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“Here. Like that. You’ll make me cum.” She withdrew her hand and began to paw at my belt buckle. She opened my pants roughly and plunged her hands through the waistband of my underwear, grasping my ball sack with one hand, wrapping the fingers of her other hand around my shaft, stroking me hard. If I hadn’t already jacked off twice that day, I would have cum right there. Mrs. B. was staring me in the face, looking stern, but her face was reddening and her breathing more rapid with her oncoming orgasm.

“You should shower, big boy. I can’t take you home all sweaty. I’ll make us some drinks—vodka?”“Uh, sure.” Those were the days…

Maybe you and I do deserve to suffer for our wrongdoing. If that’s so, then it means that when things get painful, when things get difficult, we don’t have the luxury of quitting. We don’t get to end our lives to escape what we did. Whatever form the pain takes, we bear it, we endure it, we welcome it, all while we try to make this world a place where people like us, like how we used to be, have no place, and the people who would be hurt can instead live in peace. The next time you encounter an obstacle you cannot overcome, when you just want to curl up into a ball and quit on the world, remind yourself that you don’t deserve the peace of surrender. You have to keep working, to keep fighting, to keep suffering, until the day when you’ve fully repented.