That door was under incredible pressure; and was bending under the stresses imposed on it.Eventually the door gave way, and the memory was allowed to ...lood out. Its impact staggered the Personalia. They felt guilty; and the memory told them they were feeling guilty AGAIN. They had done something which all the social pressure they had inherited from Malans told them was wrong. It was wrong, yet they had done wrong in an attempt to do right. This dichotomy struck at that innate desire to do the. " She did smell good."You didn't make other plans? We don't have to." She couldn't hide her disappointment."No, no. Just old age. If I don't write it down, it's forgotten." He packed his briefcase and smiled at her. "Let's go get a beer. Where do you want to go?" Something nearly forgotten stirred within him, something vaguely arousing."Not my bailiwick. I live across the river, Fairfax. So you lead and I'll follow." She smiled and melted his will, his doubts, his inhibitions. Funny, she had. She was different and didn’t really have a problem talking about sex. Now here is the interesting part. She had a purity ring, but it was really to please her parents since they were heavily…heavily religious. That reminds me on an occasion where we were upstairs on my bed the day after I asked her out and we were doing the usual make-out session scenario that teenagers do, until she asked me to ask her some questions. So I asked her if she had ever French kissed. She did, I have not. I asked. Chris’ cock was still erect and pushing against its leather encasement. Man, this will show me off great!” he thought as he slipped off his helmet and leather jacket and stowed them in the saddlebags. The smooth glossy leather encasing Chris’ legs seemed to glow in the dim light, the bulge of his hard cock was obvious as he slipped his gloved hands over his crotch fondling and then adjusting himself. He turned and began to stride toward the entrance of “The Tank” the heels of his boots clicking.