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Pythagoras Was Nowhere In The Picture

Pythagoras Was Nowhere In The Picture

By Peter_Pan - Mar 12, 2008 2947 Life as a private tutor is not without its perks.
Teaching might well be termed the “noble profession, ” but at the same time it can set in train some diabolically risky situations. I should know….I have been a hired educationalist these last three decades and this is but one such early encounter.
New-Age thinking insists that obstacles and difficulties which befall us during our lives are in reality no more than “opportunities” in disguise. Such might be up for protracted debate admittedly, should a wayward semi carouse through your lounge-room one evening midway through CSI, or a herd of marauding bison trample you underfoot in South Dakota mid vacation.
Denise though was infinitely more of a challenge!
I was in my mid thirties at the time. Having had it big-time with the State educational boards and being tired of High-School theatrics and the one dimensional power- plays inside most staff rooms, I decided I could do no worse as a private teacher.
As it happened, it proved to be a great career move. In charge of my own destiny finally, rather than being at the whim of some lame-brained politically incorrect school Principal, I developed a greater pride in my vocation, taking pleasure from helping individual students to understand what the education system appeared unable to pass-on within a class environment.
My specialty, if you can accurately describe it thus, is remedial work. Parents call me in when their child is having difficulty with mathematics or science – most usually around the sophomore stage but occasionally even in their final year.
Denise in fact had only nine months left to graduation.
Her father, a prominent up-state attorney, was from the “nothing short of perfection cuts it in this world” school of thinking. Straight A’s for his children were the lowest acceptable ranking and anything less than the number one class position at year-end was an embarrassment to be endured. Failure was not an option let’s say!
Denise as it happened sat well inside the top percentile band of math students…having done so since sixth grade. She had simply pulled down a B plus in an early year-twelve spot test which had been enough for her father to throw a nervy turn, insisting he call in a home tutor to ‘rectify the problem’ before it was too late. Denise was both demeaned and upset by the suggestion but like everyone else in the family, powerless to argue or reason with this particular control-freak.
Thus it was, I was ushered late that Friday afternoon into the lofty hallway of the Sanderson manor, a riot of mosaic flooring, scatter rugs and marble statues. Conrad Sanderson himself, splendidly attired in an Armani tuxedo and on his way to some sort of legal-eagle ball downtown so I learned, escorted me up the semi-circular staircase to Denise’s suite of rooms somewhere along the east wing.
“Just suss out her problem areas and help her as best you can, ” he muttered, knocking on his daughter’s suite.
Best I describe for you in detail, the young lady who now stood before us.
‘Pretty, ’ does her an injustice. Just seventeen, Denise radiated both a poise and elegance that belied her years. Still attired in her immaculately pressed school uniform, everything about her was ultimately feminine and desirable. From the neat collar and cuffs of her blouse to the hem of her shortish but fully decent skirt, she exuded confidence and dignity. Her quite obviously natural copper-colored hair hung shoulder length, framing a somewhat inquisitive visage whose light blue eyes would have stopped a T-Rex in full flight. Together with smooth cheeks that had surely been sculptured from the finest alabaster on hand, backed-up with generous lips that would be in majorly serious demand in the coming years, here was a package that could not only reduce the average man to an outpouring of nonsensical gibberish but would be likely damaging more hearts in the short term than a regular intake of a Quarter-Pounder and fries.
I shook her hand upon her father’s introduction and noticed that she maintained eye-contact where other girls might have betrayed a hint of embarrassment or insecurity.
Having been married for well over a decade…and happily so I may add, let me state for the record that I had never strayed from the fold, not even looked at another girl to be honest. This was but a child technically and yet something about her captivated me on the instant.
“Well I expect you will want to be getting on with it, ” Sanderson barked, obviously impatient to be on his way. “The housekeeper will let you out when you are finished, ” he added as a seeming afterthought, before heading off without so much as a backward glance. Denise looked momentarily embarrassed by his curt manner but smiled sweetly at me nevertheless. I followed her into the room.
