My mother reached over and grabbed my hand. "I know it's hard on you," she said quietly."It's harder on you. I hate him." Don't hate him, David." Why ...ot?" I said with anger. When I saw my mother wince, I softened my tone and squeezed her hand. "Sorry, Mom, I know I have to deal with this and so do you. But we will get through this together." She looked at me and smiled weakly.Mom looked tired. I could see that the stress had taken a toll on her. In fact, it appeared that she had gained a. I remember definitely that we were 13 and of course we were talking about boys and sex and about our bodies, which were beginning to fill out. And about masturbation."Do you do it?" she asked."Of course." Trying to sound grown up and experienced. I was experienced but I wasn't about to talk about my parents, as that was very private."How about you? Do you do it?" Yes. I mean, no. I'm not sure I know how." She admitted. "I touch myself sometimes and it feels nice an' all but I don't know what. More

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