I told him most all of what had happened in my life since moving here, including all the bad stuff at prom, and the better stuff with Eric at the beac.... He wanted to know what it felt like to me when I had an orgasm. He asked me to describe it, and the only thing I could say was that I felt like I wanted to pull the guy inside me as I wascuming. We talked some more, and he got me to describe other thoughts that I had, some fantasies, and other observations about my body compared to other girls. I decided to make the necessary effort to try to find a light switch for one of the small 'bedside' lights (actually they're above the bed, rather than beside it, but you get the idea). I knew the switches were immediately below the lights, so I tried to visualize where the lights had been relative to my being in the middle of the bed last night. I closed my eyes to help me visualize, which amused me since it was pitch black. At the same time the visualization recalled the memory of where the. I realize that feeling a breast through a shirt is all well and good but nothing replaces real skin. I examine how her shirt has bunched up underneath her and slowly begin to worm my fingers under her hip to pull it out. The shirts comes free with little effort and now I am really glad that she wore such a large shirt. With great trepidation I slowly inch the front of her shirt upwards, rolling it as I go.Inch by delicate inch her stomach is revealed, then the shirt is high enough that I can. He continues, laying down photos of me sucking my boyfriend's little cock, touching myself, fingering myself, inserting toys, and many many others. "Before you become angry at me and see me as some sort of voyeurist or pervert, let me tell you that I had nothing to do with these pictures. Your loving boyfriend gave them to me." He lays down more papers, these ones documents of where I work and live. "I don't think I need to tell you that you'll never have a job or relationship again if I were.