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“Well, yeah, sort of.”“What the hell do you mean ‘sort of’? You fucked me eleven times in four days, how in hell could that be a ‘sort of�...�?”“You kept count?” “Of course!” she looked me puzzled for a moment then conceded, “I guess you wouldn’t keep count, guys only remember getting the noodle wet, not how many times it got wet.” She snuffled a quick laugh and reminisced. “Four times we did it in the room right next to mom and dad, remember how hard it was to be quiet?”I did remember. I never. I didn't see her for acouple days after she'd returned, but did unpack and wash her things. Istill remember the horror when I found every one of her knickers andswimming costumes with dried cum stains.Then I remember it all draining to be replaced by deep abiding love whenit slowly struck me that all the stains where to the rear of herknickers. I loved her even more when she told me her holiday had beenwith Arthur and how frustrated he'd been to never get her. I kind ofunderstood her wanting. More

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