I didn’t know then what he was doing but god, it felt good. I say “of sorts”, because it was Mrs. My father would beat my mother and me for any infraction, real or imagined, at the drop of a hat. We were still in the same position, but Paul’s hand had moved; his hand was between my legs, outside of my panties, and he was stroking back and forth, lightly, over the crotch of the panties. Dad kept getting into fights—usually verbal–with most other men, but Paul worked with Dad, lived right around the block from us, and Paul was bigger, so those three reasons combined more often than not kept Dad in line when Paul was around. I think I screamed. I shook my head no, then remembered my manners, and said “No, sir.” Paul laughed, and took me to the sofa. Finally, he had to go to work, and since I couldn’t go to school until Mom made sure there weren’t any noticeable bruises, I was told to go to Paul’s.
