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I never had the nerve to keep any at home and I asked Bobby if he wasn't worried about his mother finding them when she cleaned his room. He snorted. “She never cleans my room - or any other room. The bitch is too lazy. Doesn’t get out of bed until midday and she’s too drunk to do anything a couple of hours later.” I’d never heard anyone refer to their mother as a “bitch” before. For some reason I found it really exciting. Bobby spread the magazines on the floor. This was the 1960s so there was no hardcore porn generally available - certainly not to boys our age. We called them “tittiemags” because that was all you saw - tits of all sizes but no cunts, not even a glimpse of pubic hair. Even nudist mags airbrushed those pictures where the women didn’t have their pudenda screened by a strategically placed beachball or piece of greenery. If I had relied on nudist mags for my education I would have believed that grown women had a crotch like a Barbie Doll. I knew, however, from games of. Both of us kept silent as Anu sobbed. For moments that seemed like eternity, I held Anu. Then slowly she disengaged from me, taking a step backward and looks up at me, her eyes were filled with confusion and mixed feeling. I stepped aside and gesture her that she should rest, Anu walked on the soft carpeted floor, her steps heavy just like her thoughts. Once back in her room, Anu collapsed on her bed, and covered herself under the blanket, now letting her sadness pour out as she cried out in the utter betrayal committed by her family. "HOW" "HOW" She kept asking herself, but finds herself unable to answer with even a single word. Just minutes ago, home and family seem so close, but now both are out of her reach for all the time in the world. She is alone, utterly, alone. Her hand went up to her ample bosom, feeling her heart ripped into pieces as tears flowing down her cheeks and wet the pillow along with the sheet and blankets. Anu cried and cried, curled into a ball on her bed as.
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