”“I did that for an ex who wanted me that way,” she replied. “I was dubious but I liked how it felt so I kept it. I can let it grow back if yo... prefer, but I feel cleaner like this.”“It’s your pussy -- wear it however you like.” Jason lifted her knees and lowered them to the sides to spread her thighs. He lay on his belly between them. Spreading her labia he worked his face between them, licking her vulva from bottom to top. He explored the shape of her clitoral shaft and hood with the tip of. He told Alison for twenty years he’s loved her. It was a strange, sad sort of love. The kind built from a workshop of hidden desires and torturous ‘what if’ questions. If not as depressing it’s as potent as real love. ‘I mean what am I suppose to say to this? Thanks for making the trip up to see me? Christ.’ Before you throw yourself into a plausible fire you have to see what’s coming. Maybe real love demands a happy ending. One with a glorious wedding and a following life that constantly. More

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