Ultra feminine young girls normally have ultra feminine sleeping quarters. It emphasizes their sexual birthright and highlights their orientation. Denise as I said had a small suite of rooms to color her world. Her “ante-chamber” as one might assume it to be, contained classic period furniture that would have set daddy back many a long hour in the Supreme Court. Pretty light green drapes that matched the painted décor, hung at the huge bay window that was wide enough to host a leather-ingrained desk, presently piled up with school-books at one end. Another table, smaller, but with chairs clustered around it, sat against the left wall. Home to a state-of-the-art computer system, it was to this that she led me. I had a momentary glimpse of an expansive bedroom through the far doorway, containing what looked like a four-poster adorned with a coverlet and cushions from the Persian Empire. Denise lived comfortably it appeared!
Ushering me to a chair she sat down herself, looking at me somewhat expectantly. I touched upon her father’s concerns and asked if there were any areas she would like help with? Unable to nominate any she merely commented.
“It’s just the way dad is Mr. Carr. He thinks anything less than total perfection is “failure.” He wants me to go to Law school with a perfect one-hundred percent examination record.” She lowered her pretty head for a moment.
“I don’t even want to be a lawyer, ” she confided. I thought I could see a few embryonic tears and wanted to cuddle her more than anything right then.
“What is it you would like to do then Denise?” I asked.
Hastily controlling her emotions she looked up again.
“Something with children…..disadvantaged families, ” she replied. “I’d really like to make a difference to a few kids’ lives. Give something back to people who have had way less fortunate lives than me.”
It wasn’t so much her words as the sincerity of them that touched me. I knew right then that she was more than just a pretty young girl…she was something else com completely. She possessed the unfathomable, something I recognized and sadly...needed.
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
“Anyway Mr Carr, ” she said smiling once again, “Since you’re here, maybe we should let you earn some of dad’s money…right?’ She leaned across the desk and retrieved some of her workbooks.
As it turned out, the session was not without purpose. Whilst she ranked at the fore-front of academic ability, perhaps the smartest young lady I ever had the pleasure of teaching, there were a few areas involving calculus and algorithmic logic that in her case, could benefit from a theoretical make-over. It wasn’t that she had failed to understand anything, merely that she had never been taught correctly.
By the second month, we had covered every aspect that needed attention. Her work ethic and retention capability quite astounded me but this paled into insignificance when measured against my own escalating obsession.
I was beginning to think of nothing else but that next Friday night. I desperately needed to be near Denise, to share in some small measure a part of her life….however insignificant that might be to her. I would gaze unhindered at her beautiful face as she might work at a problem, those expressive blue eyes of hers when they would flash with youthful pleasure at the point she might resolve an equation.
It was the week after she turned eighteen that the equilibrium was for ever fractured.
Pulling into the manor’s driveway at the appointed 8 pm. I was surprised to see Sanderson striding forth angrily from the front porch towards the chauffeured Mercedes. Fully ignoring my presence, he climbed into the limo, barking instructions to the driver who lost no time in circumnavigating the huge fountain before accelerating swiftly back down the driveway up which I had just cruised.
The puzzle deepened when Denise herself opened the front door to me.
“Is everything OK?” I asked
“Sure, ” she answered, a large smile creasing her face. “It’s just daddy – he fired the housekeeper a few moments ago.” She actually broke out into giggles. “Laura had just polished one of the hallway floors and dad slipped on it and spilt coffee all over himself. He was soo mad!” She all but collapsed in mirth at the recalled image it seemed.
“Well isn’t that rather unreasonable? ” I asked. “She was only doing her job.”
“That’s my dad, ” she replied, “But it’s Ok, he’ll calm down and re-hire her next week, he’s done it before.” She added breezily.
Closing the front door, she led me back to her rooms. That was no hardship I have to be honest. Following a teenage girl up a reasonably steep flight of stairs when she is wearing a figure-hugging white dress that clings to everything it was fundamentally designed to latch on to – is, if one is honest – well, fun! I wondered whether she even knew that the opaque nature of the garment did little to shield her modesty so far as undergarments were concerned. Now as it happens, I like pastel blue panties as much as the next private tutor and those that were wiggling up those risers not eighteen inches from my gaze, were indeed a source of inspiration.
You can understand then that my peristaltic rate was unusually high by the time we sat down at the desk. My mind was definitely not on things mathematical. As she worked at the first of a few problems I set for her, my gaze fell, as they had done many times previously I must be honest, upon the upper part of her dress. Adrift to the third button, it was enough let’s say, to display her small but delightful cleavage, not to mention a substantial ribbon of lacy bra. Even chiding myself for such voyeuristic pleasures, I was unable to wrench my gaze from that field of dreams. It was at that second she happened to look up and catch my decadent line of vision.
