Mom showed me some old pictures of her but she doesn’t speak about her much,” Paul sighed.“No William Balfour didn’t beat grandma. He beat you...mother. He beat me. He beat his wife and son,” Peter sighed.Paul was speechless. He let the bottle of beer fall from his hand.“I buried him there,” Peter pointed to a depression in the sandy soil.Something told Paul not to ask his father whether it was poor health, an accident or something else that had killed his grandfather. His mother never spoke of. I carried on, licking her eyes, ears, nose and cheeks and anything else I could reach before releasing my hold of her and slowly beginning to crouch down licking at her as I went lower, her neck and throat then her chest and breasts and I slowly shuffled her back towards the armchair as I did so.Mother was standing directly in front of the armchair and I was on my knees and had my tongue trying to pry its' way into her belly-button when we stopped moving backwards. Her breasts were heaving in. More

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