I was not a body builder, but I did have good-sized muscles, a genetic gift from the mountain tribe breeding regime. Okay, actually I am built like a ...od - Greek, Viking, Roman, whatever. My mother said so. Cynthia loved it. I allowed her to love it. Even Abril could not keep her hand off my chest or my thigh.I misjudged the enthusiasm of youth inspired by such a body. It was only 30 minutes before CynthiaÔs hands closed on my unsatisfied cock, my dry cock. She suggested, gently using movements. Took some real lurid photos to send her rich daddy. Said she…”Those stories weren’t the worst of it. I never really cared what monster I was painted as. I didn’t deserve much sympathy. I was a monster. Damn right. Maybe I was just a weak-willed, self-destructive one. But a monster’s a monster. Her? What they wrote about her. That was the tragedy.The scent of strawberry watermelon shampoo slaps me. You’re standing right there in front of me and for a second it’s her, mirrored lenses reflecting a. More

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