“Well, what they’re doing in those photos feels way better than getting a little thermometer in the rear. How old are you?” “Just turned eigh...een.” I said shyly. “You know what that means don’t you? If you wanted to, you could do what those guys in my magazines are doing and see for yourself what it feels like.” he pointed out. “Uh, I don’t know.” I said with great hesitation. “I’ll tell you what, let’s go to my bedroom and let me slip a Q tip into you. Should feel a lot like the thermometer. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ He asked viciously. ‘What’s with it all?’ I eyed him warily, not knowing what to do. After a second, I decided to feign ignorance. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I answered, taking a step backwards. His face darkened, and he took a few strides over to me, pinning me against the wall. ‘What do you want from me?’ He asked quietly. ‘How can I show you what I mean? How can I explain to you what you’ve been putting me through?’ He grasped my shoulders, and looked into. More

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