I think we blushed equally.
It’s funny how one often makes with the dumbest of comments when caught in a personally embarrassing situation. I simply looked at her and muttered. “I’m so sorry Denise…it’s just that, well I think you are so beautiful.” It’s hardly a plausible excuse for staring fixedly at a teenage girl’s breasts but certainly it was the truth.
Instinctively she raised her hand to her chest, which only served to heighten my desire.
“Do you really think I’m pretty?” she whispered.
The weeks of unspoken affection could no longer be suppressed. I leaned across and kissed her gently on the cheek. For a moment she said nothing, simply looking at me with what must have been shocked bemusement. The blush lingered however and I could hardly fail to notice that she had made no move to either distance herself from me or to air the least of reprimands. Her body language if anything, suggested a complicity of sorts.
Once again I inclined my head towards her and discerning still no implied resistance, I kissed her on the lips.
When a girl wants to be kissed, it is very obvious. When you have been desperate to kiss her for a couple of months or more, the odds are the floodgates will open of their own accord.
I don’t even recall pulling her on to my lap, all I remember is the softness and sweet taste of her young lips. Holding her to me, I reveled in her warmth and seductive perfume as I continued kissing her passionately. Eventually we broke off, both quite obviously in respiratory distress.
“I have wanted you to kiss me for ages, ” she said, looking up at me with what might have been pleasured victory.
“No more than my own thoughts on the matter Denise, ” I murmured. “I have wanted to do this just about since I met you.”
I could see clearly down her cleavage those delicately receding curves. She appeared not to mind in the least. Intending to define the rules of the game a little further, I kissed her neck then her collar-bone. The girl’s sharp intake of breath suggested I was moving in a positive direction. Kissing her literally an inch above her right breast brought both a cry of surprise and a definitive wriggle of her hips. It also wrought changes to certain anatomical areas of my own…none that I was wanting her to notice right that moment you can understand.
Kissing is downright dangerous if you’re serious about it! Denise was committed to learning, no doubt about it! Unable to prevent my hands from their own little trek of indecency, I suddenly found a wonderfully soft and pliant little breast within the confines of my right palm. It’s owner looked at me and sighed as I squeezed that oh-so-desirable mound. I think she had in mind to say “No…don’t” but nothing ever eventuated and thus I not only continued to fondle that which I shouldn’t, but my hand slid it’s illicit way deep inside her bra where tactility ran riot and the sighs multiplied threefold. She raised her own hand to mine – not to remove it but to ensure I think that her breasts might remain cupped and fondled until time ran out.
“I’ve never had a boyfriend, ” she whispered to me between breaths…“Dad refuses to let me have one.” I wasn’t sure right that moment whether I viewed that as an act of cruelty or one of gratuitous sexual opportunity. Either way I had a wife at home and doing what I was with an inexperienced and majorly vulnerable young lady was, if not downright reprehensible, way left field of responsible! It’s definitely not what I signed-on for with the Parish Priest. The deductive process however is stymied when one is on the road to inflamed passion in a teenage girl’s bedroom suite, the senses intoxicated by a heady mix of girlish scents and the seductive delights of a partially exposed bosom.
There was also the inescapable fact that in some way I needed this girl. Needed her closeness, her intrinsic inner beauty and her intellect...if that makes any sense?
With an arm around her shoulders holding her to me, I had just the one hand free for other things - not that this was any great hardship. Turning my attentions to Denise’s other breast, I had both pretty much three-quarters out of their bra cups with now just a hint of nipple either side. I decided to push the boundaries yet further and began to undo another button. Oddly, Denise just sat there looking downwards as her dress gaped yet wider, revealing in all its provocative glory that sexy little nylon restraint. Cupping her breasts with both hands brought forth a formative moan from that half-open if not delicate mouth. It was definitely time to kiss those lips a little more.
Risking a full scale rebellion, I gradually lowered my mouth to the girl’s fully exposed cleavage. A sharp intake of breath heralded my initial contact. The smell of her breasts in such close proximity I have to say, was addling my thought processes. I wanted her more than any female I was ever privy to be with. For her part, even as I began kissing her breasts along their upper perimeter, she closed her eyes and leaned back against my shoulder breathing hard, to compensate I imagine for her increased pulse-rate.
