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You are a miracle, my Rosie, and you have made another. I watch in wonder as your pretty hand finds my swollen dick all by itself - your eyes are closed - and when you feel its thick hardness, its springy stiffness, you open your eyes and smile at me, a lovely naked imp."Told you," you whisper. "Fuck me, Charles. Fuck me now."I smile back. I've never been so hard, not when I was a boy of twelve looking at my first Playboy centerfold. She was lovely - I still remember her - but compared to you, she was a blow-up doll. "No hurry," I whisper back, and bend my face to your gleaming, flaring pussy. Without a word, you pull your knees back and wide apart. More beautiful still, you are - so open, so submissive, so ready. You reach down with both lovely hands and pull yourself open for me, and turn your head shyly into your shoulder as you show me your deepest, wettest secrets. My eyes are blind with tears; I have never seen such trust, such beauty, such intimate hunger. I look up at your. A slight misstep and the tip briefly contacted the inner front of her left thigh. I was mortified. For a few seconds there was no change in her behavior. Then, there was a perceptible difference in the posture her body took, and she moved closer to me and the formerly inadvertent touch was reestablished. The connection was not so direct or overt, but rather it felt like a tentative exploration that made brief but sure contact, abandoned the field momentarily, then closed in again. It was if she was carefully examining it without looking at it or taking it in her hand to gain full comprehension. When the song ended, I led her back to the booth, and although we still sat across from each other, we now maintained contact at the ankles and both spoke more gently and studied each others faces more intently than before. I had a few misgivings that the glasses framing my face probably denied my attraction to the outdoors and sports, but felt good that sitting in the booth probably made me.
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