The basics remained the same, but the entire bright core was filled with what looked like chains, each link subtly different from the next, but the mi...lions of chains making the entire scene a chaotic mess. It was like trying to concentrate on a single piece of straw in a huge hay stack.As they watched, through Sally’s perspective, the chains faded to dim traces except for a few dozen, and those became larger, the individual links easier to make out. One chain in particular grew until the links. He demanded to know what the hell I was talking about. How was this possible? As reluctant as I've ever been to tell anyone anything, I told him the truth. I had just minutes before caught our son masturbating on the family room sofa, and I climbed on and fucked him. It was his cum inside me. More silence. Deafening silence. His hand remained there. I had no idea what he would do next. Still more silence.Then he quietly called me a whore. How could I possibly do that? With our son? He always. She twirled and thengiggled. Looking at herself in the mirror, she struck a pose, fingerspointed out into the shape of a pistol. "Samantha O'Neal! FBI!" Shetold her reflection. Her breasts swayed alarmingly as she turned.Biting back her giggles, the young woman zipped up her suitcase andgrabbed her purse."Time for serious business," she said, walking to the door with herwheeled suitcase.A small pool of blood, flecked with pink surrounded her old, small braas she closed the hotel door. Several days passed with unanswered messages and I began to wonder if the cultural divide was simply too great. I reflected on whether I had pushed her too far, too soon. I could feel her arousal, could feel she wanted it, I just needed the opportunity. Yet I had waited four months, since that first moment I had seen her at the wedding and I knew if I let passion take its course, however elongated by her need to be culturally correct, it was surely not going to be much longer to wait until I.
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