She smiled at me as she felt my cock through my pants. I untied the knot of my scrub pants and she slid her hand underneath. She squeezed gently and m...y cock responded in kind by twitching and hardening. She began to stroke it as she had done on numerous other occasions. My breathing became heavy. And then I stopped her. I pulled her hand out from underneath my pants and held it. I turned and walked over to the sofa, leading her. As I turned to sit on the sofa, I pulled down my pants to. The only choices you have are when you talk...and how much you are prepared to be hurt first...understand?’He let her go and she buried her face in her hands, her words broken up by her sobs of fear and distress. ‘Please...this is wrong...I did nothing...nothing at all...I told you...that wallet...I found it...please, all it did was keep it...I didn’t know about the papers...I didn’t even know there was a map in there...please... you must believe me...pleeeesss!’ For a moment there was total. .." This girl somehow knew all my forbidden fantasies."You wanna look inside. Where the pee comes out. You really do, don't you! It's OK, go ahead, you naughty man," she said softly."How do you know?" I asked with genuine puzzlement."Dunno," she said, shrugging. "I just do. And it's cool!"I peeled back her labia, millimeter by millimeter, then worked my fingers into her slit. I'd never felt so excited in my life. And everything was just where it was supposed to be: her inner lips covering her. It was great talking about our pasts as if we were old friends. Later when we moved on to music, I was in there battling for my style. He didn't get upset when I as near as dammit called him an old fogey, he smiled and countered my words. He didn't demolish my arguments he just got me to view music in a slightly different way. When he talked about what music meant to him I felt ashamed of myself. He was describing how I felt about music when I was in my teens. Somewhere along the way, I had.