A rather slow one. After six complete laps, I was done. Fortunately, my erection was diminished enough to move from the pool to the spa.Jenn was in it...... waiting for us, I presume. I first helped Isabel, then got myself inside. Jenn scooted up next to me, “What did you two talk about for so long?”“Nothing in particular. Just brother-sister stuff,” I said.“Is that true, Isabel?”“Just brother-sister stuff ... and he recommended I do my hair coloring again. Do you think so?”Good girl, nice. As I got older, it only got worse. I resented society for denying me thepleasure that was the birthright of every girl. To wear tight, Lycra basedclothing. I went from wanting to simply try on her clothes to wanting to beher. The girl. To feel what it was like to have tights and leotards arcgracefully around her private places without a hint of bulge. Did it feeldifferent? Did it feel sexy? I went as far as buying my own tights andleotards, but kept them hidden in fear that someone would find. And one by a Wendell Wilkie, called "One World," that Chance thought might hold promise. At least until he read into the book a bit. Wilkie had been, ho hum, a Republican presidential candidate, yawn, in the last century, bleh!Stifling a yawn, Chance picked out two to get him started in his quest for Plan B: "Forty Years of Murder" by Keith Simpson, a retired British medical examiner. Just like Quincy, Chance reckoned. And "The New Ager's Biography of Aleister Crowley," including, it said, many. It had been a long time since that night in the tent with Rebecca and I had been longing for this. I couldn’t get enough of her; the scent of her sex drove me crazy. I ran my tongue between her lips tasting all of her, allowing it to be covered with her juices. She rubbed my head and really enjoyed what I was doing to her. I loved eating her pussy and couldn’t get enough of it. After several minutes, I noticed her soft moans getting much louder and her breathing getting heavy. She grabbed my.