He’d tell us how beautiful we were and we’d believe him and hold onto the feeling for as long as we could, feeling beautiful and loved.That’s why we worried. It wasn’t all about the sex. It was that feeling. Of being beautiful. Of being loved.Blanket told us about the last time Daddy had taken him. It had out behind the tents. Daddy had him down on his knees, sucking his cock. His pubes had smelled like diesel. He’d held him down with one hand, simply using his mouth while he called him dick sucking sissy and nancy-boy and cock whore. When he’d come, it seemed never-ending, like he’d pumped a gallon of jizz down his throat before slapping his still hard cock against Blanket’s face.Blanket had a faraway look on his face while he told us about what happened afterwards. Daddy’d patted him on the head and told him he was a good son and how proud he was of him. Best day of my life, Blanket told us. I’ll never forget how his hand felt. Strong but kind. Tender even.When it was my turn, I. John exited his doctor's office four days later frustrated and crestfallen. He was carrying a sheaf of papers. He had receipts, lab orders, appointment with a specialist. He lacked the one paper that had been his goal: a prescription for the blue-diamond pill that would remove his troubles."We're not ready for that yet," his doctor told him. "We have to check out blood pressure and other things first."It was a disappointment. In John's mind, all that was required was a prescription for that magic drug. The doctor seemed to not comprehend the importance of his affliction. He did, however, congratulate John on his keeping his weight down. John, however, cared little at that moment for his weight, blood sugar, blood pressure and the rest. He sensed a need for urgent action, not the doctor's patient approach. He resented his doctor like a schoolboy angry at a teacher unwilling to sign a permission slip for early dismissal."He only gave me an order for tests and set me up with an.
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