My father had remarried when I was three, with who quickly became a perfect stepmother, treating me like her own child. I actually called her my mothe..., because she was always there in my oldest memories. When I was five, I had a half-sister. Early enough so that I would also consider her like a proper one.When were still young, our father's death was a painful event that marked us all and made us closer than ever before. Not that I hated my sister before that : I actually loved spending time. ”“When?”“When we made love, I felt like ... like ... it was slam, bam – thank you, ma’am.”“Do you love me? I mean really truly love me?”“Yes,” I said quite declaratively, with a tear in my eye.“Why are you crying?”“Because I love ... love you ... so much ... when you’re around me I feel so good, and when you’re not, I feel ... yucky.”“Yucky? My college educated brother and lover, with two Bachelor Degrees, can’t think of a better word than ... yucky?”“I had a brain fart, OK ... C?”She. More

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