When she stood up she tied the drawstring of the pants so they wouldn’t fall of her slender waist. She called me over to her and kissed my cheek. �...Aren’t you gonna wear pajamas?” she asked me, and I just shook my head no and dropped my jeans. “I’m fine in just my boxers.” I said, but I made sure I didn’t let her catch a glimpse of my dick, which was hanging just above the leg opening of my shorts, and if I made one wrong move it would flop out.Once I got in my sleeping bag, she asked me if I. She was a mature woman who I estimated was probably in her mid forties, with long, strawberry blonde hair tied tight back in an efficient ponytail. She was immaculately presented in a navy blue pencil skirt and sober white blouse. The clicks had been produced by a pair of elegant navy blue shoes with slim, slightly intimidating heels. “Good morning, madam,” she said. Her voice exuded professionally courteous efficiency. “Can I help you with anything?” “Good morning,” I replied. “That’s very. Everything I did was measured against seeing Callie. I loved being with her. We developed a little routine. Swimming and surfing in the mornings, then some lunch followed by a relaxing afternoon where she'd work on any weaving projects she had going on. I was fascinated by the way her hands manipulated the threads on the loom to make the various designs. She sang when she worked and it made me think of the sirens from mythology. Callie was on land, but she'd lured me in just the same. Time. She grabbed a few items and haphazardly tucked them into her pockets before walking to the guard at the front entrance and showing him an identification card. He looked at it, gave her a quick look, studied the card once again and finally allowed her entrance to the building. She took her card out of his hand as his eyes focused on her front. He nervously caught his action and gave her a weary smile, in which she returned a devious grin. She then turned and made her way into the building's.