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I have no one to whisper to. I have lost again and look away with eyes full of remorse and hurt and that glint of fear. Fear of the pain? No…more accurately described as fear of failure. What kind of mother will I be? Hands explore a surface so hard and round and promising, feeling that pulse of life within, wishing I could look like this forever and have someone to whisper to. And then the pain came, and I wonder why I was not in fear of it. Pain like a river, a waterfall, an earthquake…pain like a volcanic eruption that makes me scream and scream and scream. So much pain to deliver a life so small. Giving birth was perhaps the most painful and colorful moment of my life, the ripping of a soul that I’m not even sure exists. It tore from me like the wing of bird, disabling my flight through the azure dawn of existence. I felt that when I was crying my tears were made of glass because they hurt as they came out razor edges carving bloody scars down my cheeks dropping like bullets onto. I squirmed under his uncomfortably intense gaze as his eyes ran over my immature body. He had reached out with his too soft hands and caressed the tiny bumps on my chest, his thumbs circling my petal pink nipples. I remembered squeezing my thighs tightly together as his light touched caused an unfamiliar tingling between my legs. I had been aware that his breathing had quickened as his hands moved down over my childish body. My own breathing had been as rapid as my uncles. He had let his fingertips trace the contours of my little belly to my boyish hips and down my thighs. He had paused for a moment before sliding his hands between my knees to gently spread my legs. I had blushed as his gaze fixed on the slit of my prepubescent cunt. He had used his thumbs to part the outer lips and I heard his low moan as he looked lovingly at my tiny pussy. Oh, ma jolie catin, he had breathed as he bent down between my trembling thighs. Such a beautiful cocotte. I had jumped when he pressed a kiss.
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