He licked up my ears and cheeks and ran his fingers into my hair. He said, “Poppa wants a kiss.” I kissed him again with a little tongue. He shook...his head and looked down. He was opening his pants and pulling out a flaccid cock. “No,” he said. “This poppa right here wants a kiss.”“Aw,” I said, taking it into my hand and rubbing the loose skin. “Wakey, wakey,” I said to it, to which Buddy laughed a little. I continued as it got bigger. Then I knelt down onto the tiled floor. He held his head up. I will never forget that sight, and what it meant to me. My eighteenth birthday was two days ago, and I was on a plane to see my baby. He and I had met on the internet about 8 months ago, and we were desperately, painfully, in love. Looking back, I think I had a mental breakdown. I had quit my job that month, and on the same day, my great-aunt died. I had just spent the last few weeks with my now suicidal grandmother, who had just lost her only baby sister. There were instances I had to. More

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