To wit: Public Notice to all readers of this letter who aren't older sisters of the poster: If the subject line of this post isn't Tammy Gets Even (Better) please complain to [email protected], where was I?It turned out that the first time between my boyfriend and me was his first time, period. I should have been more gentle with him, would have perhaps if I had known. But there I was, naked already, and he was so sweet, telling me how beautiful I was. I was feeling all achy and butterflies and my legs would just not stay closed. Thank goodness I had that condom.He told me as we were lying there. His head was lying on my breast, one arm thrown across me, one knee over my hips. We were drowsing in the afterglow, that time when you don't feel like moving, when its enough to hold him and remember how he filled you, how well you fit together, how you held him as he came and how you made it the best for him you could and it felt so good for you too, stretching, open, feeling his stroke. As an adult woman, the new bonding with her mother gave her occasion to try to understand her mother better. She discovered that she didn't know anything about her, didn't know what made her laugh, smile, or be sad; she didn't know what her favorite color was or what kind of music she liked to hear. As a mater of fact, her mother was a closed book that she had never been interested in opening to see what was inside her. Her mother was an absolutely unfamiliar person to her, and at twenty six, she wanted to know her, and begin to develop the relationship she should have when she was growing into adulthood.They had been confiding in each other several aspects of their lives for several months. Their bonding was taking effect as if they were two female friends, separated for many years, who meet again and have to get to know each other again, starting from what the relationship was when they separated. They couldn't bond as mother and daughter, a relationship that never was.On a cold.
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