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.'' i finally dared, feeling scared like i'd never felt before. ''Last night, during our sleep, did we...'' -''DON'T... FINISH... THAT SENTENCE'' mommy interrupted me. ''I don't even want to hear it''. I started trembling of fear. Gosh! What were we going to do? How would our lives be from that point on? Sensing my fear, mommy decided to try to calm me down. She held me by the shoulders and looked at me in the eyes. She sighed. -''Paul'' she said to me, tenderly. ''Let's just forget about it, okay? We cannot change what happened. We'll just never talk about it again and NEVER EVER tell anyone about it. Deal?'' Still trembling, i nodded. However, despite what mommy had said, our life was never the same after that. Days went by, with us barely exchanging a single word. We even avoided looking at each other. I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. And what made me feel even worse was the memory of the bliss i had felt in that dream. One night, we were both sitting on the. "I'd like to suggest something, James. Next time you get the urge, don't give in to it and pay attention to how you feel. Specifically if you feel anxious." "Okay. See you next week."James thought about the therapy session as he drove home. He resolved to follow the therapist's instructions. See if it made him anxious.He took the mail in, dropped it on the table by the front door, went to the kitchen, poured a glass of ice tea. He carried the tea to his office, sat at his desk, checked his email, found nothing from clients that called for his immediate attention. His noticed the time at the top of the screen. His wife would be home in ninety minutes. James drained his glass and opened the secret folder, typed the password that protected it, the folder that contained the photos and videos he had downloaded of women masturbating, the only genre of pornography he found useful. Most contained penetration of some kind--dildos inserted into cunts, or his favorites, into that tighter hole.
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