Demented

Andrew

Sharp pains shot through my body as a bone-crushing blow made contact with my balls. I was hauled backward by its force. I wrapped my palm around it tenderly, nursing it back to normal. My Anne had kneaded me in the groin.

She stomped towards me and came to hover over me as I lay on the floor. She was panting profusely while staring daggers at me. It was as if she was daring me to grab her again and see what happens.

I was ashamed. I had attempted it again. But this time, I wasn’t drunk. I was fully conscious. There were no excuses as to why I tried to get sexual with her against her will. Even if she had any feeling for me, however small, it must have been wiped out completely by my actions.

“Get out,” she said in a low deadly voice.

I was too mortified to move. Her words from the hospital, when I’d been admitted for a puncture wound on the neck, resurfaced. She warned me never to attempt this on anyone. She forgave me and even went as far as accepting me as a friend. But