For a few wild seconds she could even imagine it was Brad's cock fucking her.But then there was the awful realization soon after that she was alone. B...ad wasn't there. It had been her fingers that had touched off her explosion, not a man's prick. Feeling empty, frustrated, Barbara drifted off to troubled sleep, wondering if and when she would ever let Brad touch her again.It was the evening of the third day when the hot tightness of her cunt was driving her mad. Barbara sat at the desk, tapping. "She'd found a scratch tape and popped it in, then got back behind herdrums. "You start it," she told me."Start what?" I asked, setting down my Pepsi."The tape," Gina said. "Press 'record.'"I looked at the machine. None of the buttons said "record." I lookedback at Gina."The one with the red square!" she barked."Well, I didn't know!" I yelled back. "Don't fucking yell at me!" Don't yell at me!" Okay, I pressed the red square!" Dumbass! We're recording yelling at each other!"That got us to. We rode through the parks and along the quiet streets of one of the oldest sections of the city. The only time she asked me to stop was as we neared a local playground, she needed to use the restroom. When she came out she threw her arms around me and gave me the first of many long tongue kisses. "That Harley ride got my panties all wet and heated up," she shyly told me. We continued to kiss and she allowed me to slip my hand under her t- shirt and caress her beautiful breasts through her silky. I was on vacation away from... (No, I'm not going to say it. I already said two not so nice words in one day, which is my limit. Let's just say it's a very hot place.) and spent time traveling across the country. I happened upon a pleasant, small town with a lot of open spaces between homes. There was one house that caught my eye. Not so much the house, but the garden of beautful flowers and trees that surrounded it. The lady who lived there obviously had a green thumb. I admired the garden so.