RLS 30: Cousin Rachel

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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About the REAL LIFE SPANKING Series

The RLS Series is a collection of _real-life_ stories retold by the Flogmaster. Names and places have been _changed_ to protect the naughty. All are based on the personal memories of individuals and are written in the first person. Literary license may have been taken for a more dramatic presentation.

Please send me your spanking experiences! I will rewrite and publish the most interesting as part of the RLS series. Your anonymity _will_ be preserved. The Flogmaster

Real Life Spanking Series #30 -- Cousin Rachel

(*****, F/mf, Severe, Children paddling, switching)

Cousins share an unforgetable experience. (Approximately 5,171 words. Originally published 1999-01.)

"All right, that's IT!" screamed Mrs. Ramsey, throwing us a furious glare over her shoulder. "ONE word -- and I meant that, just ONE WORD -- and I will stop this car and give you both a bare bottom paddling right on the side of the road!"

Rachel and I froze in mid-wrestle. Naturally, we were arguing again. Just as naturally, we'd forgotten, despite several intense verbal reminders, that we weren't alone. I could tell that Rachel's Mom was approaching her limit. Any further antagonization and she wouldn't hesitate to make her threat a reality.

The thought sent a powerful shiver through my body. I looked at my cousin and grinned. She stuck her tongue out at me impudently, just daring me to make a move.

I slunk away, as though giving up, and pretended to look out the window. Out of the corner of my eye I watched her sigh and frown, obviously annoyed her plan to get me in trouble had failed.

It hadn't, of course. I was just bidding my time.

* * * * *

It was the best summer of my life (and I had a number of good summers). I was thirteen going on thirteen, and she was fourteen going on sixteen. We were both at that awkward stage between childhood and adulthood. For me, it was new -- everything was new. For her, being a teenager was ancient history. She was into adult stuff now.

I spent two-and-a-half months at the Ramsey's while my parents went on an extended second honeymoon in Europe. I was in heaven.

I'd seen Rachel a few times. Several Christmases, a Thanksgiving or two, some visits on vacations. But it had been a couple years, and boy had she changed!

Cousin Rachel was my dream girl. She was big for her age -- taller and heavier than me. Everything was ideally proportioned. For instance, her hips were wide but her waist was slender, giving her the curviest walk I've ever seen. She had large mature breasts, and an ass that nearly killed me. It was so round and plump it was all I could not to try to touch it. (I took advantage of any semi-legitiamte excuse -- like wrestling -- to palm those delectable cheeks.)

Topping off that body was the cutest face in seven states. Gorgeous dark hair sparkled around her round, luminous face. Just above the dot of a nose were two huge black eyes that seemed to swallow you whole. They were delicious. Add the nearly constant smirk at the edges of her delicate, pouting lips and a beaming row of perfectly even teeth, and I was lost. I had never thought of beauty much before Rachel. Once I'd seen her, my standards were forever defined.

Inside that incredible body was the naughtiest, most mischevious, dirty-minded girl I've ever known. Physically, Rachel was impossibly feminine. She looked like an adult woman, shrunk down a bit, and given the brain and attitude of a twelve-year-old. A twelve-year-old boy, that is. We got along wonderfully.

That is, if you consider getting along constant arguing and furious competition over anything and everything, from who can eat their breakfast cereal the fastest to who can fart the loudest.

It was all in fun. We loved to challenge each other, to push each other's buttons. Teasing was our childish way of saying "I love you." For we loved each other dearly. I've never been as close to anyone as cousin Rachel. Even today I can call her up at any time, even when we haven't spoken in years, and I can feel the special bond over the phone line. We're more like brother and sister than cousins.

But Rachel's Mom thought we were sent from hell to torment and annoy her. We were loud, obnoxious, thoughtless, and daring. We loved nothing more than getting each other in trouble, which usually meant the two of us getting spanked together. I couldn't begin to count the number of spankings we got that summer. It was over a dozen, I'm sure.

Rachel was used to getting spanked. She'd perfected the art of brattiness a couple years earlier and got her tush warmed nearly every week. According to her, at least a couple times a month she got a "real" whipping, like the kind I could only imagine before that summer. I was not used to spankings. I'm a good kid, an only child. My parents were strict but fair, and the few spankings I got when I was young were enough to instill holy terror in me so that just the threat was enough for me to change my behavior.

