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‘Mommy, we need to get off this bridge and away from here,’ he says looking at his mother with tears welling up in his eyes. ‘My God honey, what’s wrong? Why are crying?’ Thinking she would think his imagination was running wild again, he says, ‘I’m scared the bridge won’t be here much longer.’ With that natural compassion mothers seem to have she says, ‘Oh sweetie, nothing like that is going to happen, these things are like sold rocks.’ With that, all hell literally breaks loose. The ground, if a bridge could be called that, starts shaking, glass breaks, people scream. But the roars, the roars only Spencer could hear, the sight of them, only he could see. The fear wells up inside of him. The pain is extreme. He wakes up in a cold sweet, heart racing, another nightmare. The same nightmare. The only nightmare Spencer ever has. That was the day that changed his life forever. Out of the two hundred and thirty-four people on the bridge that day, he was the one and only survivor to be. There was a nice indescribable feeling in her stomach and every time his penis went in her it was like a relief, like she had had an itch that couldn’t be scratched without somebody’s help. As they both came they hugged and she tightened her vaginal muscles around his penis, feeling pleasure and warmth. They both stayed, not moving, just breathing together and pressing their bodies close together. He got up and moved away, getting dressed and going to get a drink. She felt abandoned and alone, trying to get dressed under the covers and failing miserably. He came back, holding a beer and watching her, “What might you be doing?” she felt stunned to hear his voice, the utter sound of it that said it was his. “I’m getting dressed”. He didn’t say anything else and went back to his daily lifestyle of doing utterly boring things. She finally succeeded with her task of getting dressed and got up, seeing him sitting at his computer again, looking dead and utterly brainless. She got a.
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