He flipped his long brown hair away from his face only to reveal the tension brought by him biting his lower lip. His pale, bare chest was dramaticall... and vigorously moving up and down. Mitchell slowly stepped closer and sat at the foot of my bed, stroking my leg. "D-don't st-sto-stop." His voice was shaky and hoarse as his breathing was becoming short and gasp-like. Mitch took off his basketball shorts, leaving only his blue, plaid boxers as he crawled up next to me, propping himself up with. Not everything about sex is perfect, good, sexy, hot. Some of it is pain and baggage. It shapes you and even when you try to resist, you find yourself wanting, desiring, the very things that you’re running from.That’s the basis of my story.I am sure that I will eventually write about some of the “good times” I had with my father. I may even write about the bad. My stories may never be read. They may even be poorly written. But they will always be honest – even when you, the reader, might wish. More

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