x-asstr-no-archive: no 
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Russian Roulette
(MF, impreg, F-solo)

Leah S. 
(leahs31@hotmail.com)

Erin is a purely fictional character, but was inspired by some of my girlfriends who have reached 'a certain age' and can hear that biological clock ticking. 

As always, comments are much appreciated. Please email me at leahs31@hotmail.com if you get a kick out of the story, if you love it or you hate it, and especially if you feel a bit like Erin some days.

Disclaimer: please don't read any further if you find explicit sexual content offensive or if it is illegal for you to do so. 

Also, don't ever base your contraceptive practices on this story - some of the safe sex 'facts' are just plain wrong. 

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Erin was a successful executive, a career girl, a serial bachelorette who was just about married to the company and had never found time to have children. Some days she felt like a 'Sex and the City' star without the sex.

On her thirtieth birthday she'd decided that it was about time for a family, that when work settled down she'd find a man and start having kids. She was 34 now and work had never settled down. Every time her birthday came around, more of her friends would be married, and every time her mother would ask her why she wasn't one of them.

There was a plan. Oh yes, Erin had it all planned out. A year to find a suitable man, a year to get engaged, a year to get married, a year to get pregnant, two years before the next one, and voila! she'd have two babies by the time she was 40. Unless the second one was twins, God forbid. Twins were bad news, twice the childcare costs and three times more likely to get post-natal depression. If she had twins she'd call them Ethan and Elizabeth.

The trouble was, Erin didn't have much chance to look for that suitable guy. She worked ten hours a day, six days a week, then there was yoga on Mondays, the gym three nights, networking with clients one or two nights, and keeping tabs on her retired parents. That didn't give her a lot of options, aside from the man working at the next desk, her yoga teacher, and the pizza delivery guy. 

And even if she did find Mr Perfect before her reproductive system reached its use-by date, her troubles wouldn't be over. She couldn't imagine how she'd fit in time with the kids. Or who'd do her job while she was on maternity leave. Or who'd pick up the children from school, and take them to the doctor when they got sick. 

But every time she saw children playing in the park, she could just about feel her ovaries quivering in longing. Even puppies or kittens were enough to set off her maternal instinct. It was enough to make a girl think seriously about artificial insemination.

Mostly Erin behaved herself, and was content with her job, her yoga classes and her empty bed, but occasionally, just occasionally, she cut loose and went out looking for more.

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So it was that Erin ended up in a noisy bar one Friday night. She'd had a stiff drink, shaved her legs, put on her most unpractical underwear, and tidied her apartment (yes, she knew it was irrational, but she did it anyway). And she was out on the prowl.

Right now she was eyeing up the talent. Erin had gotten into the terrible habit of judging strange men on their genetic potential. There was one particular candidate here, a young blond guy in a Hard Rock Cafe tee, out with a bunch of his friends. Good teeth; nice regular features; could be taller, and a pity about the haircut, but definite potential. 

She watched him for a while without him noticing. Laughing, kidding around, drinking, but not drinking too much, she saw with approval. When he left the table and went to the bar, she approached from behind him, keeping an eye on him through the crowd. Urban lioness stalks unwary gazelle, she thought. Left the protection of the pack.

She stood beside him at the bar and eyed him up for a few seconds. She realised she was nervous. It was a while since she'd done this and she was acutely aware that she hadn't gotten any younger in the intervening time. Maybe he wasn't available, maybe he was gay... maybe he'd just laugh at her. 

Nature's perfect killer, she told herself resolutely, all teeth and claws, closing in at thirty miles an hour. She sidled closer and nudged his elbow.

"Hi," he said, startled.

"Hi. Slow, isn't it?"

"It is kinda slow. It's real busy tonight. Hey, scuse me, can I get five Bud Lights, please?"

"And one for me," called Erin, who would much rather have had a stiff whisky.

"Cool. So... do you come here often?"

"Uh, not really. It's not the sort of place I'm usually into." 

"Uh huh... So where do you work?"

"Downtown. Corporate, nothing exciting, just desk work really." Erin was losing patience with the conversation; she wasn't here to make small talk. And she was also getting decidedly antsy. "Got any plans for tonight?" she asked.

"Well, I'm out with the guys, we were just going to go to some bars, hang out, have some drinks. I heard there was a party on later. How 'bout you?"

