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“Let it out.”I hover above you. Six hundred and eleven seconds. Time so viscerally real I can feel each and every second burn off, leaving a swirling cloud of heat behind.Your body shimmers and bubbles. Skin melts, leaving a younger version beneath, sixteen maybe, innocent still, in the ways a white girl from the hood can be innocent. I lean down, lick an erect nipple and push deeper inside your clinging bubblegum cunt.“You don’t always gotta be so damn tough, blondie,” I say. “Sometimes, I think… nah. I know. I know. We need to drop our baggage. Spill the pain out on the floor. Bleed it out. Give it a good hard look. And set it on fire.”Your nails dig shallow trenches into my back; your legs squeeze more tightly. I accept the pain and push deeper.Six hundred and eleven seconds.Your body shimmers and melts again, a slightly older version taking her place in the fire. Barely inside her twenties, I think.This face has no innocence. It was bled out of her. There’s rage and sadness to it,. Was I a deviant or something? “My papa jacking-off” the words were difficult to even say. I had never seen a mature adult dick before, much less one fully erect for sex. Yes we had computers, but Momma wouldn’t allow our home computer to be hooked up to the internet. She called the internet “the devil’s playground.” As my mind replayed what I had seen I found myself again rubbing my hand between my legs. How long had Papa been doing this? Exactly what was in that magazine that interested him so much? This was mind-blowing. My thoughts drifted from excitement and lust, to feeling sorry for my papa. Momma’s years of repressive control over our lives had warped all of our outlooks. I guess I didn’t really hate Momma for it, but I was finding it hard to continue to submit to it privately. Still, it was as if I had tasted an addictive drug. I wanted it again and more. Momma was right about one thing. I was definitely from Papa’s side of the family. The next morning when.
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