Nancy Peterman, a beautiful, blonde 46-year-old woman, stared back at me.I couldn't see any sign of the teenaged boy I really was beneath. Well-styled...hair, perfect makeup, subtle wrinkles, tacky feminine sweater, thefeminine glasses, the nearby Louis Vuitton cigarette case with mentholVirginia Slims cigarettes inside, all cried out "middle-aged woman."And that woman was me!Breathing deep to calm my nerves, I grabbed my cigarettes and ventureddownstairs to present myself to my little brother. ”“You have an example to show me?”We moved into a conference room where a framed poster — Roy Lichtenstein’s “Crying Girl” — was sitting on an easel. I had two of his prints at home and I said, “Looks real to me.”It was signed and numbered: 32/200.Red handed me the Certificate of Authenticity. I read it and said, “Looks legit.”“Except no one — the artist, his estate, the Roy Lichtenstein Foundation — has ever issued a certificate.”“Oops. And that’s why you wanted to see me? You have a local. My legs are spread apart and my feet are resting on stirrups and you unzip my crotch - exposing the glistening white and pink flesh of my pussy and cunt. My relief as the fresh air hits them is audible. A crowd is gathering around us now. I'm not looking at anyone but you - i watch your every move but I know what is to come and you begin by pulling my lips apart and begin probing me with a finger. I'm nervous. I'm tight. You need to relax me. You stand up and lean over and kiss me. You can tell. He made a little pattern. Licking her clit for a moment then slipping his tongue inside her. His hand was back around his cock now. He could feel the first waves of pleasure shoot through him when suddenly Sara moved...Sara could feel her pussy pulsing and knew she was getting close. She had hoped he would make her cum but didn't realize all of the build up would make it so easy. She decided however that even though she wanted to cum this was not how she wanted it to happen. She moved her legs.