"Yeah, I do have a plan." She took a deep breath, realizing her heart was thudding as fast as when she hit the sprint in her cycling class. Closing in for the kill! "I want you to come home with me."

"Say what?" Looked like he couldn't believe his ears. She could hardly believe she'd said it herself.

"Look, I'm sorry, I don't normally do this sort of thing, but, I want you to come back to my place. Is that OK with you?"  

"Uh... yeah! Yeah, I'd like to."

"Good." Perfect, she thought in relief, one swift bite to the back of the neck.

"Yeah. Good. Er, you mean, like, now? Do you want another drink first? I oughta tell my friends I'm going." 

"I'll let them know," she said. She grabbed his head, pulled him to her and fiercely shoved her tongue into his mouth. After a few seconds she pulled away and smiled innocently at his friends, who were staring, open-mouthed. Time to slink away with her prey. She put her arm around his waist, turned smartly on her heel, and headed for the door, trying to ignore the whistles and yells from behind them. 

In the stairwell, she stopped outside the men's room. "Go on," she told him.

"I don't need to," he said, puzzled.

"Yes, you do. You need to get some condoms. I don't have any. Go on," she gave him a little push.

"Wow, you're serious. OK, hold on." He pushed through the door, fishing for change in his pockets.

"You betcha," she told the door.

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Erin was already undoing his belt as they came up the front steps of her apartment. He got as far as the bedroom before she managed to get his jeans off. She kissed him hard, pushed him back on the bed and started unwrapping his package.

She was already damp between her legs. He was limp and a bit nervous, but after what Erin would later recall as "a bit of clumsy teenage fumbling and some remarkably proficient cocksucking", he was ready for action. 

"Where's the condoms?" she demanded from between his knees.

"In my pants," he said, a bit dazed. 

She got up, went to pick up his discarded jeans and rummaged in the pockets, came up with a condom packet and tore it open. Then she stood for a few seconds, clutching the open wrapper, turning her head warily to make sure he wasn't watching. 

You see, Erin had a game. She called it Russian Roulette. She hadn't played it in a while; in fact, she'd promised herself never to play it again. But she was sorely tempted. It was risky, of course, but then that was the attraction. 

What the hell, she thought. Just this once. 

With sudden resolve she shook the condom out onto the bedside table and firmly scored the exposed tip with her longest nail - once, and again in a cross. Not hard enough to tear the latex, but enough that there was a faint chance that it might break later, when it was inside her. Just enough to make the encounter... exciting.

She scooped it up and turned. Speed was essential now, she needed to get it onto him and get him inside her before he could see it properly. And before she could change her mind.

She sat beside him and held his gaze, reaching down and rolling the condom on by feel. She gave it a couple of tugs, made sure it was properly on and that the tip was good and full of air, then pushed him back and straddled him. "Told you I was serious," she said huskily, and slowly sank down onto him.

He wasn't much of a talker during sex, which was fine with her. She rode him slowly at first, to let him savor every inch. She knew she'd be extra hot inside at the moment; she'd been ovulating since the morning, and it was her most sexy time of month. After a few minutes she started to speed up, working him harder.

He was starting to pant, nostrils flaring. His hips began to work against hers, faster as he got more excited. When a hard thrust just about knocked her off him, she decided enough was enough and rolled over to bring him on top. She kept him inside her while they changed position, just in case there was something wrong with the condom - she didn't want to have to stop now.

He was rocking hard into her, straining, obviously he was almost there but he couldn't quite get it. "Let it out," she whispered, "it's OK, let it all go." She pushed her hips up to meet him. "Come on, just let it all go. Give it to me." Then he was coming, and she held him close, feeling him pulse inside her again and again. 

"How was that?" he asked, a few minutes later.

"Nice. But do you mind getting off of me? You're heavy."

"Sorry." He slowly pulled off her and knelt on the mattress next to her. Erin stretched lazily and gazed at the ceiling.

"Oh shit," he said.

"What?" Erin propped herself up on her elbows, alarmed. 

He was looking downwards, wide-eyed. The condom had become a small, torn and bedraggled collar around the base of his softening penis. There was cum all over. Russian Roulette, she thought dazedly, Russian Roulette with a million bullets and no blanks.

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A few minutes later, they were sitting on the side of the bed, a careful twenty-four inches away from each other. Each of them was lost in their own disconsolate thoughts.

