One night, I sneaked up to her bedroom door at the end of the corridor upstairs and put my ear to the panel. I felt guilty about eavesdropping on my sister, but I hoped to hear that he was at least satisfying her in bed. I was only there a few minutes before I heard him panting and gasping along with the unmistakable sounds of head. Roberta was going down on him. It was all over in less than twenty seconds. He gurgled, snorted, and cried out in a high voice, almost a falsetto. It took a few minutes for his panting to stop.“Really, Roberta,” he said in his grating, irritating voice. “You have no finesse, you give head like a whore. You never help me slow down and make it last.”My hand tightened on the doorknob – I almost burst into Roberta’s bedroom. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to beat the shit out of him. I was sure I could thrash him easily, for he was pudgy and pasty. I controlled myself with a huge effort and slowly walked back to my bedroom. I picked up one of my. "He sighed and then took another drink from his glass, finally setting it down in front of him. "I'm not quite sure how to start." Well, I'd say to start like your favorite comedian. "I was born a poor black child..." Hey, he's epic," he said with a laugh. "Okay. I was born a poor black child, except for the fact that I'm not black, my family wasn't really poor, and I'm not from here." From the city?" Uh ... no, from this world."Mirage stared at him for a minute then lifted her glass and finished her drink, getting up and grabbing the crystal carafe. She refilled his drink and her own before setting the carafe in front of her. "Then ... where are you from?"He let out a slow breath and took another hit of the potent brew. With his constitution, he could finish the whiskey in the carafe and another on top of that before he'd even begin to feel it. "It's hard to explain." He ran his hands through his hair in aggravation, wondering how he would come up with the words to explain. "I've.
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