To Amanda’s way of thinking, sex and literature were at opposite ends of the spectrum. ‘Bullshit,’ Glory scoffed, chopping a small mound of cok... with a straight razor. ‘What do you know Glory, you write travel manuals, you edit copy.’ ‘Yes, but my rent isn’t two months behind, is it Amanda?’ ‘Look Glory, you’re the one who told me that I had to live in Manhattan.’ Glory chopped the mound into three jagged lines, scattering the magazines on her coffee table, her coke straw buried somewhere,. 'Are you still a virgin'? I stood beside my father, beer in hand, my crotch at his face level, the cotton of my undersized knickers, forming my all to familiar 'Camel-Toe', imprint of my cunt, which daddy was staring at.'No Daddy', I answered half truthfully, as I had felt a part penetration, though one of his ejaculating between my labia, it never really felt like a full penetration and the traditional breaking my hymen, signifying the loss of my virginity, it still felt as if he violated the. More

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