Very gently, I eased both breasts clear of their padded crèche. A more beautiful and desirable sight I had never seen. Lowering my mouth further, I drew down upon her right nipple which caused her to shudder with unforced pleasure. Latching on to that wondrously hot little teat I suckled her then, taking such pleasure myself as I am incapable of describing accurately. Making the cutest of little sounds, she opened her pretty eyes and the expression there-in was one of pleading expectation. I began to draw down now on her other breast – dead center.
I don’t even know if she was aware that she was arching her back in an instinctive attempt to thrust her young breasts out more prominently. I can’t say I was actually dwelling on this possibility. All I knew is that I wanted to suck those eighteen-year old nipples until either the Police showed up or her Father took me out with an AK47.
What man would be satisfied with his achievements thus far? What man could be??
Even as I continued tenderly suckling the girl, my right hand re-located itself low down on her thigh, just above the knee. I began caressing the soft skin through her dress which at this juncture was fulfilling its purpose by maintaining an impressive level of modesty.
Gradually my hand slipped lower although I took care to maintain a caressing action rather than anything more intrusive. Just a few inches below her knee I reached the hem of her dress. The skin there at the back of her legs was like hot silk. Deliberately I stopped kissing her momentarily as I wanted to gauge her reaction to this latest line of offense. She certainly was interested in my modus operendi, to judge by her yelp of surprise as my hand slipped beneath her dress, commencing its imperceptible ascent north. She permitted all troop movements up until mid thigh level where the heat was approaching that of a tropical rain-forest. Despite having instinctively spread her legs meanwhile, she placed her hand atop mine, shaking her head slowly and murmuring “No, please…no further.”
Now think about it logically. A teenage girl sits on your knee willingly, her cleavage not ten inches from your face. She encourages you to kiss her, responds in kind, having no objection when you begin fondling her breasts. She permits you to not only put your hand down her top but to undo the buttons of her dress and gaze at her bra, before exposing her breasts totally in order that you may suck them stupid. She then lets you caress her leg and knees before slipping your hand up her dress and feeling her up as far as mid thigh.
Then she calls a halt to proceedings under the rights of the citizen act? I don’t think so!
What she is saying of course is “I’m scared! ”
Holding her hands, I just looked into those deep blue pools of hers. “You’re safe with me sweetie, ” I told her. “I know you’ve never done anything like this and you’re desperate to know what it’s like, right? I understand it’s a huge step for you Denise but it’s one you have to decide to take – I can’t do it for you.” She was studying me now closer than ever.
“For what it’s worth sweetheart, I want you more than anything else – not just for the sake of sex but because there’s something about you I just frankly have fallen in love with these last two months. I know have no right to expect anything from you, I shouldn’t even be doing this at all. I am being com completely unfair to my wife…to my own conscience even. It’s just something I never thought I would do. Having said all that though, it changes little. You’re still sitting on my knee and I can think of nothing else but making love to you.” It looked to me like there were the beginnings of a few tears in her eyes.
“That wasn’t my intention either sweetheart – to upset you I mean.” I added somewhat meekly. If you want this to stop right now – tell me, I will respect and understand your decision totally.”
I might have expected one of several responses but certainly not that which I received.
Giving me a gentle but rather loving kiss, she slid off my lap then turning slightly, took my hand in hers. Leading me through the doorway to the left of the table at which we had been seated, she ushered me into the main bedroom. Her feminine influence was everywhere from the pinks and pastels to the half a dozen stuffed animals on her pillows. It was a beautiful girl’s room for the most beautiful girl.
Relinquishing my hand, she sat down on the edge of the bed. Words were not necessary!
Seating myself alongside, I kissed her once more. Whether she lay back of her own accord or I instigated proceedings I really cannot recall, but moments later we were both lying full-length on the coverlet, Denise on her back, me on my side facing her. At no stage had she buttoned up and thus her pert young breasts still lay open to my gaze, fully adrift from her gaping top. Provocatively displayed as she was, my immediate interest lay within certain latitudes south of the equator. Maintaining eye contact with her, I slipped my left hand beneath the hem of her dress as before, having determined a fixed route to the north this time.
Once more a soft cry of shocked surprise issued from the girl’s lips as her dress was eased high enough to display the first glimpse of her light pink panties – cute and frilly much like their white counterpart in the northern climes. Instinctively trying to cover them with her hands – a gesture I found extremely arousing – I had simply to grasp her arms and return them to her side. Understandably nervous in the extreme, she nevertheless showed what I considered great determination in allowing me to continue my progressive abuse of her young body.
