gina madonna falcone

The school year was coming to an end and I was busying myself with spring sports. I was doing track and field, distance events like the 1,500-meter run. I also tried my hand at pole vaulting, which did not go well. I had to quit vaulting before I really hurt myself. One particularly grueling Friday at practice, I noticed Mrs. B. in the bleachers watching. Faculty often wandered out to watch teams practice or play, but Mrs. B was rarely among them. She lingered when the practice was over, so I went over to say hi. She seemed genuinely happy to see me, even though she had been quite aloof in class or in the hallway.

Once the electricity coursing through her body had run its course, she waited a moment, just making sure her dad was still asleep. His breathing was still steady, loud yet muffled by the machine around his face. She was safe. Although she knew she should head back to bed after pushing her luck, she couldn’t get over her new discovery. She had to go back for another smell. A bit less careful now with her excitement, her hand quickly ventured back to her father’s patch of pubes, fingers running through it as if it where her own hair. Sarah propped herself on her elbow, and moved her head closer, chin rubbing gently against her dad’s thigh as she dared to take a direct whiff.

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