Though we were from different times, the story of the boy escaping an orphanage to make something of his life was strangely familiar. Perhaps that mad... Harry the Artful Dodger, and Grandpa Fagin? Or was I Dodger and Harry Oliver? I don’t know.The rest of 1967 ticked along nicely, punctuated by a visit to Sheffield at October half-term, and Christmas gathered at home in Wimbledon. It felt nice to be normal for a while.In January 1968 there was an interesting development in my personal life. It. As my movements became more frantic, I knew that I could achieve an orgasm from the stimulation Bryan's fingers were applying to my clitoris. Suddenly, I wanted to cum; I needed to cum. I started humping more forcefully, moaning softly. I was biting my lower lip as my son pleasured me. And then Bryan stopped. I straddled Bryan's thighs as he leaned back in the chair. I grabbed my stepson's large, rigid erection. It felt exceptionally thick and heavy in my hand. I held it straight up as Bryan. More

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