Her wail when I stepped back was joined by others in the room. Some in pain and some in anger and some just in frustration. There he was.Dead.Granddad...knocked softly on the door but when no one answered, he stepped into the room.“Are you okay?” he whispered.We were all clutched together, collapsed on the floor in front of my easel, crying. I don’t think we’d cried so much at Lonnie’s funeral the day before. We just hung onto each other and cried. Granddad looked over at the painting and tears. The feel of him inside me was still exquisite, the muscles of my vagina squeezing him as hard as they could. But he didn't try to hold out the way he once did; a few quick strokes and he pulled out, to spend his seed on my stomach, neither caring nor embarrassed that I needed my hand to finish myself off.That refusal to ejaculate inside me is what made me think about whether or not there was 'another woman.' Was it just some trick he had learned while watching a porn movie in his hotel room, or. More

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