But Rachel and I together were a different story. There was something incredibly exciting about being around her, feeling the life energy that bubbled out of her. Around her, I lost my head. I went wild and crazy. I did things I would never have done on my own. The same was true for her, to a lesser extent, perhaps, but true. Competing for adult attention, the two of us together were proportionally worse than either of us alone.

The first I knew of spankings was the evening of my arrival. Mr. Ramsey asked me, in a stern "man to man" voice, to come into his office for a few minutes. There was something ominous about his formal posture and tone -- I followed him obediently, my heart trembling. I had always been a bit intimidated by Mr. Ramsey. He was a big man, well over six feet, and built like a truck. He was hard and seemed rather cold and distant, especially to kids. I saw him hug his daughter once or twice, and smile at her, so I knew he _could_ be friendly. It just wasn't his native state.

In his office he closed the door behind me. He asked me to sit, but I was too nervous. I just knew something dreadful was coming.

"Son," he began, placing a monstrously heavy hand on my shoulder, "I'm glad you could stay here with us. Our family is honored to have you and pleased. And I know Rachel is excited. But I want to show you something."

I couldn't imagine what he was getting out of the desk drawer. Images of a gun or knife flashed in my head, but when he spun around holding an old leather belt, so worn it was cracked in places, and missing a buckle -- I nearly fell over. The pit of my stomach dropped to my ankles and I felt this huge weight on me, like I was being squished by a 500-ton rock. I couldn't move or breath.

There was only one thing a belt like that could be used for.

"Ah, I see you know what this is!" he cried, pleased. "Yes, this is what I use to punish Rachel when she needs it. I'm showing it to you because I want it to be clear that while you're a guest in the house, you're still subject to its rules just as much as my own daughter. I won't hesitate to use this if I have to. My wife -- your aunt -- is also prepared to take you in hand if required. Do I make myself clear?"

I stared at the belt, unable to make a sound. I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. Two things were passing through my head. One was the vague but incredibly terrifying idea of that heavy belt connecting with my butt. It seemed too hideous to be real. The second was the more pleasing thought of that belt connecting with Rachel's butt. I'd been in love with that butt within five minutes of arriving, as I followed her tight jeans up the stairs to the guest bedroom.

"I've spoken with your parents about this, Mark. They are in full agreement and my wife and I been given total authority to discipline you as we see fit. Do I make myself clear?"

The threat in his voice was undeniable. I nodded, the barest hint of a nod, and he turned and put away that mesmerizing belt, freeing me from my paralyzed state.

"M-may I go, sir?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"Sure. We're finished here. Just remember--" He patted the desk meaningfully.

I gulped, nodded, and ran. I wanted to get as far away from that office, him, and that strap, as I could. My legs were trembling as I left. I'm sure I was pale, too. I badly needed to pee.

The last person I wanted to see at that moment was sitting on the stairs a few feet from the study door. She had a big smirky grin on her face and she popped her chewing gum noisily.

"Pop show you the belt?"

My mouth went dry. I was too astonished to think. How could she know? And how could she dare even _say_ that word!

"Figures. He wants to establish his authority right away. Put the fear of God in you, all that sort of shit."

The language shocked me even more. Her father was not five feet from me, right on the other side of a closed door. From his talk and the standards of the house I had no doubt that using that kind of language was not allowed and would be dealt with harshly.

Rachel grinned and winked at me. "Come on," she said, standing and turning, offering me her round rump to follow up the stairs. "Don't let him get you down. His bark is worse than his bite."

I didn't even know what she was saying. I just followed that big bottom right up those stairs to her room. The whole way I kept thinking of that belt, mentally calculating how much of her ass each stroke would cover, if her butt would jiggle under the blows, and wondering if her bare skin would change color. Surely it would. Probably a nice pink!

These thoughts did a number on me. I had an erection like you wouldn't believe. It was a strange erection. Usually went I got one it was at an awkward moment, so that wasn't new. But usually they didn't last long. This time, I was rock hard for nearly a half hour!