The first of many audible gasps accompanied my total exposure of those rather skimpy briefs. For a few seconds I could but stare at such total perfection. That wonderfully flat girlish stomach giving way to pronounced flared hips that were highlighted so delightfully by those sexy little knickers. The prominence of her as yet hidden vulva concealed as it was by that colored rayon fabric – those sexy curves descending tantalizingly between her legs. I was just able to make-out a darkish area beneath, that could only be pubic hair…curls actually, to judge by the two or three stragglers I could see peeking out rather suggestively.
Only three inches from her panties now, I worked my hand more towards the inside of her leg which not only made her wriggle slightly but caused her to part her knees sufficient that the front of her panties was now quite visible. It wasn’t something one could really overlook. Wishing to tease her no longer I allowed myself the luxury of actually brushing up against the soft material with the side of my hand. She reacted as is scalded, apologizing immediately. “I’m sorry, I’m just not used to any of this it’s all so new to me.”
Might have been “new” to her but to me it was heaven on earth! Opting for the more direct approach now, I laid my hand across the front of those searingly hot panties of hers and with my index finger began indenting the front of them the whole way down between her legs. I could feel the heat emanating from that virginal crevice right through the soft material.
Unable to prevent herself arching upwards slightly and despite the obvious embarrassment of her predicament, more than one soft moan was now audible. I began to caress the flatlands, smoothing my way across her lithe tummy before returning to center stage to rub and apply pressure to her entire vaginal area.
Once she was com comfortable with this latest development (and what it was doing to me anatomically is best left unspoken) I leaned forward and kissed her slightly below the belly button. Again a little cry of shock as I continued to kiss her, locked-on to a southerly trajectory as I was, planting one final smooch dead center of her panties. That brought on a couple of “Ohhs” with some accompanying hip wriggles.
It was really time to divest her of her outer-wear although I must say, sprawled on her back like that, her dress pushed up to her hips, legs slightly apart with both her panties and breasts fully exposed, did have its visual benefits!
“May I take your dress off sweetie?” I whispered.
She looked at me for a moment, unsure exactly of what this might be committing her to in the short term. Sitting up then, she reached behind her back and unzipped herself. Easing her on to her tummy achieved two goals. Firstly, the ability to pull the dress off and following that, the relatively simple task remained of extricating her bra also. I was faced then with what – up to that moment at least – was the sexiest image I had ever encountered.
Just three days into her eighteenth year and being a rather small girl – five-two at the most, she looked, lying there face down on the coverlet in just her panties, like a highly vulnerable fourteen or fifteen-year old girl sleeping. It was an scenario I found highly conducive to my on-going arousal.
Unable to pass-up the opportunity, I gave her a gentle spank on that curvy little bottom. She gave a cry of probably genuine shock and turned to look at me.
“Why did you do that?’ she giggled
“Because sweetheart, ” I replied, “you have the sexiest little bottom it has ever been my pleasure to encounter. Allow me to give you one more!”
I have this theory that most girls find being spanked highly arousing. Never met one yet didn’t like it. In any event Denise just turned her head back to the coverlet and if I didn’t know better, wriggled that sexy little rear-end of hers just enough to register her thoughts on the matter.
The follow-up was a doozie. Denise yelped as my hand impacted across both cheeks causing them to ripple momentarily. Reaching behind her she covered her bottom with both hands. “No more, ” she frowned, “that really hurt!”
For fear of overstaying my welcome, I apologized and retracted my hand. Call me perverted, but if you have never had the privilege of spanking a teenage girl at some juncture, then your life must by necessity be that much poorer for the loss.
Kneeling alongside her hips I figured the best course of action right that moment might be Knight to Queen’s Bishop 3. My eyes still glued to her pert little bottom I slipped a hand up between her legs and applied some digital pressure to the precise spot on her panties where I knew her vaginal lips must be concealed. The effect was immediate. Quite forgetting about her ill-treated rear-end, she gasped in surprise and closed up her legs – a fully automated defense move.
One can always find a counter-move in any given situation.
In this case, taking a hold of the waistband of her panties and pulling them two thirds down her bottom seemed to me very appropriate. Whether you’d call it a gasp or a squeal I’m not sure, but certainly she had her hands behind her in an attempt to salvage some modesty, before you could say “how rude!”
