She moaned towards orgasm, every thrust closer than the last. She doesn't say “Oh Anthony" because she really could care less about my name, or maybe its just too early to tell. On the outside, “Im the best thing she's had since she was in her early 20s (now 47) but on the inside I'm weeping. “Maybe she will love me, if I can give her 12 orgasms? 15? 20?” I think Naively to myself. I seem to have this “distorted perception" that I can open a heart with a key (The key being my penis in this example) the saddest part is that I know Its not possible, but I refuse to give up hope. She is what I'd call walking beauty. A 4"8 blonde that smile could brighten your day. Shes very smart and she loves to look pretty. Her heart comes with duct tape and super glue. She has been “traumatized" by bad social paths whom have taken almost everything from her. A few still call occasionally to “check in" and “make sure that pussy is still theirs" Most of these guys hold no significant power over her except for one. The husband. He was supposed to be everything she had dreamed of back in “91" when she met him. She fell deep, unfortunately before she caught onto the “drug problems, cheating, bad lifestyle" she was pregnant. She tried to make it work and to her credit she could sway him back towards the real world for a bit. Until her second pregnancy. At this point he looked at her as a woman looks at a tampon. “Let it soak up all the bad and throw it away"...