Daddy Fucked My Ass At The Bowling Alley

The neon glow of Lucky Lanes was blinding. The shoes were hideous. My bowling was absolutely pathetic. But my father Arthur didnt care about my gutter balls. He stood behind me, adjusting my grip on the ball, his chest warm against my back. Patient. Endless. Hungry. When the last frame ended, he bent me over the scoring table and showed me what a real strike looked like.