He wanted to touch her, to caress her, to feel her wetness but at the same time the thought of pulling his chest away from her, to lose the feeling of... her hardening nipples against his bare chest was almost unthinkable. His wrist turned again trying to find the right angle and his fingers slipped between her lips to feel her moisture gathering at the concept of his impending entry. Her quiet moan, as his fingers slid over her clit to part her pink, soft lips, drawing out the moisture, was cut. His cock slides between my legs. "Ready?" He asks me briefly. I confirm with an equally short answer. I feel his monster sliding inside. His cock is still slippery from our joint moisture. He grabs me by the shoulders and pushes fiercely at once. I am loose and relaxed enough to withstand it without pain. My own cock is still stiff and I start to jerk myself. With long strokes, my computerman bumps through. Our moisture makes it go smoothly. He is panting in my neck. His movements become faster. How can I possibly be here, dressing as her, sensing her? Tea doesn'thelp. I pour a glass of wine. I don't think I've stopped smoking. Ok.Ok. Ok.The closet has that dress. I know exactly where it is. I take it out onits hanger. I can tell Jen might not have worn this. Its still unworn infact. I lay it on the bed and get the shoes. My hair. It will take along time to dry. I should just take a shower now. Just wash. Andshampoo. Conditioner and then just get out. Dry off. One more. All but one of which had a cloth draped over it to hide what was on it. There was a man wearing a yamika at the bench on the far right.Hiram Meyer was a small frail looking, exuberant little man. His yamika was of a pristine white satin and he wore small round glasses with multiple magnifying lenses attached. He was working on a very delicate looking necklace of intertwined gold and silver chains and muttering to himself in Yiddish. While his accent marked him as coming from somewhere in.