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”“Thanks.”Summoning all her courage, the wine helped, and loosened her inhibitions. A lilt to her head, hair draped as a curtain, she swept it from her face. Narrowed eyes burned for him, her glance flickered to his lips, and met his concerned eyes. The caress of her fingers from his forearm to sturdy bicep meant he fumbled his words.“Amy, you shouldn’t…”What were flames of lust all morning raged as a furnace. Listening to her body, instinct took over.Tender and enticing, those fingers caressed. But, now, age 33, I saw my life slipping away. I'd always been a romantic daydreamer and my daydreams were becoming more vivid and explicit, I made frequent recourse to the shower, hot water, and a hot hand.I married my husband when I was 19. He was a preacher in a fundamentalist church. I assured him that I was pure as the falling snow – and to make sure he believed me I used an old Italian trick I read about in a book. I took a small vial of chicken blood to bed with me on our wedding night. "Why don't you go and talk to Geneva?" he said. "She's pretty down. I did what I could. I think it would help, if you talked to her." OK, if you think so."I looked around the ship for Geneva and didn't find her anywhere, so finally I just knocked on her cabin door. She opened the door and looked out at me. Her face was still wet with tears."I just came by to talk to you," I said.She peered at me through the partially opened door for the longest time. Finally she stepped back, still not saying. The mother of one of his friends was sitting on a boy's lap in just her bra, I don't know what baffled him more, the lap sitting or the cleavage of the bra! Time for Lynn to fully understand where her afternoon was going. "Gee, Mrs Wesley, your tits look so nice, take off the bra and let's see all of them." As she reached for the clasp, she didn't cry, but I saw her eyes get moist. Those teary eyes were a real turn on for me. It's a shame I'm not into bestiality, it would be fun to see just how.
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