Her already soaking panties offered no line of resistance; her legs fell naturally each way over the edge of the piano stool. Her black skirt left cov...ring her white skin. Her blouse and cardigan comfortably sidelined to expose her breasts. Monsignor went for touch first, under her skirt, his fingers feeling for the petal wet labia. So mushily fleshly sticky. Her shaved felt perfection surely a hint of the future direction of human evolution at least from a male perspective. Bernard could take. I supposed there were seats in the back. It was pouring rain...I went out with my CFM sandals, a skirt that could be lifted up easily and no panties underneath, and a thin cotton white top with no bra. By the time I knocked on the van door, the rain had made my top as translucent as saran wrap and the rain was a little cold so my nipples were sticking out so nicely. They opened the van door and let me climb in. The man sitting on the bench seat moved over for me as I sat down. They were. ." I interrupted him."There are probably hundreds of thousands, millions of school kids all over the country, and you pin this psychic thing on me? I don't buy that because I show up at home, it has to be me," I said, amused.He was shaking his head and said, "I understand, and I would agree with you except for one thing. You TYPED your letter on a typewriter. It has a flaw in one of the keys. You're father used to write letters to the editor frequently, and the editor recognized where this. She must be a good twenty years younger than me. A married guy in my forties I really should know better!Ordering more drinks, the waiter now gives me a disapproving look, and we wander off to a quiet corner, where Sue sits opposite me, elbows resting on the tiny glass table.In the candlelight, her eyes dance and glisten as she tells me about her life. How she’s only been in Hong Kong six months and how she misses home in the Philippines.Quite quickly though, the conversation switches to me and.