I moved through pubic hair, soft, fragrant, growing more musky with every second. The beginning of her slit, gateway to a little bit of heaven.The gir... DOES get wet. Deliciously, luxuriously, sumptuously wet. And happy. And breathless. And responsive. Her hands, fingers, touched the back of my head, caressing, pushing, guiding me at my happy task. Her thighs clamped against the sides of my head as she shook.One. I lapped up the slick, musky flow and returned. This is the one that made her. A man---beardedand scruffy and more than a little dirty---came into the women's room,sauntering as if there was nothing at all wrong with his being here, andheaded for one of the stalls.She knew what he was! A peeping Tom or even a rapist, who could use thesecrazy laws they had nowadays to walk right into the ladies room simply byclaiming he "felt like a woman today"- the very thing Pastor Don had beenwarning about; And in this new backward world the good, normal peoplecould do nothing about. The sound of the door opening announced the arrival of our tutor.“Well, class,” she announced, “look up and take your seats, please.”Out tutor turned out to be a girl hardly more than seventeen years old, I would guess. Slim and with dark frizzy hair, she was dressed in a maid’s uniform like our own but in black. The uniform might have been similar but she wore it with confidence unlike our own embarrassed, diffident, behaviour. It also fitted her rather better than did any of ours. The way. At my age, it wasn’t easy to find female companionship — at least the kind that I wanted. Sure, there were a couple of gold-diggers. I mean, I wasn’t rich, but I was pretty well-fixed. I had no mortgage on my home, no car payments or other serious bills, and a considerable salary. As I said, not rich but comfortable. My job was also interesting. I was the chief software engineer for a medium-sized application development company: Radius. The only problem was that I didn’t actually design things.