Well thePrince's real name was Dave and his chariot was really a red Mercury.We kissed on the lips and got in his car, as he led us to the royalpalace...a/k/a his house. On the 20-minute drive, we talked about a few things. Justgeneral chitchat as he almost drooled at me. I warned him not to get inan accident, saying what would the cops say when they find out who andwhat we really are. I gave him a little show before we got there. Like most men heonly drove with one hand. So I figured I'd give. I shriek, "Don't touch me, you pussy!" as I cringe away and cross my arms over my breasts. They're safely concealed beneath my bra and blouse, but even that is too much for him to be allowed to see. Predictable, he quickly gives up and proceeds to drive me the rest of the way to our house. A few weeks pass and I start to relax and hope that perhaps this whole nightmare was just a joke or a game. Even if it is, I still haven't been able to let my "boyfriend" touch me or pleasure me in all of. More

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