Erin wasn't sure how early the rubber had broken, but it seemed pretty clear she'd taken his entire load inside her. No wonder he came so hard, she thought. It was probably the first time in his life he'd had his dick inside a real woman, as opposed to the inside of a condom. 

Well, she'd better do something about it. She sighed. "I've got to douche," she told him. "Don't go away." One hand cupped between her legs, she got up and gingerly waddled out.

When she got back from the bathroom, he was still sitting there, looking miserable. It made her feel a bit guilty. After all, she thought, it wasn't his fault, in fact if it was anyone's it was probably hers. Still, a condom shouldn't just fall apart like that, even with a little tinsy scratch on it. Though the same thing had happened last time she'd tried it... Anyway, there was no point in worrying about it now.

"It's OK," she told him, "these things happen."

"I'm really sorry, I didn't know it was broken. I should have checked."

"It's my fault too, I didn't look either. Don't worry, it'll be all right, I cleaned up right away. And it's not my fertile time of the month anyway," she lied.

"Well, I'm still sorry. If there's anything I need to do..."

"Don't worry, it's OK." She pulled back the covers and got into bed. "Look, come here and give me a cuddle."

He climbed in behind her, snuggled in against her back and put an arm around her. At first Erin could feel him trembling, but he slowly calmed down over a few minutes. She became aware that his sticky penis was lying on the back of her thigh, dripping uncomfortably close to her unprotected vagina, but decided it would be unfair to complain.   

Suddenly Erin was very tired. She reached out and flicked the bedside light off, thumped her pillow a couple of times, then wriggled back into him. It'd been a while since she'd had a man in her bed. Felt good. She rested, listening to his breathing slow and ease.

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"Are you asleep?"

"Nope. Are you?"

"No, I couldn't get to sleep."

"Me either. What time is it?"

"I think it's about midnight. I'm, um..."

"Ooh, yes, so you are. I can feel it poking me in the back. Here, let me..."

"Oof! That's nice."

"Mm, isn't it. Now where's your hand... here it is... You like that?"

"Oh! Oh, yeah..."

"Yeah, that's real good. Now let me just wriggle up a bit and you can..."

"Hold on! Just wait a minute. Don't go away." He rolled away from her and scrambled out of bed. Erin turned over and waited. She could hear him moving uncertainly through the bedroom, making little scrabbling sounds and bumping into things. It sounded like he was searching for something on the floor.

"What are you looking for?" she asked crossly, after a few seconds.

"My jeans. I've got another condom in my pocket. If we can do it again, I'll go real slow and make sure it doesn't break this time," he offered.

Erin thought it over. She was ready to go again, but it didn't seem fair to make him use a rubber this time - it hadn't exactly been much use earlier. Besides, she really wanted to have sex properly, with nothing standing between him and her. It was a bit risky since she was ovulating, but she'd chance it, just this once. She'd just tell him to withdraw.

"Look, don't worry about it. There's not much point now. Just come back to bed." 

"Well, OK... if you're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. But don't forget to withdraw. Pull out when you start getting close, I'll finish you off if you need it."

She felt him climb into bed. He hesitated a moment, reaching out tentatively to touch her. "Get over here," she told him, and opened her legs wide, hooking one foot over the edge of the mattress. A few seconds later she had him planted inside her.

He was slower this time. For about twenty minutes, he thrust into her, without seeming to get any closer to coming. Eventually Erin started to get bored. She decided he'd had long enough and needed a kick-start. She grabbed his ass, dug in her nails, and stuck her tongue in his ear. 

Results were quicker than expected. He gasped and went rigid immediately. "Pull out!" she demanded, alarmed, trying to squirm her hips out from under him. 

He scrabbled for purchase against the smooth sheets, managed to get up on his knees and pull himself out of her. He didn't get far, though. He was only a couple of inches out of her when he started coming. She knew he was about to ejaculate all over her but was in no position to do anything about it. 

The first squirt went right between her open pussy lips. The rest spurted into her bush. She could feel it splashing onto her as he gasped into her shoulder.

"Shit!" she said, "quick, get off me." He levered himself out from between her thighs and knelt on the bed, looking sheepish, as she sat up and frantically wiped herself with a corner of the sheet. 

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Oh, fine," Erin snapped, "apart from being liberally coated in semen." 

