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I could feel my heartbeat pulsing firmly in my now erect clitoris. After a few moments, Bryan surprised me by placing his free hand on my thigh as he continued to pump his cock. "Bryan?" I questioned. "Brenda, I just want to touch you while I do this. I just need some contact." He replied, not stopping his pumping fist. I decided to allow his hand to remain on my thigh rather than remove it. But fearful that Bryan would try to move his hand and fingers further up my inner thigh towards my dilated vagina and erect clitoris, I placed my hand over his, squeezing it and holding his hand in place. I enjoyed the contact as well. I was becoming very aroused; I could feel my wetness beginning to run out of me, making my upper thighs very wet. I wondered if Bryan was aware of the subtle scent of my arousal. I wanted to touch myself, to join in the masturbation, but I fought to resist this urge. Bryan's hand was massaging my upper thigh as he brought himself closer and closer to his. ***************** I was cleaning out the attic one rainy weekend afternoon five months after the divorce and came across some trunks of old clothing and boxes of personal items from Jeff’s family. The house had belonged to his parents, who had died shortly after we met in college. The house and most of their assets had gone to his younger brother, Simon. I remembered Jeff complaining about it at the time the will had been read. As the oldest, he had felt that everything should have gone to him, that his brother must have forged the will. I had completely forgotten about those brief moments when his real personality had shown through before our marriage. I could now look back and recognize the warning signals that my love-fogged brain had somehow missed. Sometimes I had felt uncomfortable around him, especially when he had been drinking too much and he would start to talk bad about me and push me around in front of his friends. But I always excused him the next day, when he would.
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