After two weeks or so I ask her about him, and if he’s still a jerk to her. But she only replies: “oh, nah. He isn’t that bad at all if you know...him better.” … And then, out if nowhere she says:“Vivi, would you like to take a picture of my butt? I was wondering how my new jeans look on me.”So I take her phone, take some pics, and hand it back to her. She seems pretty happy with the result, thanks me and starts texting or something.Since then she asks me more frequently to take pics of her body. The cafe was almost empty and we were seated where the waiters couldn't see us. She reached up to pull my head down and before I could process it I was in Yvette Black's mouth. Our tongues coiled and wrestled and her mouth was thick with the dissolving cinnamon cream. She was right. It tasted good. Her soft moans urged me as I ran my hand up her back. Her hand gripping my hair scratched and caressed, and then, after an eternity but far too soon, gently pulled to tell me to stop. A thick strand. There was no way she could know just HOW he loved her. Not as a daughter, not entirely.He hated himself for that.“I know,” she said softly.“Don’t you love me?” he asked, hopefully.She nodded. “Of course I do, Daddy.” She still wouldn’t look up at him.“Then why would you do this? Why continue to disobey our rules?” He tore his eyes away from her. It was hurting too much. “That day you ran away, just two days after your birthday, do you remember what we told you? The cop said since you were. She knew Irene meant the old knitting baby booties gag, but she needed to have a reason to storm out! She had just read a mystery, and one of the clues was that a knitting needle had been used as the murder weapon. It symbolized illegal black market abortions back in the sixties! "Oh God, Irene, that's horrible!" she shrieked. "How can you joke about me having an abortion? You know I could never do that! You're sick!" No, wait!" Irene called, as her sister ran down the stairs. "I didn't mean it.
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