"Just as well I pulled out in time," he said with apparently genuine relief, scrambling over to lie next to her. She wasn't going to dignify that with a response. I should get him by the scruff of his neck and rub his nose in it, she thought.

Erin dabbed herself one last time, sat back against the pillows and sighed. She'd done her best, but a few rogue swimmers might be wriggling up her right now. For a moment she toyed with a vision of them queueing up at the entrance to her fallopians. She considered douching again, but decided against it - she didn't want to look like some kind of obsessive-compulsive hygiene freak.  

"Bedtime," she said, after a couple of minutes of silence. "Let's see if we can get some sleep this time, hmm?" She leaned over and kissed his forehead with weary affection. 

He smiled at her and clambered over her to get in where she had been lying. "Don't want to make you sleep in the wet patch," he said chivalrously.

"I am the wet patch, kiddo," she retorted, pulling her camisole over her head. "And if you snore, you're sleeping on the couch."

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Erin woke up to the sound of the shower running. Her muscles were complaining, her pubic hair was matted, her bed smelt of somebody else, and to top it all off, he'd stolen her robe and left his clothes lying all over the floor. She dragged herself out of bed and off to the kitchen, walking stiffly. Much coffee would be required.

Her new beau was still hogging the shower when Erin came back to the bedroom with a large mug of Nescafe. She put it down on the dresser and started to tidy up. While she was folding his clothes, his wallet just happened to fall out of his pocket and land with his driver's licence facing up. 

Erin sat on the bed and looked for the issue date. November 16, 1986. Assuming he got his licence at eighteen, that would make him about the same age as her. But no, that couldn't be right... 

Erin did a double-take. November 16 1986 was his birthday. The kid was just seventeen. Half her age exactly.

Half my age, she thought, horrified. I'm a cradle snatcher. Seventeen years, is he even legal? And what'll people say if I get pregnant? They'll think he's the older brother not the father... She hastily dismissed that thought. Now was not a good time to get pregnant, not with him or anybody.

Erin shook herself out of it and tucked the wallet back into his pocket. She still felt guilty, but it wasn't her fault if bars didn't ID-check their customers properly. 

She put her clothes away, stacked his on the bed, and went into the bathroom to make sure he was using a bathmat to stop water going all over the tiles (he wasn't). She could dimly see him through the fogged shower door. Might never see a real live naked seventeen-year-old again, she thought, better grab the chance now. 

She tiptoed up and opened the shower door to take a quick peek. Yes, it really was a nice view. He turned round, smiled, and flicked water at her, she squealed and retreated, he followed her and tried to splash her. One thing led to another, nature took its course, and before she knew it she was bent over the sink with her legs open, ready for a third round. 

It was a hot, soapy fuck. His flat stomach was making slapping noises against her wet rear. Half my age, Erin thought dazedly. She reached out and wiped the foggy bathroom mirror with one hand so she could see what was going on. She supposed she should be doing a Bridget Jones and worrying about whether this position made her tummy look saggy, but she was too busy enjoying getting her ass just about fucked off. 

She decided to make him pull out a lot earlier this time, she'd suck him off or something. Didn't need another pregnancy scare right now. Two in twenty-four hours were more than enough already. She just wanted a few more strokes first. God, yes, she just wanted to be banged really hard. 

He was speeding up, slamming her G-spot. She opened her mouth and tried to tell him to stop, but the words wouldn't come out. And then she was coming, and all she could do was cling to the edge of the basin and feel the waves of pleasure rolling up her spine. 

He came too, of course, it must have felt like his dick was caught in the wringer, what seventeen-year-old boy could resist that? He must have been just a few seconds behind her, and this time he didn't even try to withdraw.

There was a minute's silence, punctuated by panting. Erin finally pulled off him and straightened up slowly, the tendons in her thighs protesting. She dabbed at herself desultorily with a washcloth, but the situation was obviously hopeless. 

"I wanted you to pull out," she told him.

"Didn't feel like it to me," he said smugly. 

Oho, she thought, the little bastard's starting to get cocky. Must think he's onto a good thing. 

"Don't wipe it on the bath towels, use a flannel," she snapped, tossing the cloth at him. That would put him in his place, but not for long. She shooed him out and climbed into the shower, hoping he hadn't used all the hot water (he had).

