“There you are,” I say, giving voice to my thoughts. I turn to face his confused face. “What do you mean?” “That smug, smooth talking guy in...my kitchen wasn’t you,” I explain, gesturing to the kitchen, “This is you. You, I will talk to. Not to him. Not to whoever that was.” He breaks into a ear-to-ear grin. The walls around me crumble a little at that. I always loved his smile. “Can I sit? I want to talk about this.” I can’t say no to him when he’s like this. I kick myself for my weakness and. Am I wasting this body by not sharing it with a man?What did he mean by a "real man"? How do I find a real man? What would he do? Bend me over and fuck me till I scream his name? Is that a "real man"?I was rolling my nipples between my fingers as my orgasm was building. I had never been so turned on by just playing with my breasts.Was he a "real man"? How would he fuck me? Would he spank me? He was old enough to be my father. Why was I having such lustful and filthy thoughts about him?I was so. More

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