Anxiously I waited for the weekend to come, the time dragged by, but at last it was Friday afternoon and I was free until Monday. Rushing home I raced...up to my room, rushed through some paperwork I'd brought home and then put my plan into effect. It started with me going downstairs to the living room, pouring a glass of mum's favourite tipple and taking it to her in the kitchen."Thank you Chris," she half smiled as I handed her the glass, "how sweet of you."I stood and watched her sip her drink. The desktop contained folders for her research and I clicked on the folder labeled ‘Questionnaires’ and started reading and shaking my head. Whoever designed the questionnaire had no idea what street girls thought. The questions were all worded to provide a narrow band of possible responses that the designer wanted to hear, not what the subjects actually thought. “Snooping?” her soft voice startled me. She was holding a cup of coffee to her lips and looking at me expectantly over the brim. She. She never let our talks be long, because her husband called regularly to check if she was at home; he was extremely jealous she said. During those times I would ask her to let us meet somewhere and have sex, but she said she was afraid to take it that far. One Sunday night shortly after her husband had come home drunk there was a lengthy bout of cursing and hurling of abuses between him and the two women which culminated with him beating both of them as the children screamed. The cops later. Her skin was so soft, so warm. She kissed my neck, and then moved her mouth slowly down to my chest, and then my boobs. Her hands cupped beneath my breasts, and her soft mouth gently kissed my nipples. Usually I like it rough, but this softness I had never experienced before, and it was exquisite. I started moaning with pleasure as she expertly squeezed and kissed my tits. She pushed me down onto the couch again, now lying down, and continued to caress and kiss my skin – my boobs, my stomach,.
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