I think it was the fear that did it. Back in Mr. Ramsey's office, thinking about Rachel's butt had made me swell a bit. Thinking about the belt on my own ass had shriveled me up good. The subsequent up-and-down the next few minutes bewildered me. First, there was gorgeous Rachel on the stairs. Definitely an upper. But then she knew what had been going on in the office. A downer. Then she headed up those stairs and I nearly burst out of my pants. Then I was in her room. It smelled of lavender and was filled with sexy, feminine things. I was seeping.

But then she started talking about spankings, flopping herself sexily onto her bed, rolling over and staring at the ceiling, reminicing about this spanking or that whipping or telling me to watch out for her mother's paddle.

"She carries it with her everywhere," she said. "It's really annoying. I have to be careful not to misbehave at the mall or Mom says she won't hestitant to paddle me right there on one of those benches by the fountain!"

It was more than I could stand. I stumbled to a chair near Rachel's desk and raised my legs up with my chin on my knees as I watched her talk. It was a difficult, painful pose, but far less embarrassing than her noticing my erection.

Then a strange thing happened. Instead of her talk of spankings _shrinking_ me, like it was supposed to do, I began to get _more_ excited. Of course I was primarily thinking of her being spanked, so when she mentioned "bare bottomed spanking" my heart forgot to beat. That concept was overwhelming. Even imagining myself getting the belt, the heavy leather cutting into my bare butt, didn't help. I was excited now and nothing could interfere. I wanted desperately to be alone, yet I didn't want to leave my fascinating cousin and I never wanted her to stop talking in such a casual manner about subjects that were so foreign and forbidden to me I could barely _think_ about them.

So, that first night of my arrival, I sat and silently listened as my cousin told me of the time she got a bare bottom outdoor switching for coming home after curfew. "Mom was waiting for me on the porch, that long evil switch in her hand. I knew then I'd made a dreadful mistake."

Then there was the time she got paddled at school -- and her father gave her a double dose when she got home. Rachel told me about dozens of spankings, all told in a gleeful, rather bemused tone, as though the painful experiences had simply been part of a wild adventure.

Finally I could take it no more. "B-but doesn't it HURT?"

She sat up and stared at me, huge round eyes bright with life. "Hell yeah!" she shouted. "What do you think!"

"I... I don't know," I mumbled, feeling hot tears stinging my eyes. I blushed and turned away, my body hot with strange emotions.

"Aw, it's not so bad," she whispered kindly, kneeling beside me. Her warm hands touched my leg and electricity shot through me. I nearly jumped. "It stings quite a bit at first, then it really burns for a while. Then... well, then it's... then it's not so bad, really. Kinda warm and fuzzy."

While she spoke she was rubbing my thigh in an encouraging fashion. It encouraged me terribly. I was in agony.

Rachel frowned. She could see I didn't understand. "It's kinda like... well, have you ever done something that was really difficult? Like you tried and tried and couldn't do it and then one day you _did_ do it? You actually succeeded?"

I nodded.

"Well, that feeling of accomplishment, of getting through it, making it, succeeding, _that's_ what it's like. At least a little. I mean before it starts you think you're going to die, you can't survive it. Especially when you know it's going to be a really hard spanking. But then you survive. It's over and you're still alive. Your butt hurts, but it's a warm, _living_ hurt. I actually like that. At night I lay in my bed and I can feel my butt pulsing."

I didn't know what to say. The image of Rachel fondling her own butt was beyond my newly acquired teenage brain.

"When was the last time you got spanked? It must have been a long time ago."

I nodded. "I must have been six or seven," I mumbled.

"Really? Wow! I just got spanked last night!" She giggled. "I burped during dinner. Mom hates that. She used the hairbrush on me right in the living room." Rachel's eyes flashed at me. "She said for me to remember that even though my cousin Mark was coming, behavior like that would always earn me a bare bottomed spanking right then and there."

I gasped. "You mean--"

Rachel shrugged. "That's what she said."

"But for burping? That's ridiculous!"

My cousin blushed slightly. "Well, it wasn't exactly one burb. More like a whole bunch. I was sorta trying to see how loud I could do it, and I didn't pay attention when Mom told me to stop."

Right then I knew this was going to be a summer I'd never forget.