When Erin got out of the shower and shivered her way to the bedroom, the kid's clothes were gone and her coffee was cold. 

She got dressed, pulled the sheets off the bed, and went out to look for him in the kitchen. All she found was a Post-it note on the kitchen bench - "Thanks, I had a great time, Damian". 

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Alone in the apartment again, Erin finished clearing up, threw all the sheets and towels in the wash, and sat down to reflect with a fresh cup of coffee. She was glad he'd been mature enough to realize he wouldn't see her again, but a bit miffed that he hadn't the manners to pretend to want to. 

Well, so much for him, she thought. Let the seventeen-year-old girls have him, and good luck to them. 

Anyway, there were more important things to worry about. After that last little performance, which she was now starting to feel a bit ashamed of, it was time to think about emergency contraception. 

There were some pills in her bathroom cupboard. She'd got an extra prescription last time this happened, or was it the time before? She fished them out and brooded. 

She might not be pregnant. She'd cleaned herself off the first couple of times, and the third time he was all soapy, which couldn't be good for sperm survival. Then again, she might be. She was certainly ovulating and she felt fertile. An unplanned pregnancy with no father in sight was the last thing she needed. 

Either way, she wouldn't be able to tell yet. She decided to leave it a couple of days and think it over. She still had a bit of time. "They call it the morning-after but it's actually effective so long as you take it within 72 hours," the doctor had said. She put the pills back in the cupboard.

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Erin had already decided not to go into work that day, even though there were a lot of jobs that needed doing. She felt languid. Lazy. Like lying round in her underwear all day. She went into the lounge, put a DVD on, and proceeded to ignore it and curl up on the couch with her nose in a book. 

Her muscles were sore, especially down there, but she felt good. It was something like the feeling you get when you've just had a huge meal and need to lie back, relax, and let your body work on digesting it... but not quite.

Later, she went into the bathroom and turned on the taps, filling the room with steam. She found a buttermilk and orange bath bomb from Lush at the back of her bathroom cupboard, dropped it in. 

While her bath ran, she went to the kitchen and found some chocolate and dried fruit. She uncorked a bottle of red wine and started pouring herself a glass, but checked herself halfway and tipped it down the sink. 

She took her book and snacks to the bathroom, slipped into the tub. For an hour she soaked herself, trailing her fingers through the water, lying back with her hair under the surface. Finally she got out and dried herself with her biggest, fluffiest towel.

Erin stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror and gazed at the swell of her tummy, a sight which would normally send her fleeing for the gym, but today gave her a strangely tender feeling. She cradled her belly and smiled serenely at herself. Turned and looked at her profile, running her hands up and down the rounded curve of her stomach.

She cupped her breasts, lifting them and testing their weight in her hands. Her nipples looked swollen. She thumbed one of them and gasped aloud. So sensitive.

She needed more of her own touch. She left the bathroom, wet tiles and all, sashayed off towards the bedroom, her full hips swaying. Climbed onto the stripped bed and lay down, propped up by the pillows. Spread her legs, knees wide apart.

Erin slid one hand down her front, into the warmth between her open thighs. It explored her genitals, lightly stroking, feeling between her folds. Slowly it worked up and down, finally centering in on her clitoris. She rubbed herself slowly, discovering the sensations as if for the first time. She craned her neck forwards to inspect herself, watch her fingers moving. 

Her other hand trailed over her stomach, exploring the gentle curve. As her excitement grew, it moved upwards to her breast, onto the nipple, where it rubbed, tugged, milked. She was getting hot now, something building inside her. She cupped her breast and reached down to take it in her mouth. Lapping the nipple first, then taking it in and sucking hard. Suckling herself like a baby. Her hand was frantically working her clit now. She bucked her hips, clamped down with her mouth on the erect nipple. 

The orgasm came, swept over her. She was left panting, legs splayed, wrapping herself in her arms.

It took her a few minutes to recover. She'd made a wet patch on the mattress protector. No matter. She levered herself up off the bed and carefully made her way to the lounge, there to read her book and do nothing that needed doing.

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Erin padded into the kitchen in her robe. She was hungry, and though it was Saturday night and she'd been lazing around the house all day, she didn't really want to go out. On the spur of the moment she decided to cook. She hadn't cooked a proper meal in her own kitchen for weeks! She started going through the cupboards, looking for food. Half the contents of the fridge were outdated and had to be thrown away (and most of the rest were leftover takeout).

