I left the garage and went up to my bedroom. My mind was in turmoil, thinking of what I have done, of how different the relationship with my son has now become. The quilt was tugging at my brain, but the memory of the most intoxicating orgasm was so much stronger. I rolled up in a ball falling asleep in my bed.
The next few days I felt pretty guilty for permitting the incident to happen. How could I have done this? I kept asking myself. After all, I was the parent, I was the adult. I've broken the trust we have had between us.
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