* * * * *

Slyly, I peeked at my cousin out of the corner of my eye. Rachel was leaning away from me, looking out the window with a bored, disgusted look on her face. I could tell she was annoyed with me -- I'd ended our fun.

Stealthily, I slipped my left hand across the seat. With Rachel leaning, the outer cheek of her bottom was lifted slightly, giving me the barest gap. It was all I needed. My hand plunged in, palm up, the fingers digging their way into Rachel's crack.

The goose was a good one. My cousin let out a screech of outrage and rose off the seat, which gave me easier access. I pushed my fingers deep into the base of her crack and squeezed a hunk of her cheek as hard as I could.

"Owwwwww! Hey, you little bastard! I'm gonna--"

There was the screech of breaks and the car shuddered and rumbled to a stop on the side of the road. Rachel and I were staring at the front seat where we could see Mrs. Ramsey was not amused.

"Mom, he pinched me!" cried Rachel.

"What are you talking about?" I said calmly, leaning back, my hands innocently at my side. "You're nuts."

"I don't care who started it," said Mrs. Ramsey, speaking in an overly-ennunciated fashion that boded trouble, "I'm going to finish it. You are both going to be paddled right now!"

She reached into her purse and took out the now-familiar paddle. It was small, perhaps ten inches long including the handle, and about four or five inches wide. But boy did that thing hurt!

I gulped and looked at Rachel, wondering if this was such a brilliant idea. Mrs. Ramsey certainly looked pissed. Perhaps we'd pushed her too far. Rachel didn't seem too worried. She sat with her arms folded in front, pouting.

"It's not fair," she mumbled as she got out of the car. "It was HIS fault."

"Hurry up," said Mrs. Ramsey. "You, too, Mark. Out of the car."

Soon we were standing beside the car on the a deserted stretch of road. There were no other cars -- for the moment.

"Pants down and lean over the trunk," ordered the woman. Reluctantly, my cousin and I complied.

Getting spanked with my cousin was no longer such a foreign idea. I'd already experienced several, but those had been in the privacy of the Ramsey home. This was out-of-doors, where anyone passing could see us. It was creepy and terrifying. It was also wonderfully exciting.

My cock swelled at the sight of Rachel's plump cheeks straining against her nearly translucent panties. She leaned against the car, her jeans in a pile around her ankles. I joined her, pressing close against her since there wasn't much room. I loved the feel of her hip against mine.

Then Mrs. Ramsey took down her daughter's underpants. I could feel the material brush against my leg as it descended. Rachel wiggled and moaned in vain protest. Leaning back slightly and looking over my shoulder I caught a vague sight of bare flesh, but the details were left to my imagination. I didn't press my luck for a better look -- at my first spanking Mrs. Ramsey had warned she'd have her husband take the belt to me if she caught me ogling.

My own underwear made the same trip down, leaving me bare below the waist. It was a strange feeling, the cool, outdoor breeze against my skin, my stiff little cock pressing against the cold metal of car. I could feel the warmth of Rachel against me as we leaned forward, standing on tiptoes and arching our backs so our butts thrust out better.

Rachel's hand grasped mine and squeeze tightly. "Here goes," she whispered, giving me a brave smile. I winked at her and nodded. Then the pain began.

Though I'm no expert, I'd say Mrs. Ramsey is an excellent spanker. She certainly makes effective and efficient use of that little paddle. She starts off at a rapid pace, delivering ten smacks in ten seconds. The heat and sting that builds up is truly incredible. It comes so quickly you don't have time to dodge or prepare for it. By the time your brain has concluded that you should avoid the situation you're in, she's moved on.

I heard Rachel gasp and felt her body tense. Then the cracks of the paddle became audible, a dull, rather puny SPLAT-SPLAT-SPLAT of wood against bare flesh. It sounded very different from the thunderous roar it made in Rachel's bedroom, and different again from the echoing gunshots of the big Ramsey living room, the only two places I'd heard the paddle before. Here it was lost in the wide open fields.

