When we finally broke apart, I asked Whats yo-. He stopped me, putting a finger to my mouth. He pulled out a sharpie from his pants, and wrote his a phone number on my penis. Then he put his clothes on and left as quickly as he came. I picked mine up from the floor, put them on, washed my hands, and left to the table. Where were you? my mom asked. There was a long line for the bathroom I said. My parents believed it, but I dont think Tom quite did. The rest of dinner went well, and, even though I kept stealing glances at him, the boy across the table did not look at me once. The ride home was quiet. Everyone was full and did not feel like talking. When I finally arrived to my room, Tom asked What took you so long in the bathroom? Nothing. The shrimp didnt agree with me I said. Excuses, excuses… Yea.. Im sure thats it. Tell me, really, or Ill punish you. Hard. He said, slapping my ass. I figured what the hell… You know that kid across the table? I asked. Mhm he said. We screwed. You. I grew up witnessing 'Facials and Cream-pies', from men who were neighbors, who's daughters I went to school with, I watched silently from my secluded hiding spot, as their fathers, some pillars within the church, traded their halos for horns, and penetrated my mothers hot flesh, as other held her open for their manhood's to enter and freely seed.The act of sex changes people, turns them from lambs of God, to monsters of Satan, my mother preached purity and chastity, then in the heat of desire, begged for the unspeakable, her white flesh marked by the leather tawse, the pain drawing pleasure, the tawse marking and drawing blood, while she begged for more.She wore high necked clothes and mid length frocks, hiding her unadulterated marking, people thought her a bible thumping convert, in truth she hid her sexual excesses, her markings and sexual decadency, her thin veil to the world, and the men who new better as she passed them walking with their own wives, sending her secret signals.
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