, staring at my cleavage, as his hands untied the knot that held the blouse together. I hadn't buttoned any buttons, and suddenly my breasts were exposed as he moved the cloth. If you don't already understand this, I'm not sure I can explain it, but even if you're a nudist, when a man does what he did - intentionally expose me in a very sexual way - it's like you've never been a nudist at all. My breath caught in my chest, and my nipples stiffened. I loved the way he was looking at my breasts.

"There will be no boys at college," he said softly.

I had already forgotten about my empty threat.

"What boys?" I whispered, as his fingers went to my nipples and squeezed them gently. I had to close my eyes, and that luscious feeling like I was going to pee was suddenly flooding my abdomen. I had always loved that feeling, once I learned that it didn't actually mean I was going to embarrass myself by actually peeing.

"Exactly," he said, dropping his fingers to the button that held my shorts on. Deftly he undid it, and gently pushed the cloth down over my hips, until the shorts fell to my ankles like they had lead weights in them.

I stepped out of them automatically, and shrugged the blouse off the same way. I was used to being naked with him, but this time it felt different somehow. He wasn't naked yet, but that wasn't it. I don't know if it was in his eyes, or his voice, or what. Maybe it was the same thing that made Smoke whicker and step away from him.

That blanket was still spread out over the hay bales. I don't actually remember him leading me there, but suddenly I was sitting on that blanket, my legs hanging over the edge of a blanket-covered bale, and my bare feet barely touching the dust. He backed up and started taking his clothes off.

He was hard. I'd seen him this way countless times. Some of those times his rigidity had been because of me. I was quite sure that was the case this time too. And I did feel the little thrill of pleasure in knowing that a man I admired - loved, even - found me that attractive.

And yet, it was different somehow. I had a different feeling in my belly. He stepped closer to me. I stared at his penis. Then his fingers came and touched under my chin, forcing my gaze upwards, to meet his eyes.

"There will be no boys at college," he said. "No man other than Brinn or me will see you like this. Don't let them, because if you do, you'll be sentencing them to death. I would have to kill any other man who I knew had touched you like I'm about to touch you."

Part of my brain was snorting at his over dramatization of the situation. He wasn't going to kill anybody. Nobody would believe that. Another part of my brain raised its hand, though, and asked, "What was that about what he's about to do? I'd like a little more information about that, please."

"What are you going to do?" I asked. For some reason my voice sounded like I was about ten or eleven again.

He reached out and pushed with his fingers between my breasts, until I lay back on the blanket. My lower legs were still hanging over the edge of the bale, and it felt funny, so I gave a little scoot, and lifted my heels to rest them on the bale, beside my hips. Without thinking about it, I framed my pussy, as if offering it to him.

To be frank ... he would have taken it even if I hadn't been willing to give it to him. And ... to be even more frank ... I only remember parts of what he did. I think that's because some of it was so unexpected.

He fell to his knees in the dust and pushed his face into my pussy. His tongue forced my pussy lips apart and his fingers found my nipples again. I actually felt something inside me squirt, and heard (or imagined) a sound kind of like my stomach growling, except it wasn't my stomach. I knew I was suddenly sopping wet.

And that's what he'd been going for, because after only fifteen seconds of that, he got up, leaned over me and, holding his iron hard prick with one hand, notched it between my pussy lips, like he had many times before.

Except that instead of massaging my clitty with the head of that long, hard thing, he slid it all the way into me in one, long, luscious, incredible thrust.

He was bigger than Brinn. I knew this, on an academic level. I had "measured" them both with my hand, gripping their hard members, and I knew they felt different in my mouth. But I hadn't ever thought about it as an actual comparison. Now, though, it was impossible not to notice that I was stretched in a different way than Brinn stretched me.

Then Uncle Bob went kind of ape shit. Don't get me wrong, Brinn can be a very energetic lover. He's impatient, sometimes, to dump his load in one of us, and when that happens, he climbs on and it's off to the races. But that wasn't what Uncle Bob was doing. What Uncle Bob was doing was the opposite, in a way. I think he wanted to wear me out by giving me one more orgasm than he thought I could handle. Or something like that. All I know is that it was completely different from what Brinn did. Brinn knew how to give us orgasms. What Uncle Bob did was play me like an instrument.

I remember fast and furious. I remember my nipples being pinched almost too harshly. I remember him going in and staying deep inside me, and rotating his hips in big circles that moved my butt all over that blanket. I remember being hoarse from making noises as I came. I have no idea how many orgasms I had, but it had to be more than five.

In short, it had never been like this. Never.

And finally, he slowed down and stared into my eyes.

"I shouldn't do this," he panted. "But I can't help it."

Then he kissed me as he pushed hard, one last time, and I felt the warmth of his spend jetting into my belly. I know I wrapped my legs around his waist, because I was exhausted, and needed something to hold onto. And I think my unconscious brain was trying, somehow, to make it not end yet.

It had never been like this. Never.

And I finally understood the difference between fucking ... and making love.

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