I had stolen looks at her when she was dressing, and I had often masturbated, thinking about her. I always felt guilty after, but that was likely the ...esult of Catholic school upbringing.I walked in the door, threw my keys on the table, headed to the closet and grabbed a towel. Normally, mom would be upstairs, and I would use the tub on the first floor. Assuming she was watching tv, her usual routine, I undressed in the laundry room and threw my sweaty clothes in the hamper. I wrapped the towel. Now I'm dying, and I'll be damned if I'm going to die never having known what it was like to make love. Besides, I want my death to mean something. If you think I'm going to die with my last memory about sex being those monsters inside me, you have another think coming. Either kiss me and make love to me or I swear I will fuck Patrick right here in front of you. He won't refuse me. Then I'll fuck Eric's brains out too. Are you ready to see me with two other men? Maybe I'll even do them both at. More

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