'"This is your cheer bag," she explained. "Every cheerleader has a cheerbag to carry the stuff they need, like their warm up clothes and shoesand ties..."He wondered why he needed a cheer bag and why they would need to bringit to tryouts, but he knew it was pointless saying anything, so heremained mute.His next big worry was going outside. Other than spending some time inthe back garden, which was secluded, he had never ventured out in hischeer clothes. He couldn't let his friends or people from. Whilst on a night out, she would say to me, “when we get home we’ll ‘get comfortable.” She knew this would get me going.On arriving home, I would proceed upstairs and dress in one of my many outfits, then we would have the most amazing sex. I have been a little vague up to now, so as not to get the reader too aroused, as this isn’t my main story, just an insight as to what got me here.My story starts when my wife went away one weekend, on a girls' hen night. Just before she left, she whispered. She has started to forget what he looks like. She walks over to the far corner of the room. There is a record player there, with a vinyl album already waiting on the turntable. She reaches for it, and for a moment her hand trembles with nervous anticipation so badly that she cannot seat the stylus into the grooves of the record. Then she steadies herself and starts the music. It’s an old, slow jazz album with a swaying saxophone beat. She begins to sway in tune with it, letting her hips slowly. She felt desperate for it suddenly, even though she had no idea what was coming. In just these few moments, her relationship to her mother had changed radically, but twisting thrills rather than fear were filling her. She heard the words she would always remember. "Oh darling, I think it's right. I do." They locked together again, groaning.Suddenly, she felt herself picked up. Her mother was effortlessly carrying her the short distance to the bed. She glanced up, and was thrilled by a slight.
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