They are mine. This is me. I lightly pinch my nipple. Sometimes it is hard to feel beautiful. I have read the comments sections on Twitter, on Flickr,...when I post my pictures. They call me a whore, a slut, a cunt. They call me ugly. They tell me I'm a worthless piece of shit. Even the words they use are hard and sharp and cacophonous: fuck, cock, tit, cunt. I don't care. They are avatars to me. They are blocks of pixels. I love soft words. Pussy is a soft word. Kiss is a soft word. Sigh. Cum.. She was wearing a simple, black polka dot dress that revealed more of her long thighs than it hid. We exchanged polite smiles as I took my seat and made myself comfortable. She went back to her reading - some geographical textbook - while I unfolded my paper and made a start on the crossword. I'd bought a can of lager from the passing trolley, as I'd promised myself, and slowly ticked through the easiest clues. I was only occasionally distracted by my traveling companion shifting in her seat. As she eased down onto me, my dick slid all the way up into her hot silky pussy. Then she lifted most of the way back up, and then all the way back down. Our faces only inches away, we just gazed at each other in the dim light as she started to ride me.For several minutes she rode me like this, with a steady rythm. Then I pulled her forward for some playful lip, and then tongue wrestling. Then I laid her down on her back. She looked so gorgeous on the bed in the dim light with her sexy legs. At two minutes to midnight I left the cottage and made my way back to the place where I had met my goddess. She was already waiting for me, her feet dipped in the water that reflected the night sky. The moment had some kind of magic atmosphere. I only realized in that very moment that this place was very well hidden from the cottage.She was wearing a thin white chemise with a dark green and whine red floral pattern. It only had one button right at the junction of her breasts. The sheer fabric.