It rose up across the large mound of flesh upon Shay's chest, soon finding itself cupping a feel of one of Shay's large heavy breasts. She gave it a g...ntle squeeze. Kacie had felt her own, much smaller breasts before, as well as having a feel of a couple of her friends during sleepovers where they all compared their growing bodies. But this, this was a new experience. She loved the touch of Shay's breast. The large fleshy mound. The softness to the ample bosom that she caressed and squeezed in. After all, it was the night that Mom was shot. She certainly was not hurt, but if she reads this story and figures out which of her son’s shot her, that son might not be getting much in the way of Christmas presents this year. Confused? You should be. Let me start at the beginning. The year was 1972. We were living in a small town in western Pennsylvania. There were three of us: Roger was 15 and Rory was 10. I was the middle c***d, and 13 years old at the time. Now that my brothers and I were. More

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