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But it may not sink in, as privacy means nothing to a child under three years old.
Your best bet is to look away or distract yourself with something else.
As my little hand started to stick and drag on my cock skin due to lost slipperiness, I found myself guided by some innate sixth sense to grab and upend the bubble bath bottle all over my hand and as the rich, blue detergent gave me back that longed-for slip and slide, I felt something unfamiliar happening in my balls and belly. And so I sat there all night, terrified that my father or mother (or even my nine-year-old sister) was suddenly going to yell, "Hang on, is that a freshly cut cunt in the sofa? I remember those women — curly-permed, over-tanned, well into their thirties, terrifyingly hairy — with huge affection. A roster of indulgent mums between whom I flicked and flicked with groaning haste, searching for the right one to witness my climax, before a foot on the creaking stair told me I had at best 15 seconds to clean up, stuff the mag back in the pile and be pretending to look for a dictionary when my dad came in.
), the end didn’t evoke pathos so much as a sense of absurdity.