He could lose himself in the smell of her there, tangy and salty, a feast for his lips and one he was loath to deprive himself of much longer.She turned, tossing long dark tresses back from her face as the breeze played with her curls, giving him taunting hints of the firm roundness of her breasts, the taut coral nipples hard tipped. He'd denied himself the pleasure of touching her as he'd undressed her, leaving her upon that grassy bank under the huge oak tree that had spread its boughs to shelter her through the night. He wanted her conscious and willing, as eager for his touch and the taste of his flesh as he was for hers.Standing, he strode forward, as much at ease with his own naked state as he would be wearing any clothing he chose. He had nothing to shame him, a magnificent specimen of manhood, heavily muscled but with a grace that belied his bulk. His cock rose to its full proud stature from its nest of thick curls, proclaiming visibly his desire for the slender beauty who. Dylan said he lives down on the river, in a small, neat house with a wraparound porch with a set of steps out back onto his dock onto the river. He says he has a boat, too, and we could go out in the boat to the island down the river when we get together.Although it's tempting, I think we should meet in the coffee shop down the street from my apartment building. It's a public place with plenty of people around, so although I'm not scared, that might be best at first.A few nights ago, I dreamed about fucking Dylan's brains out. It was incredible. I woke up with my nightgown drenched in sweat, and my panties clear soakled through with my juices. I had to get up and change into a clean nightgown and panties, then on an impulse, I decided not to wash the panties.Dylan had e-mailed me his post office box number, so I put the leopard-print silky bikinis in a manila envelope, addressed it to him and walked outisde to put it in my mailbox and put the flag up so the mailman would be sure to.
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