I put both hands under the back of her t-shirt, continuing my massage with only her bra now a hurdle. Feeling bolder, I decided to go for the bra.“W...y don’t we loosen this up so I can get to your whole back?” I said as my fingers went to the hooks of her bra.Her eyes, which had been shut, suddenly opened and she turned her head to look at me.“That’s OK, you don’t have to, this feels good enough.” She said.“But this will feel so good.” I stated. “It’s quite alright.” I added.I didn’t wait. I. A lot of what we talked about was being adopted, and the things we remembered, or knew about our real parents, or our real homes. That word "real" isn't a good one in this context, because for all of us, we didn't remember much at all about our "real", or birth parents. We all had parents who had raised us, and who we loved, and who were our "actual" parents, and our memories of "home" were associated with the people we thought of as our parents. But when you're adopted, you can't help but. More

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