"Well, have you made up your mind?" I..." she hesitated, a last shred of conscience surfacing before the fantasies overpowered it, "... yes. I... I...... want to try it." Then what I'm about to say can go no further. Is that understood?" Yes, I promise. I won't tell anyone." Then I have arranged for you to meet someone tomorrow night." You must have been pretty sure I'd say yes." I sensed your need, Sondra. Remember, I have done all I can do. If you want into the society, you'll have to make a. He got off and left and I made a mental note of his number, he was number eight, he felt good and I wanted to know who he was, my friend was counting and keeping tabs on the guys as they took their turn.'Who was number eight', I demanded to know from her, she thought then made a counting gesture with her fingers and looked at my with a puzzled expression, 'You mean seventh', she replied and mentioned his name.In bed later that night I went back through the numbers, counting and recalling how. That form of release is usually masturbation, but Billy went further.Disco was already dying or dead. Reagan had survived his bullet and would break the Presidential 'jinx' that had begun with William Henry Harrison, where every President elected in a year ending with zero, eight straight times, had died in office. Major league baseball was getting ready for its next strike.Enough history.Billy had initiated all forms of keep away, tag, and other games designed to allow him to rub his newly. You knew how licking my ear turned me on slowly. You ran your hand over my arm to my side, rubbing my hip on top of my night gown. You stopped licking my ear and moved to my neck. I moan as you hit just the right spot. The slowness was killing me, and you knew it. Kissing over my shoulder, you noticed that my night gown was in the way. “Let’s get rid of this.” You ripped it off of me. “Whoa!” was my reaction. You didn’t say anything; just continued with kissing over my body. Once you got to.