Only it stopped feeling like rape.I tried to deny what I was beginning to feel, that I wanted him to keep doing what he was; I was getting wetter, my ...stomach was fluttering, I stopped hating him. Dad must have felt the change because he sat up again and without a word opened the drawer of his night stand. He pulled out a large dildo and a hair curling iron. Well, it looked like a curling iron, but with a big ball on the end. I knew what the dildo was for, but not the iron. I stared at the. I stood there with hands on hips, legs slightly spread, like the chicks at the gym. The only thing wrong was the bulge in my pants. Anxiety returned. I reached down and rearranged `issues' as best I could. Another look showed me as passable. I decided to take a stab at it.I ventured out into the ward. I had my spandex. I had my slippers. My hair was up. What the fuck? I was told not ask questions, so no one should be asking me any personal questions. I peaked out the door. It was quiet. It was. How do you feel?’ ‘I feel fine. What time is it?’ ‘Eight o’clock.’ ‘Wow, the operation was real quick, wasn’t it. Oh! No! Does that mean they weren’t able to do anything?’ ‘No Dearest! It is the next morning. They kept you sedated all night. They should be coming for you very soon to remove the bandages. I have to tell you that both your eyes were destroyed. They had to give you a transplant. Just one eye though. The other eye’s nerves and things were too damaged to salvage. They will try to. People believe what they assume they already know. We’re married in the intimate sense and the socially apparent sense, but it would be criminal if we had a license. Strange morality.As long as they were with us, Mom and Dad thought it smart, their single children sharing the rent in the Big City. When we’d visit home, we’d revert to our childhood rooms and sneak conjugal moments when the opportunity presented itself.Once Mom came upstairs when we were in the shower and I had to say through the.