Suddenly I felt a ferocious stinging in my right buttock, then another and another, and I heard myself screaming. It was hideous, alright. Maybe the paddle didn't sound as impressive out-of-doors, but it sure hurt just as much -- perhaps more. It felt like Mrs. Ramsey was swinging that thing with even more force than I'd ever felt before. Every blow pressed my body further and further into the car. I wondered if she were trying to fuse us together. Then it was over, and I dimly heard the paddle walloping Rachel again, and I had a few seconds to breath and blink the tears from my eyes.

How many times did she go back and forth? I have no idea. I tried to keep track, but I kept getting confused over whether six was the number of times she'd whacked me or the total between my cousin and I. Whatever, it went on for a dreadfully long time after that, back and forth, again and again. Rachel and I were both sobbing and howling, our bottoms sizzling. At one point I found myself crying when Rachel was spanked, too confused to realize it wasn't me.

Then it was over. Mrs. Ramsey stood back and stared at us, two half-naked shuddering teenagers, our butts no doubt scarlet. "I hope that you two are learning a good lesson," she cried, and we both fervently agreed that we had.

"Good. Now I want you to both stay _exactly_ where you are. No moving. I'm going to be right back, and if I see either of you getting up or reaching back to touch your bottom, it's going to be the belt when we get home. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Ramsey," I quickly blurted.

"Yes, Mom," muttered Rachel.

Then the woman was going, heading across the empty field toward a grove of trees a hundred yards off, leaving the two of us frozen against the trunk of the car.

"God that hurt!" I cried, wiggling frantically. I wished desperately I could rub my behind but I didn't doubt that Mrs. Ramsey would somehow know about it. And a belting I just didn't need.

"That was a good one," commented Rachel. Her eyes sparkled with tears as she grinned at me. "I owe you a royal goose."

"The hell you do! I got plenty right now. We're even."

"We are not! This spanking doesn't make up for it. Tonight, after everyone's asleep, I'll come into your room and give you a good one. And you'd better let me or I'll scream and wake everyone up!"

"You wouldn't," I said shaking my head. My uneasy laugh sounded fake. "Your father would paddle us both!"

"He would. So unless you want another paddling tonight, you'd better let me goose you back."

Feminine logic. Just like Rachel. I knew she would do what she said, however, and though it made me nervous, it excited me too. Sneaking into my room after dark, well, that was extremely dangerous. She must really want to goose me bad.

We were quiet for a bit. Then a car swished by. We held our breath as it passed. It slowed slightly, but either the driver didn't see us or he figured everything was okay. Rachel and I were beet red as he drove off.

"That was close," breathed Rachel.

"What's keeping your mother?" I glanced over my shoulder, but Mrs. Ramsey was nowhere to be seen. She'd apparently entered the grove of trees. When I looked back at Rachel, I was startled. Her face had gone pale.

"Oh, fuck!" she cried.

"What is it?"

"I know what she's doing."

"And?"

Rachel looked at me, her face grim. "Looks like you get a new experience to add to your summer's adventures," she said bitterly. "Mom's off cutting some switches. Our spanking isn't over."

Terror gripped my belly. "S-s-switches?" I asked tentatively.

Rachel nodded. "Yup. God, I hate getting switched. It burns like hell and leaves the dreadful thin red marks all over your butt and legs. It hurts for a week afterward, and if you wear shorts everyone can see the marks and knows you got switched."

The tightness in my stomach increased. I glanced backward again, but Mrs. Ramsey was still invisible. "You really think--"

"Yes. She's really pissed. I think this little game of ours went a bit too far. I don't mind a paddling now and again, but switching's serious business."

Watching my cousin's face go dark with doom did strange things to me. While my own apprehension was approaching record levels, my excitement was also at an all-time high. Lying half-naked across the trunk of a car in the middle of a highway with my gorgeous cousin in the same position probably had something to do with it. I couldn't resist a peek.

"Your butt's really red!"

"So's yours," muttered Rachel, after a glance. "But it's going to get a lot redder. Here comes Mom."

I glanced back and sure enough, there was Mrs. Ramsey, exiting the trees and heading our way. In her hand was a number of long, freshly cut tree branches. My knees began to waver and my mouth went dry. My buttocks quivered and tensed in anticipation and fear. I realized I was incredibly sensitive -- just the cool breeze against my butt hurt.

