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At least a handful, if not two-so I've been told. At that moment, I hear the door to the shower open and a rush of cold air flood in. I'm suddenly aware of someone behind me. I'm a little apprehensive at first, but then I think of all the times I've watched yoga boy's arm muscles tensing and untensing in the mirror and thought of how strong he must be. I slowly stood up and his hands reached around my front and cupped my tits. He massaged them gently. Then spun me round to look at me. After staring at them for a few moments he took my nipple in his mouth and started to suck it, interspersed with little bites and licks. Then he knelt down in front of me. Lifted one leg up, placed my foot on the handrail and buried his face into my shaven pussy. He was licking my clit vigorously and by this point I'd gained a whole new layer of sweat to wash off.I was moaning loudly: my moans echoing round the otherwise empty changing room. His mouth filled with my warm, salty, pussy juices and he. So he did. He was already stroking his cock as he peeked through the crack door of his mother bedroom room. She was fast asleep wearing her small nightgown and lying on her side with her back facing the door. He wasn't positive that she was completely asleep so he waited another a half an hour. This time she was lying face down and he could see she was deep asleep. He slowly crept into the room this time so exited he could feel the pounding of his heart. He stroked his cock harder as he admired how beautiful mother's body was. Her nightgown was so short it pulled up a little letting him see the bottom of her ass cheeks and how they filled her panties. He couldn't help himself he started to slowly lift his mother nightgown exposing her firm silk pantied covered butt. Oh my god he whispered to himself as he continued stroking his cock harder and faster as his heart raced. He was quickly reaching a point where his release would be soon. He hoped she didn't wake up because he had no.
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This is romance, in its purest, most undiluted form. He kisses you again, drawing you in over and over, immersed, totally. And then, intuitively, again nothing: suddenly withdrawn, mouth an inch from yours, a heavily shaking breath, a gentle, tender kiss to your shoulder, or your cheek — protectively. Carefully. As if you’re something precious, as if he knows that he’s consuming you with his passion — as if he knows that you’re losing yourself in him. In the blue depths of his eyes, mixed with intensity and longing and — deeper — unrestrained wildness, barely concealed now, are flickers of hurt, of past sadness not quite forgotten. Closer to the surface now, usually in check — but there, more visible. Raw. His sudden vulnerability draws you in further: you know the same expression is echoed in your eyes, the distant acknowledgement of the last time you felt anything akin to this — except it wasn’t quite this. You glance momentarily at each other, directly — a transitory recognition.

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