Com completely over- awed by the sight of her partially exposed rear crevice and incredibly smooth cheeks, reddish as one side was, I did what any aroused male would have done. I leaned forward and kissed her bottom softly.
“Don’t pull my panties down…please” she whimpered, whilst making no further effort to tug them back up though I noted.
By the fourth kiss - slightly higher, at the very base of her spine in fact, she was wriggling herself stupid. Despite her protestations, I managed to peel her panties off altogether, yielding finally that which I had imagined, but in my wildest dreams could never have hoped to see – Denise undressed and at my procreative mercy. To say that she was beautiful in her nakedness is to laughably understate the situation. She was every man’s greatest desire!
Slowly I turned her over, allowing her to cover her pussy with both hands as I did so. It left more than enough to admire, believe me. Her expression was one of com complete trepidation yet innocent expectancy, discomfort yet seductive encouragement.
“Would you let me see you sweetheart?” I asked softly, glancing down at her hands.
Shyly but bravely she slowly brought her hands apart. I think I gulped! I know I was close to being rendered catatonic.
To be afforded the privilege of gazing at that which a teenage girl has never let anyone see before is almost a humbling experience. Those incredibly sculptured downward curves of her clearly moist vaginal lips, hemmed in on all sides by that triangle of protective but equally provocative little brown curls…that my friends, is something you can never buy on eBay.
Already besotted with her, I was overcome now by feelings of passionate need and protective intent. Other facets to my life had ceased to have meaning. With no game plan whatsoever I pulled her on top of me and kissed her with an intensity I never knew I possessed. She responded eagerly and I was a boy again.
With her breasts crushed up against my shirt I was vaguely aware of holding her around her bottom whilst her legs draped either side of my own. Occasionally she would arch her back upwards, so that her pretty dark brown hair would cascade in my face while she regarded me fixedly between kisses. I think she knew also the extent to which her naked breasts were driving me crazy in that position. In the space of two minutes we had reversed roles. It was she was now the teacher and me the committed student.
I’m not sure if she was aware I had unzipped my pants, though logic would suggest she would have to be. I do know that she made no attempt of any sort either physical or verbal, to dissuade me from my course and even as I fumbled beneath her abdomen, extricating my swollen and desperately needful erection, she was still permitting me to kiss her passionately.
At that angle, and especially given that the girl’s legs were substantially apart as she straddled me, locating her vaginal ingress proved something less than a major feat of engineering. Penetration however was not without its initial glitch.
Most eighteen- year old girls, even if they are still technically virgins, have generally loosened up the general area courtesy of their own or their boyfriend’s fingers during certain moments of self-gratification shall we say?. The hymen you may assume has frequently lost a degree of elasticity at least.
Denise however must have been a very good girl, for despite her obvious willingness if not desire to part with her virginity that day, its accomplishment was not without considerable application on her part.
“No, I really want you to do it to me, ” she pleaded, when I offered to withdraw from the playing field as it was obviously hurting her a lot.
Eventually we worked our way through the minefield – mainly by way of her controlling depth and pressure with her own hips and I was able to sink deeply inside that ragingly hot cavern for the first time.
I can still see her lips open in silent pleasure as I began to thrust up into her. She minded neither my hands as they caressed her bottom from hip to thigh nor my face as it nuzzled her breasts atop me. All she seemed to care about was what I was doing to her with that swollen rod I had inside her. I did a lot too…even if I do say so myself!
There is probably nothing more sexually encouraging than a pretty and majorly innocent young girl pleading with you to “fuck her” when you are doing just that. Not words I can ever imagine Denise having used in her short life, she appeared suddenly to have an expanded vocabulary on site.
Fuck her I did though and in every conventional position. An attentive student to the end, she showed great aptitude for her chosen subject. By the time we had run the gauntlet of: missionary, all-fours center quilt and draped half-off the end of the bed with her hands on the carpet, it’s line-ball who was the most seriously skinned. Eventually we just curled up in that bed and slept for a while.
I was so in love with this girl I could think of nothing but holding and nuzzling her. For a while I just lay there watching her sleep and caressing her hair. I had no idea what the following day might bring, let alone the rest of my life.
At the point Conrad Sanderson knocked at his daughter’s door two hours later, calling out “Denise, would you come out here NOW please?” I had a lot on my mind!
(c) Peter_Pan 2008
Please visit "The World of Peter_Pan"

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