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The timid kid turned into a firecracker, hands all over her, fumbling the zipper of her skirt, pushing it down. She helped him, pulling down her nylons as he kissed her neck. When she was naked enough he shoved her ass against shelves of ground beef, her head by the boxes of lemons and limes. The smell of citrus, she tells me, dirty still brings her back. In the story, my father is the possessor of a dirty tremendous uncut cock which he thrusts into her, pulsing in and out of her deep, wet, throbbing dirty hole. They fuck for "some time" (that's how she tells the story -- as if the exact time of the fucking is the one part of the tale that's too much for my tender ears -- and this is one of many things I don't understand about my mother). Then he pulls out, falls to his knees and sticks his tongue into the bush of curly red hair that surrounds her clit. After he brings her to orgasm, she turns and lets him pummel her from behind. Her head is almost entirely submerged in a pile of lemons when he comes.
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