Eventually she inspected her spoils: instant polenta, a can of Italian tomatoes, the tail-end of a wedge of blue cheese, some side bacon, a jar of garlic and a frozen blueberry cheesecake. Perfect. Super-calorific, but then she might be eating for two now... 

An hour later, in the lounge, Erin licked the last of the cheesecake crumbs off her plate and set it down. Mm, good. She patted her full stomach fondly and lay back in her recliner.  

She drummed her fingers for a few moments. There was something she'd been thinking about earlier. She'd read about it in a book and wanted to try it. Well, why not... She got up and went through to the kitchen, left her plate in the sink and poured a little light olive oil into a ramekin dish. 

Returning to the lounge, she tilted the chair right back, clambered into the seat and put her feet up on the leather armrests. She reached down and dipped two fingers in the oil, then put her hand between her legs, located her perineum and started to gently massage it. 

She hummed softly as she rubbed her fingertips in little circles, oiling herself. They said this was supposed to soften the skin and prevent it from tearing later. It certainly felt good... After a while, the lounge was filled with Erin's quiet gasps and moans.

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Around eleven o'clock on Sunday morning, Erin was sitting in her beanbag chair and looking through her sisters' baby photos, when she realized that something terribly important was missing from her life. Something that she needed very badly. She couldn't quite put her finger on it... Pickles! Of course, that was it. She needed pickles, and right away. She got up and raided the fridge. Thank God, there was a half-full jar of dill pickles at the back of the top shelf.

About ten minutes later, the jar was empty and the pickles were in Erin. "That was silly," she said, licking her fingers bemusedly. Then she started giggling and couldn't stop.

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Time passed languidly. 

Monday morning arrived. She woke up at half past nine and called the office to tell them she had the flu. Then she rolled over and went back to sleep.

The day went by in a warm, dreamy haze.

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That night, however, she was on edge. Time was running out. Her deadline was approaching: seventy-two hours from unprotected intercourse. Soon she would have to make a decision.

By 9:30, Erin must have checked her watch a dozen times. At 9:55 she finally went back to the bathroom and found the little card of pills in the cupboard. 

Seventy-one hours and fifty-five minutes, if she counted from ten o'clock on the Friday night. If she counted from the second time (she had douched after the first accident, after all), then she could wait a bit longer... 

No, it was now or never. She popped out a pill onto the bench and stared at it.

To take it, or not to take it? Of course she should take it; who'd ask for unplanned pregnancy, solo pregnancy at that. And yet... and yet, if she threw away this chance, when would she get another? Three years according to her master plan, after the courtship and the engagement and the wedding. If there ever was a wedding, if she wasn't single for the rest of her lonely life... 

Seventy-one hours and fifty-seven minutes. Do it, she told herself, you know you have to. Time's running out. She watched her hand go down, pick up the pill, come up to her mouth. She licked the pill off her palm and held it on her tongue...

She swallowed. The pill was gone, there was a bitter taste left in her mouth, and she was officially not going to have a baby.

She chased it down with a glass of water, pushed her hair out of her eyes and leaned over the basin with her chin in her hands. The honeymoon was over and the real world was starting to crowd in. She'd have to be back at work at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. And she'd be dizzy and nauseous from the pill, too. 

On the bright side, it'd make her imaginary dose of flu pretty convincing. She was starting to feel guilty about pulling a sickie when work was so busy. But everyone's entitled to some time off, she told herself. She couldn't remember the last time she'd taken leave. Was it as long ago as Christmas? They kept cancelling her annual leave because she didn't use it.

She went to the kitchen for a bowl, in case she got sick during the night, and took it back to the bedroom. She sighed as she went past an ominous stack of papers in the lounge - the sequence reports she was supposed to have read in the weekend and hadn't. She'd probably have to stay late at the office for the next few days and catch up on the work she'd missed.

You must be more careful, she admonished herself as she got into bed. Only suitable men from now on, preferably at least your own age. No more seventeen-year-olds. And no more of this darn Russian Roulette. This is absolutely the last time. 

But there was still a strange ache somewhere inside her, as if she was missing something she'd never really had, and she knew that it wouldn't really be the last time.



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Comments to leahs31@hotmail.com please! L.

