Uncle Patrick

Anne

I felt sore all over. It was as if a colossal lorry landed on me.

It had started out all romantic and fluffy clouds with Vincent in the bathroom. I knew I wanted it so badly, but when I felt my body stretching beyond its usual and the sharp pain that followed, I’d wanted to push Vincent off of me and run for the hills.

I pitied Vincent throughout. He was on his knees and had held my legs over his thighs when he first dipped in. I saw massive veins on his forehead as he held himself from ramming into me hard. He was slow the entire time, gently easing his way in and out of me while I’d bitten into a pillow, hoping for its end.

Don't get me wrong; it got better the second time. I felt discomfort, but Vincent’s sweet body and soothing words didn’t let me dwell on my aches.

How many times did we go? You may ask. I lost count after three. We’d talked, joked, laughed, gotten some sleep, then woke up and got at it.

The soreness came the following day. I had to force myself out of bed to