There was no sexy talk at dinner. Sam shared how his friends shared their sympathy. Awkwardly. But they at least tried.“I’ll wash, you dry. And I don’t want to get this nice apron wet. Do you mind if I take it off?”He answered with a smile. Taking his shirt off he said, “No reason this should get wet either.”Both our garments hung over a single kitchen chair. Good. Hand dish wash was easy. Cleaned items went from dish drainer to cupboard as fast as I washed. All the time I was thinking hard (and getting a little worried) about what to suggest next. Sam solved my problem by asking me if I would like to dance. Z, you worry too much, girl.He put on the same slow dance saxophone CD as last time. This time we danced closely, rather enjoying the closeness of our naked bodies. Other than close and nude we made no overtly sexual moves. He got a serious hardon but ignored it. I liked it when he brushed my pussy lips with his manhood. He wanted to dance and we did. We must have danced 6 tracks. When she came to the road (East Heath Road), she decided that it would be best if she did carry the animal, in case a late night motorist might drive by and maybe run him over or frighten him back onto the Heath. This time, thanks be to heaven, he was a good cat and contented himself with burying his sweet little head between her twin mounds of soft and fragrant flesh, purring loudly and alternately retracting and extending his claws, somewhat to the sensitive Veronica's discomfort.It was when the pair of them were half way through the connecting road to the High Street when Cuddlywinks suddenly became agitated. With a sinuous wriggle, he broke free from Veronica's grasp and landed on the pavement, immediately scooting off up a side street.She ran after him, anxious that she should not lose him now, after getting him safely all this way towards his home. Cuddlywinks ran up to a house half-way along the street and jumped up onto the front room window sill. Then he commenced crying.
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