Or is that just an excuse for my immoral behaviour? Do I believe my own lies in order to really deceive others more skilfully? I’m having a mid-life... crisis. Fack. My whole life has been a facking crisis: c***dhood anxiety giving way to teenage angst. I pick up a copy of The Daily Sport which a passenger has given me from the day before. I read the ‘massage’ ads. One stands out: Blonde 21 year old with tanned 36-24-36 figure, Bournemouth. I ring the number. She’s working today. I know it’s. My Grandmother groaned louder as my fingers brushed over her knicker covered mound, and I felt her fingers grip my thigh tighter as I began to gently massage the area."Oh!" I heard her mutter as I rubbed that soft mound under her knickers "Oh!"For a good minute or so I continued to massage my Grandmothers pussy under her knicker material while still kissing her neck, and she kept moaning softly, breathing heavier and gripping my thigh.Then finally I pulled away from her, and got her to stand up. "We'll have to wash everything every night for the next day. What a pain!" I'm going to shower" announced Emma, peeling her T-Shirt over her head. The deep seated surge of pleasure bubbled through Lauren once again, her heart responding predictably to the lack of a bra. Emma's small breasts were crowned by her sleeping nipples, ready to be caressed, tweaked and brought to attention. Lauren averted her gaze just before Emma's head emerged from the T- Shirt. Pretending to tidy their belongings. Well now let me tell you about one experience that I had with one girl. I don’t believe in writing fictions as it only diverts our minds. So this story is 100% true.I have been staying in Delhi for the last 3 years. Few months after I came to Delhi, I met one girl from Manipur; she was doing some course in a polytechnic near LSR College. We became friends, we were not very close to each other and usually talked once every week or so. Months passed but we were still not those close, not even.