"H-how many do you think we'll get," I mumbled, trying to keep the terror out of my voice.

"Quite a few, I'd imagine," said Rachel dully. "It looks like she's bringing enough for a dozen of us."

"Shit!" I said, trying to sound tough. After a moment, I whispered, "I'm sorry I goosed you, Rachel."

She looked at me, her eyes smiling though her face was filled with tension. "I know. You couldn't have known. I didn't even realize myself. I've never seen her so pissed."

Another glance showed Mrs. Ramsey a scant twenty yards away. Quickly, I hissed, "Tonight -- you can goose me as much as you want. Bare bottomed, even. I won't fight."

Rachel didn't answer, but I hoped, I really hoped, she'd do it. The thought of her sneaking into my bedroom at night was fantastic. I could see her, her body rising up next to my bed out the darkness, pale and luminous and beautiful. She was wearing her pink and white nightgown, translucent like a ghost in the moonlight. I could see hints of the shapeliness of her body beneath the gown: the swell of her breasts, the slender waist and curving hips, the vee of her crotch where the fabric pressed against her. I caught my breath and I ruthlessly pressed my aching cock against the metal car.

Then I heard the chilling sound of a thin stick being swished through the air. Next there was a hiss and a cry from Rachel. It was a high-pitched cry, more like a scream. I'd never heard her make a sound like that before. It turned my legs to water and I shuddered as the switch flicked again and again.

I'd counted five strokes when the sixth landed full across my butt. It caught me by surprise. Somehow I didn't move. The pain was startling. It was a thin of fire ruthlessly burning into my flesh. Again it came, and again. Each stroke was distinctive, individual, unique. I could feel the five separate lines pulsing across my buttocks when Mrs. Ramsey went back to Rachel.

Rachel's cries were softer this time, more moans than screams. They were loud, however. I think I was too scared to scream much during that first round, but the by the second I was howling.

In the midst of my switching, I vaguely sensed a pause, a hesitation, and when I looked up I saw a car passing. Mrs. Ramsey waved and the car moved on, slowly, and then the switch was again lighting fire to my ass.

After fifteen across the buttocks, she gave us each fifteen more across the back of the legs. I'd thought the strokes across my bottom hurt, but they were nothing like the inferno across my thighs. I sobbed until I had no tears left, and then I just lay there shuddering miserably.

Beside me, Rachel was in a similar state. Her body rocked against mine, the warm flesh of her hip against mine. I pressed closer to her, and she to me. Lost in the mind-numbing torment of the switch, we found faint solace in each other. She gripped my hand so tightly it hurt, digging her sharp nails deep into my palm. I bit my lip and allowed it, letting her release a piece of her agony through me.

Then it was over. Slowly, our dull senses sharpened. Backs stiff and muscles aching, we rose and stood shakily on our feet. It was hard work to bend down to raise our underwear and pants. Our buttocks were crimson with deep blotches of reddish purple and criss-crossed with sharp red lines. Touching the weals, I was amazed. The flesh was unbelievably sensitive. The faint brush of cotton underwear caused gasps. The feel of heavy denim brought forth audible moans.

Mrs. Ramsey had thrown down her switches and returned to the driver's seat, where she honked impatiently. We moved as fast as we could, which was at one-quarter normal.

I saw a lot of Rachel's private areas that day, standing beside the car as we struggled to get dressed. But everything I saw was like seeing it through the wrong end of a telescope. It was there, vivid and real, but far away. Right then, I didn't think of Rachel as sexy, though there was a faint part of my mind that tried scream things at me like "Look! That's her pussy! Lean over for a better look!" Instead I just saw Rachel as someone I cared about deeply, and I sympathized with her pain. When I looked at her welted ass, hot tears poured down my face and I wanted desperately to hug her, to lick away her tears and pain and make everything better.

When we were dressed I did hug her, briefly, and she smiled and hugged me in return. "Tonight," she whispered as I helped her into the car. My heart thudded loudly because I saw from expression something I'd never seen: it was filled with her usual daring and bravado, but there was also a sensitive vulnerable side. She was opening herself up to me, I knew that without her saying it in words. We'd shared unique experiences, and I knew that tonight we'd share another.

Truly, it was the best summer of my life.

The End

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