She was pushing her chest out against the pressure of my hand against her, and pulled my other arm down so that she might grind her wet snatch against...my fingers. Her breath against my chest was shaky and hot as I kneaded her breast and she worked her hips on my hand. Indulging a curiosity, I gathered her hard pink nipple between my finger and thumb and rolled it, squeezing slightly. In mid-exhale, Leslie whimpered out a cry of pleasure and clapped her hand over mine on her breast, squeezed her. Yet the calm somehow remained. It seemed to have taken root in him as well.I looked down and saw my hand, moving, through strands of white silk. I had been stroking his hair, unconsciously, for how long I didn't know. His softness and curves denied me the perception that this body had parts similar to mine. His smooth skin, feminine shape and the position of things, recalled in me, the times I held girlfriends, or female-friends, in an attempt to steal their pain. Or share in the quiet of an. More

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