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I am just thinking. I guess,” she answered.“What are you thinking about?” I asked.“I was just thinking about you and mom. I was wondering what you guys were like when you were young,” she said. “Did you fool around before you got married? Or was mom a virgin until then?” she asked.I always knew this conversation would happen someday. I guess today was as good a day as any. I decided to refill our coffees and tell Lynn the story. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My wife Pamela, Pam for short, and I met when I was seventeen-years-old. Pam was slightly older at eighteen. I was working at a gas station pumping gas. Yes, back then someone pumped your gas for you. Pam came in with a group of girls to get gas for their car. She was sitting in the back, but I noticed her right away.Pam was gorgeous. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I don’t think I was even paying attention to the driver about how much gas she wanted. I kept watching Pam. She grabbed two drinks and walked away, leaving us there to laugh as she left. Karen grabbed her drink and rubbed her ass against my crotch before leaving me there. " You're mine if you want to get together later. Until then – down boy."I grinned at her, smacking her ass as she walked out of the kitchen. She returned to the party in the living room and it wasn't long when I followed and returned outside. As much as she jokingly told me to calm down, She hoped I wouldn't. She could feel herself getting hotter by the second, despite the obvious breeze coming from outside. Part of it had to be from her. The other part had to be from the heater inside since after awhile, people started to slowly head outside to the patio. Karen began to follow the crowd until she noticed me standing in the hallway entry. She never noticed I had come back inside. I wasn't moving. Almost as if I had been standing there the entire time watching her. She smiled at me and my smile was different. Wicked and.
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They could afford perfume, Helen was used to cologne. A breath of it evoked one of George’s memories. She finished blotting up the spill with a handkerchief and he grasped the tiny zipper tab once again and slowly lifted it up the channel and fastened the little hook at its top. It was perched under Helen’s shoulder blades, and nice shoulder blades they were. She wore a dress that was unusually daring for her—but it was a special day. Helen had taken great pains to pick out the special ivory-colored dress with the scooped back and neckline. ‘Why don’t you relax?’ George suggested. ‘There’s no need to be nervous.’ ‘I’m not nervous!’ Helen insisted. ‘You are—and you’re starting to make me nervous, too.’ Her answer was vintage Helen: denial and counterattack. George expected it and took it without offense. He silently congratulated his ability to accurately predict her. He wasn’t nervous. It was true that he had reluctantly agreed to the ritual planned for that day. This kind of.

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