Then we both smiled at that not so distant whimsical memory. He looked at his watch and reassured me, we still had eleven minutes. We quickly got rid ...f his clothes too and as I was pulling down his boxers I stayed down there and took him into my hungry mouth. There was only one thing I loved more than giving him head, to watch him and listen to him, while I did so. He was so damn passionate. And I was in love with the way he moaned. In the early days of our relationship, as much as I loved his. After a few minutes of this she said,"So.Are you going to fuck me me with that hard,young dick of yours,or what?".I didn't need asking twice.I unzipped her trousers and slipped them down around her ankles.Pushing her tiny pink thong to one side,i got her to spread her legs before grabbing my dick and easing it into her mature wet pussy.This caused her to gasp,"bloody hell that is definitely big".As i began to build up a steady rhythm i placed one of my hands onto her clit and began to slowly. I thought was falling in love with her and she with me. I loved my job but knowing I could see her every morning before going out in the field made it that much better. Even though we weren’t engaged most people knew we were a couple. Jen still flirted a little but it was just part of her personality. The flirting wasn’t overly sexual, she did make men feel good just talking to them. I had to admit I was a little jealous but she wasn’t really doing anything wrong. We still had our own lives and. Those who simplify the universe only reduce the expansion of its meaning.It's all right for a woman to be, above all, human. I am a woman first of all.When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons. We cease to grow.The only abnormality is the incapacity to love.The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer.
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