“Yes I am. Ready to be split by you master. take me and make me a woman babu. I am waiting for your penetration. Don’t delay.” I tried to slip m...y finger in her hole, but there was resistance. “Krishna. It will hurt. But just. Don’t shout and don’t reject me my love” I said. She smiled and hugged me to her, spreading her thighs wide. By then her clitoris sprung up, and I bent down tasking it between my teeth and gently started teasing it. She was utteri8ng sounds that I could not understand,. I opted for pregnant. Without a word she walked into my flat and plonked herself down on the settee. ‘Can I help you?’ I asked, struggling to remain polite despite the gall of the female strolling, or rather, waddling in like that. ‘I’m from the flat upstairs,’ she said, not answering my question. ‘Ah.’ I had seen the two youths who occupied the flat above mine. One was a scrawny Jesus look-alike and the other seemed bent on proving that we are indeed descended from apes, if that isn’t being. Would it be big, long, short, and fat? Would it be pale, pink with blond hair, or was it as tanned as he? How would he feel? All of those things crossed my mind.The more I saw Wayne, the more appealing the idea of sleeping with him became. Wayne was sexy and would be even cuter if he would just cut that damn piece of hair that serves no purpose other than making him look older than he is. Wayne had arms and legs for days. He carried himself being post-military with confidence and charisma. Yea. Two things emerged from that experience: a friendship forged in fire between the three men that would never dim; and a grief born of death and desolation that would sear the chaplain's heart. This injury would take many years to heal.Fr. Ambrose was 37 years old when he went off to war, strong of body and absolutely convinced of the correctness of his faith. He was 40 when he returned, sick in body and soul, weakened, his faith shredded. His spirit was wounded. So many men had fallen. Some died.