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I wanted this. How could I? But I wanted him. He stabbed at me with his tongue, tasting me, his tongue going deep inside me. “Stop,” I rasped. “Stop.” “Do you really want me to?” “No… Yes… No… I don’t know. I don’t know.” I slapped him, slapped his face, “How could you! How could you do this again?” He was surprised, yes, but there was another look in his eyes when I slapped him. He… he was turned on. I was sure of it. Aroused by my slap. I slapped his other cheek--not because I wanted to arouse him further, but out of sheer frustration. How could I make this stop if he’s turned on even when I try to stop him. What could I do? Oscar knelt up and pulled down his shorts--his penis sprang out, hard and standing up. He shuffled forwards on his knees and rubbed his cock against me, against my sex. “Oh God.” I whispered. “Oh God.” “Do it again,” he replied. And I did. I slapped his face. I slapped his face and he rammed his cock inside me. This was making me hot, so hot. Lying there on. That was the second time in my life that I wept. The first was when my mother died and now this. This was how Chrissie had employed her time as she waited for Clem to finalize his studies. Sewn into these items were all her hopes of a long life with Clem and the children they would have together.Many of our family believed that I had been in love with Clem for years. Despite my explanation of the situation, they stayed fast to their belief. I did love Clem, but more as a sister than lover. Our families had lived close to each other. As children we played together. Although he was four years older than I was, we got along well. Nobody thought I would ever be married and I think that even Clem was a little surprised when I did. I was blessed with a most unfortunate appearance. Plain was a compliment considering that I described myself as ugly. A beaky nose often compared to a bird's and no chin to speak of didn't attract boys. When Mr. Herring swam away with a co-worker most people.
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