My third gaga was a red and black striped silk blouse I wore in the sixth grade, which also fell apart. My gagas, which I now call ‘rags’ are like...a part of me. People have odd habits. Some eat boogers. I’ve known some men to jack off with slices of deli ham. I have even been privy to those odd characters that obsessively clean their hands or only step on certain color tiles as they walk through the mall. Let’s face it, we are ALL fucked up in some way. I glared at my brother, who settled into. “You’re still hard.”“Indeed I am; so are you.”“I wasn’t worried about me.” She turned around so that she was straddling me again but facing away and my view was of her sleek legs, tight little ass, and the flare of her hips below her slender waist. She bent forward slightly and shook that delicious little bottom at me. “How do you like this view?”I liked it very much; I couldn’t see her equipment dangling between her legs, and I realized that she was cupping herself with one hand, holding her. More

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