For her.She knelt still as the congregation filed out, content in their relationships with Christ. The old wood bit into her knees, but she kept still... watching the now-abandoned altar, until silence as heavy and insidious as the heat crept over the sanctuary.She rose. Rubbed the grooves from her skinny knees. She walked to where the red and white candles flickered on a sideboard, each flame a soul, or a sin. Their tiny fires could not compete with the incense-ravaged air hanging motionless. ”She said, grinning like daydreaming: “You know, Marcos: something weird is happening to my brassieres. I WONDER WHAT THE HELL COULD BE SOME WHITE SMALL SPOTS ON THEM, LEFT OVER IN THE BRA. As far as I know, I’m not breastfeeding any more, ha, ha, ha!!, and I’m not producing breast milk either." %%%%%%%%%%% The word “milk” had no sooner been uttered out of her mouth than I became pale, with a problem of a dick beginning to get hard, engorged within my pants, while Dulce kept on rubbing hard,. More

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